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magnituderenewed-blog · 2 years

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Christianity, Sexuality and Gender: My journey

In childhood, I always thought it a dreadful bore to be a girl. In all my games I pretended to be a male character either from books or movies, or made up entirely. In movies the boys got to race around and climb trees and shoot guns and have adventures! But the girls had to wear dresses and corsets and be polite and proper and sew things. If they were rough and tumble they were most of the time an aberration. Or they were often the side kick or a minor character. Girls who wanted adventure had to dress like boys or even pretend to be boys.

I read a book when I was a kid about this woman named Deborah Sampson who lived in Massachusetts and dressed up as a man so that she could fight for the Continental Army in the Revolutionary War. I can still remember the pictures. She was lauded for being brave and fearless. I admired that she was so confident that she didn’t belong churning butter during war time that she got a uniform, and went to find battle so that she could participate and possibly die or be horribly mangled for a cause she believed in. I’d probably be all pissed off but still churning butter and milking cows on the farm.

I was homeschooled in fourth and fifth grade back when we lived out in the sticks of ______________. Homeschooling allowed us to distill the academics down so we could finish much earlier in the day than public schoolers and be outside more often.

My sisters and I, particularly Micah and I were always outside when the weather was nice and sometimes even when it wasn’t. I am the oldest, then Mic is two years younger, and Emma was two years younger than Mic. When you’re all under ten years old four years is a big difference. I never actually asked Emma, but my perception was that she didn’t like playing outside as much, but maybe she just couldn’t keep up and we didn’t slow down, I don’t know. It makes me sad that we left her behind.

My mom was really great at making sure we had opportunities to be social and interact with other kids while also participating in cool educational opportunities. I think the highlight was, one time she got the entire digestive system of a pig from a butcher, laid it out on a couple card tables on black trash bags under the shade of this big tree in the front yard and invited a few other home schooling families over to come over and dissect it with us. I wish I had been there when she had to get it all out of the bag and lay it out—to see her flopping pig organs around and getting the ass end down and sorting it out. That must have been a sight. Another time she got a pig heart for us to dissect and that was pretty cool too. Kudos to my mom.

In addition to the epic anatomy lessons, we had routine social gatherings as well and mostly they were fun. Time is all screwy to me now when I look back—I have no idea how long we were going there—but we used to go to the Lawson’s house for music and gym. They Lawson’s comprised Tim, the father, who was very tall and had a wonderful sense of humor. I loved hearing him tell stories and he was always breaking into song. Pam was his wife, she was always baking and cooking and making interesting things. Her kitchen always smelled like blueberry muffins. She was also very funny and also sang a lot. I really enjoyed watching her interact with her kids. They seemed relaxed in a way that my parents weren’t and I enjoyed being there.

Their kids were Thadryan (Thay-dree-an, emphasis on first syllabul), whose name Tim made up playing Dungeons and Dragons, Tyler, Toby and Tessa. Thadryan was my age and I thought he was really cool. He wasn’t very demonstrative or emotive and he was pretty tough. He was sporty and enjoyed baseball a lot but we played all kinds of make pretend games outside. We played a lot of Spider-man. His brothers were various degrees of whiny and fussy but they played too. Emma and Tessa were always off doing who knows what and we generally made a practice of running away from them and making them the bad guys whenever they came around. I didn’t really like sports, but Thadryan made whiffle ball fun.

Years later through snippets of conversations with my mom I gathered that my mom and Pam may not have gotten along. My mom is always very direct with her opinions up to and including politics and religion. When people disagree with her the look on her face and body language suggests surprise that people could be dumb enough to think something different. Knowing what I know now, I understand that Pam was more liberal. My mom gets this shocked tone in voice and it always puts my teeth on edge. I’m amazed we went over there as often as we did and left the two of them inside alone. I bet the topic of homeschooling and having kids to talk about made it civil, but what a trooper for her to do that every week for hours a day when she may have not enjoyed it. She said to me that we loved it and that’s why we did it. I am not that cool of a mom.

The one homeschooling extracurricular activity I dreaded was going to the McNally house for choir. They lived “in town” in Orange, Massachusetts. (Oh by the way, the Stephen King show, “Castle Rock” was filmed within walking distance of the McNally and Lawson house. Super cool. I love Stephen King.) There were houses very close on either side and behind them. Their backyard was a steep slope downwards. Their yard on both sides of their house, front yard and porch was full of appliances and boxes and forgotten broken toys, old yard equipment, and junk. Inside the house it always smelled like a combination of leftover spaghetti sauce and a musty thrift store. And everything seemed green, the outside of the house was painted pine tree green, the furniture was green. The house seemed too dark and there were always too many people there.

The McNally kids were a whole gaggle. There were eight of the ranging from fourteenths down to a baby who was just sitting up. The eldest two were girls and the rest of them were boys. From eavesdropping I learned that Mrs. McNally had all her children in their bedroom upstairs and didn’t go to the doctor for ultrasounds or anything so they never knew the gender of the babies before they were born. For the last one, the eldest had been in the house, sitting on the steps when the baby was born and when they found out he was a boy she cried.

The McNally’s were a conservative family. They were all homeschooled too and the girls had to wear dresses and skirts all the time and kept their hair really really long. I’m pretty sure the girls clothes were home made. The boys wore whatever they wanted.

This was my first time recognizing a feeling of “other.” They seemed poor and dirty and unlucky to have to be dressed like that all the time. I was always happy to leave and always dreaded to go. Their girls seemed so constrained and constricted by their situation and their dress. I felt very masculine in comparison to them and took a measure of pride in being tougher than they were.

I equate dressing “like a boy” with being comfortable and feeling at home. Since my early days dressing “like a girl” in frilly things were always for other people’s benefit. I couldn’t sit how I wanted, couldn’t play like I wanted. It was boring.

Nothing much changed as I grew into a woman’s body. Jeans and a tee shirt means relaxation, casualness, organic play and rough housing, the ability to get dirty any time for any reason and not worrying about the clothes. I don’t have to think at all about how I look. Put me in a shirt that is below the little “u” where my clavicles meet and all I can think about is not letting anyone see down my shirt or my boobs hanging out. I can’t have fun because I’m too preoccupied thinking about boobs. This isn’t even taking into account body image issues and feeling insecure, though the heavier I got the more it did. How can I think big thoughts or enjoy my rich inner life if I am distracted by boring stuff like smearing my mascara, not letting anyone see too much cleavage or sitting like a lady?

Another element in the mix was that I got this idea from my particular brand of Christian culture that as a woman my body can cause men to have certain feelings and embarrassing physical reactions. In Christian circles this is bad unless the person you are arousing is your husband. Therefore even when I did feel pretty I also felt guilty (with a dash of empowerment….a confusing feeling overall and one I didn’t really like.) My mentality was that I should protect my “brothers in Christ” by not being immodest so that they didn’t get tripped up by my foxiness and accidentally get aroused.

I had a conversation with Nan about this once when we were in our 20s and she has always been very confident in her sexuality. She said that she actually enjoyed making out with a guy and and then just walking away and leaving him in his aroused state. So typical of Nan. I always felt embarrassed about my sexuality and uncomfortable. Once I was at my ex-boyfriend’s house alone. I had come to his house dressed “nicely” to go out to dinner. We were standing in his kitchen and he was standing really close to me. I think at the time I wasn’t even kissing him yet because I told him I wasn’t allowed to and wanted to wait for marriage. (That didn’t last very long, but kissing was as far as we ever got.) He was standing as close as you can really stand next to someone with his face hovering over mine with that sultry, squinty puppy look tempting me and hoping I’d kiss him, but I felt something poking me softly in the hip and I was very weirded out….but also….empowered and flattered.

My dad was an elder at church and he liked to greet people and chat with them near the entrance of the sanctuary. My church was a very affectionate church--everyone gave hugs to everyone. I was doing what everyone else was doing and would always give hugs in greeting too. I was as proud of giving good strong hugs as I was of giving good strong handshakes. I was even complimented on my hugs once or twice. However, I was in my early teens when swift mortification befell my naive heart when my dad told me that I couldn’t hug men like that because I had breasts now. Thus the side-hug or not hugging at all. I felt like the guy in the Western who gets shot in the chest with an arrow all of a sudden and looks down quizzically before falling over. (My dad was also the one to say, while the family was eating some delicious fried chicken at the dinner table that I had to start wearing a bra.)

Once when I was at youth group I went to give my friend’s dad a hug (because everyone was doing the same exact thing) and he literally put his hands up to keep me back and said, “I only hug my wife.” I know I’ve already used the word “mortified” a million times now, but if I’m stand offish about hugs now this is fucking why. I am so tired of that. So, whatever, I was just doing what other people seemed to do because I thought we were all a big fucking family.

Another very uncomfortable thing for me was, one morning I put on my moms perfume, Beautiful by Este Laude, and my dad got into the truck to take me to school and we hadn’t even made it a half mile from the house and he said I couldn’t wear Mom’s perfume because it “did things for him.” Gross.

In general, my femininity has been a big embarrassment and come between me and my dad. I used to be really close to my dad. I love the guy, but it’s not the same. My growing up put a wedge between us. Fucking boobs. He got all formal and awkward. Don’t get me wrong he is a fantastic guy, he’s one of the most generous, helpful people you will ever meet. He genuinely loves people and he loves me. I just had more fun with dad when I wasn’t a woman.

When I was a preschool age kid I had these big huge strawberry blonde banana curls. As my hair got longer and heavier my mom started to French braid my hair so I could play without it getting all tangled and gnarly. But I played hard all day and my mom was always complaining about my hair. I sure as heck didn’t do anything to take care of it. Finally, when I was eight or so mom took me to get a “Dorothy Hamel” haircut—or a bob. I was thrilled.

In my mom’s opinion, the haircut was a disaster. She didn’t even tell me that at the time, I pieced it together later, but she was really mad at how badly it came out. I looked like the little kid from The Santa Clause and Dunstun Checks In—classic 90’s boy cut. I guess that’s what you get when your aunt who mostly cuts the hair of octogenarians tries to give you a trendy cut.

I loved it, though. On the way home, I couldn’t stop looking at my hair in the side view mirror. If only I wasn’t wearing thick prescription glasses. Not quite coke bottle but heading in that direction.

That was in the third grade and I was going to a public elementary school. I was really into X-Men and being a mutant at the time. One day soon after I got my haircut, at recess, I was playing with some action figures (Wolverine and Gambit against a Mr. Sinister who was double their size and Aladdin--he was good for collateral damage or hostage taking.) This boy came and sat down in the sand with me and said he wanted to play and I said sure. He asked me if I was a boy or a girl and what my name was. I said my name was Tom and we played until the bell rang.

I have never liked clothes shopping. It is such a waste of precious doing-anything-else-in-the-world time. Even back in the day when everything fit me I hated it. I remember school shopping with my mom in Wal-mart around this Dorothy Hamel haircut period and we were picking our way ever so slowly through the girls area of the store.

“Do you like this?” She said and it either had a flower print all over it or poofy shoulders or lace or have a neckline lower than my throat and I made this squinchy face and she pursed her lips into a thin line of impatience and disapproval and put it back on the rack. But I felt like I couldn’t say no to everything so the ones I could tolerate a little more I’d say, “I guess so.”

“Are you going to wear it? She’d say, annunciating overmuch and with her eyebrows brushing the fluorescent lighting over our heads.

“Sure.” I’d say.

And then…from across the aisle I’d see—a black tee shirt with Darth Vader on it and a Tie Fighter in the foreground that looked like it was flying right at you. It said, “Join the Dark Side.” I begged and begged and finally she conceded. I wore it all the time. It disappeared after a while and I suspect it ended up in the wood stove downstairs.

In high school especially I knew I didn’t dress like the other girls. I recognized it but it didn’t occur to me to go out and get clothes like everyone else. I knew I wouldn’t be happy in what everyone else was wearing. I registered that they looked cute and even admired them, but whenever I tried to be like them I felt like an imposter.

I did have some “fashion” influences, if you can even call it that. The first person that was an influence on my dress and sense of style was Becky Hastings. I looked up to her and admired her. I thought she was the coolest person I had ever met. She was very pretty. She wore bandanas in her hair that she stuck there with bobby pins. She had gauges in her ears and a pierced nose. She wore camouflage cargo shorts and converse sneakers and listened to Christian rock and heavy metal bands like August Burns Red, Under Oath, and Demon Hunter. I wasn’t ready for heavy metal of any kind at the time but she introduced me to Thousand Foot Krutch and Pillar and holy shit I felt so cool listening to that driving my car with my newly acquired winter-hat-but-its-cooler-when-you-call-it-a-beanie. I loved the way she talked, the way she laughed at things then said, “Right?”

One day she was driving me home from hanging out with her at her house and she was wearing her gray, black and white cargo shorts and I had my first fully formed sexual inkling about her legs and how I’d like to touch them.

Becky made it okay to not be churchy, but still be a Christian. She made me feel good embracing the styles I preferred. What I liked was very much still in development and it would take me more than a decade to begin to be comfortable with it—but that journey really began with Becky and the realization that I wasn’t the only anomaly.

The second big style influence was a little gem written by Diablo Cody and directed by Jason Reitman called Juno (2007), starring Ellen Page, Jennifer Garner, Allison Janney, Michael Cera and Jason Bateman. But all I really cared about was Ellen Page. The whole cast is great though. I’ve listened to the audio commentary at least twice and watched the movie a half dozen times. It took me a while to get to the movie because everyone was talking about it all the time and I don’t like bandwagons. In part, I might be a little bit of a snob when it comes to books and movies, but also, I think I don’t want to think about a really good experience being shared by so many people in the exact same way.

Anyways, for a few years I worked at this trash heap of a store called Videos Videos Videos back in the day when people went out to rent movies. They also sold gift baskets there and helium balloons. And pornography. The store was really dingy and dusty and smelled like what would happen if you took a whole dustpan full of dust and cobwebs and baked it in the oven for three hours at four hundred degrees. When I first started there they had VHS tapes. I worked under the table there for cash. I was pretty proud of myself. That was the longest lasting job I ever had. I loved going through all the movies and making sure they were alphabetized and facing the right way. I loved when people asked me for recommendations or if such and such was a good movie. I loved thinking about what movie I should play on the television when people came into the store and that it was a nice quiet job and I could do homework and stuff when it wasn’t busy. The best part of the job though, was employees could rent as many movies as they wanted as long as they had been older than three months.

Juno rocked my world. One, it was written by a woman who was working as a stripper at the time. How cool is that? Two, it has no equal to it’s style in writing. It was so hilarious, so fun to listen to and quote and listen to again.

Juno MacGuff wasn’t trying to sound like anyone else, she just was who she was and lived there. It encouraged me to find my own sense of self and style and own it. I also loved the wardrobe in the movie, something I had never paid attention to before. She was happy to be an oddball and probably rocked thrift stores and found cool stuff. If I could be patient and tolerate the gross smells, maybe I could find cool stuff too. Juno encouraged me to develop my own sense of humor and to not be afraid to drop references from movies, books, pop culture or history and if other people got them, cool, if not oh well, that’s not the point. The point is, this is me. Deal with it. Juno gave me a sense that I was the cool one and everyone else around me was boring. For good or ill, this revolutionized my persona and made me much less of a Timid Tina/Awkward Anna. On good days this is what I tapped into.

I bet 75% of popularity or beauty is confidence. If you’re going to get glasses or a unique hair cut and never lift your eyes up off the ground than it automatically puts a target on your back. But if you put your shoulders back and look people in the eye and think in your head, “Why the fuck aren’t YOU wearing coke bottle glasses,” it’s like an Instagram filter that makes you 10x cooler or more beautiful than if you didn’t. Juno gave me training wheels for developing that filter.

A third big style influence in my life (and that of my sisters and mom), was introduced to me by Katie the summer before we went to college, and that was the Gilmore Girls. She had the first few seasons on DVD and we went through the first season together. I think the first two seasons are the best of the whole series writing-wise. I took them home with me and my sisters and my mom and I watched it and none of us were ever the same.

We were never allowed to watch “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” growing up, if we had I suspect that what the “Gilmore Girls” did for us would have probably happened a lot earlier in the life of our female lives. The Gilmore’s (+ Suki) were very smart, well-read, well versed in movies and music and culture, were hilarious and had quick wits and a gift for banter. At the time, it too was a show where the writing set it apart. We were funny before the Gilmore’s, but it seems like after this show came out we reached a new dimension.

In the beginning of the show, Rory wasn’t boy crazy, she wasn’t on the phone constantly, she wasn’t obsessed with her nail color or plucking her eye brows. She actually genuinely enjoyed school, had clearly defined goals for her life and liked reading and studying. She was a breath of fresh air. She made me feel better about myself because that’s exactly how I was. Whenever my ninth grade teacher would put the next book we were reading on our desk it felt like he had just slapped a treasure chest down on my desk, or a holy relic of some kind.

A lesser influence in my life was Jennifer Garner’s Sydney Bristow from “Alias.” She was really smart, worked hard at school (until becoming a spy…then it got crazy) and she was beautiful and sexy. I admired her work ethic. Plus she was going to be an English Lit major like me before the SD-6 fucked up her life.

I was once obsessed with Nancy McKeon from “The Facts of Life.” I had a huge crush on Jo. The whole thing with Jo was that she was a tomboy and a foil to Blaire’s character. I loved that Jo was comfortable being Jo, that she was so tough and grungy and worked on motorcycles and stuff. She was exciting and edgy.

It occurs to me as I sit here and think of the different things in my life that have influenced my dress, my speech and my ideas that I was looking for permission to be me. I knew how I did not fit in, and I wanted to fit in somewhere. I wanted a place to be made for me, but what happened was I had to make a place for myself.

There is more to it than that, but basically the above anecdotes are a constellation of things that connect to make a picture of where and what I am now. Lesbian. Having retreated back into the closet. (I’ll get to that in another entry.) Married to a man. Four kids. Going to Church even though I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in God.

#lgbtq #deconstruction #gender dysphoria #christianity #writing #catharsis #sexuality #closeted #enneagram 4 #infj confessions #marriedlife #religion #juno #elliot page #gilmore girls

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fairyoftbz · 3 years

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spring tenderness | l. sangyeon

🌱 word count: 2.1k 🌱 pairing: dad!sangyeon x mom!reader 🌱 genre: tooth-rotting fluff, dad!au, very domestic! au 🌱 tw: mention of food, past pregnancies and breastfeeding 🌱 synopsis: just a cosy morning where you spend some time with your husband and your two boys, Hyungseo and Youngjae. (yes i took kevin and eric’s korean names, don’t ask) 🌱 a/n: i’m not used to write this kind of au but it was so soft and domestic, i’m pretty sure that sangyeon will be a good dad one day 🥺🥺💖 i’m tagging @staywithmoon bc you wanted to read it and i can only thank you for that bub! <33

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You smiled when childish laughter erupted from the garden, the sound warming your heart at your son's joy. The curtains in the children's bedroom filtered the sunlight, generating a subdued and colourful atmosphere. Your son was in a deep sleep, his tiny shut fists resting delicately at the sides of his head, his pacifier moving to the rhythm of his breathing. With the back of your finger, you tenderly stroke his cheek, a joyful smile on your lips.

You sighed lightly, remembering your husband's reaction the day you announced the good news. When you first learned that you were going to be a mother, you weren't sure what to think. Sangyeon's potential bad reaction terrified you, having no idea how well he was going to take this news. The weight had come off your shoulders as he fell to his knees in front of you, eyes sparkling with happiness and excitement, you knew you wanted to live this experience with your boyfriend by your side.

Three years have passed since that wonderful event, and it's safe to say you've never been happier. A beautiful, healthy little boy had joined your pair, and Sangyeon had become an overprotective father, always ready and prepared to take care of his son by relying on the many readings and Internet researches that he had completed during your pregnancy. While you were feeding your son or resting, he would transform into a man-of-all-work and help around the house. It took a huge weight off your shoulders, just like when he woke up instead of you to soothe your child who was struggling to sleep through the night, allowing you to sleep and recharge your batteries. Your husband made a great daddy and loved you and your son to death, showering you both with unconditional love.

You announced your second pregnancy on his birthday, a few weeks after returning from your honeymoon. You stumbled across a video in which a woman was giving her husband baby clothes for his birthday on social media, and you decided that it was a creative idea and did the same.

During all these years of living together and this new experience as parents, Sangyeon had decided that you were the one with whom he wanted to settle in and share his life, proposing to you two years after your son's birth. The preparation for this fabulous event had brought you together a lot, and your skills in relationship communication had evolved exponentially.

Here you are now in a life of four, living in a house with a dog and a garden, a place your oldest son loved almost more than his bedroom and his toys. He spent most of his time there when the weather was nice and warm, having fun playing soccer with his father. He also loved making angels when the snow was in abundance, the smile that radiated on his face filled you with the greatest happiness in the world.

Taking your new born son in your arms, you rocked him gently against you, feeling his warm body all wrapped up in his pyjamas against your chest. He struggled to open his eyes and let his dummy fall against his chest. He was so cute that you couldn't suppress a smile, your son returning almost instantly the second his eyes met yours. The big brown orbs he got from his father held a lot of love, and his little feet wriggled in excitement when you kissed his forehead.

"Did you sleep well, my little angel?" Your thumb stroked his cheek, and he continued to gaze at you in awe, your heart softening with tenderness as he let out a gurgle to answer. Gently fixing his position in your arms as his cheek rolled against your chest, his eyes still misted with sleep bored into yours as he slowly emerged from his slumber.

Opening the patio door to the balcony, you tightened your cardigan around yourself as a light wind blew, creating a slight chill in the comforting morning heat of late spring. Your eldest son was chasing a foam ball, your husband standing in front of the miniature goal that reached his thigh, purposefully missing the ball for your son to score.

"Goaaaaaaaal!" Your other son threw his little arms in the air and ran around the garden, your dog following him with his tail wagging. Sangyeon shrugged but smiled, amused by your son's attitude and enthusiasm. You smiled too from your spot on the balcony, gently cradling your other son in your arms. "Good job, Hyungseo!" Your husband looked around the living room for a short moment, looking for you, but he gave you a smile you couldn't imagine brighter when he noticed you up there, congratulating your son for his accomplishment, but the latter didn't hear you.

Once he finally stopped, breathless, Sangyeon walked over to him while chuckling, bending down to be at the same level with him. You watched your husband whisper something into your son's ear, who almost immediately looked up at you. You gave him a little wave with a smile, and he came running up, locating himself just below the balcony, a huge smile on his face.

"Hi Mom! Hi Youngjae!" He moved his small hands from side to side, and you gave him a flying kiss, Sangyeon lifting him from behind to settle him on his shoulders. He laughed as he kept waving, sending him a playful wink in return as you couldn't reach him.

Your husband grabbed Hyungseo's hands and started running around the garden, still with him on his shoulders, a crystal-clear laugh falling from their lips as they were brimming with energy already so early in the morning. You walked down to the garden, and they stopped when they saw you, Hyungseo touching the ground again. He ran to you as you sat in a lounge chair, watching his younger brother with attentive eyes.

"Are you going to feed him, Mommy?" He asked, and you nodded, making sure your new born was comfortably positioned in your arms. "Come on Hyungseo, let's go make some bread and jam, hm? Youngjae needs to be calm to eat. We can come back to them as soon as we prepared breakfast, okay?" Your husband explained to your child, whose face immediately lit up at the mention of food. “Yesssss!" Your son exclaimed and clapped his tiny hands, Sangyeon gently pushing him inside the house. You looked up smiling, closing your eyes for a quick second as he kissed your lips. "I'll be back in 5 minutes," his hand came to cradle your cheek, and you nodded, enjoying the tender gesture.He kissed your forehead before striding towards the kitchen, closing the sliding door behind him.

You took the opportunity to breastfeed your son, who had his tiny hand resting against your chest, trying to cling onto his food source as your two other boys bustled about and laughed in the kitchen. Your thumb stroked his chubby cheek and you beamed, the tightness you felt in your breast from the milk not being able to compete with the happiness that bloomed in your heart.

"Here you go Mommy," your son's frail voice reached your ears again as your gaze stared into space for a brief moment out of exhaustion, your hand still against your child's face. Hyungseo was holding a tall glass of juice with his two hands, Sangyeon appearing again, balancing three plates in his hands. He put two on his side and one at the other end of the table where Hyungseo usually sat. You kissed your son on the forehead as a thank you and took a few sips, feeling the sweet, pulpy liquid run down your neck and quench your thirst.

"Breakfast served for the best mom in the world," he handed you a plate with two slices of toasted bread spread with butter and honey cut into small squares, smiling at the fact that he had thought about you and your health. "Thank you very much honey," he kissed the top of your head and watched for a few moments Youngjae in your arms as he suckled quietly, his finger caressing his tiny, plump arm. "He's just as handsome as his mother," Sangyeon muttered before looking up at you, a tender smile on his face. You kissed him again, this time on the cheek, your heart going fuzzy at the notable sweetness and sincerity behind his words.

Your husband sat down with Hyungseo and began to enjoy breakfast, chatting and exchanging looks with great affection. You had never been so complete, and you could only thank life for making your path cross with Sangyeon's. He gave you a wink and quickly wiped off the chocolate spread that decorated the corner of your son's mouth with his finger before bringing it to his own mouth, the latter asking a lot of questions about his little brother and his health.

He was indeed going through the phase when curiosity was the only thing on his mind, your husband sometimes losing patience as your son wondered about anything and everything. Fortunately, he hadn't yet been amazed at how he and his little brother were created and brought into the world, but it won't be long in coming.

"Mommy! Are you coming to play with Daddy and me?" Hyungseo ran to the rocking chair in which you always fed Youngjae, your eldest child stroking his little brother's skull with his hand. "No Hyungseo, leave Mommy alone, she needs some rest. Nourishing a child can get pretty exhausting for your mother, but she will come and play soon," Sangyeon explained as he carried the plates to the kitchen, his body in the glass doorway. He nodded to his son to follow him, and he obeyed, a sad pout decorating his lips. "Honey, I'll come and play with you after I put Youngjae to bed for a nap, okay?" Sorrow left your son's eyes almost immediately, beaming as he heard his father call him from the kitchen. "Come on, go help Daddy with the dishes. Mommy promises to take care of you as soon as possible," he trotted back to your chair and pressed his lips on your cheek in a slobbery kiss before running to the kitchen.

You chuckled through your nose when you heard Sangyeon scold him for running around barefoot before shifting your attention back to your son, who was looking at you with a lot of admiration in the eyes. Giving him a lovely smile, your thumb came to caress his cheek again, a wave of relief flooding your chest as he finally let go of your breast. After you burped him, you were about to go upstairs to change his diapers, but Sangyeon emerged from the kitchen right at the same time, smiling at the sight of you cradling your son on your shoulder.

"It's okay, I'll take care of it," he winked at you before taking his son from your arms and kissing him on the forehead, Hyungseo walking up to you to hug you, his little arms struggling to wrap themselves around your thighs. "Come on, Hyungseo, let's brush our teeth and then we'll play, okay?" He nodded, still leaning against you, and you took his hand, leading him to the second floor, following the same path your husband had taken a few seconds ago.

Being the big boy he wanted to be and in a hurry to get back to playing with his foam ball, your oldest awkwardly brushed his teeth on his own, putting toothpaste all over his face and fingers. You lowered yourself to his level and showed him the right movements he needed to do to brush his teeth properly. Sangyeon was in the corner of the room, a smile on his lips as he changed your son's diapers, moved by the attention you paid to your children's education. He gently wiped Youngjae clean and tickled his belly once he was done clipping the press studs of his bodysuit, your son immediately giggling at his father.

"Everything's good, you can go back to play, but don't run down the stairs," you ruffled your son's hair with a tender hand, Hyungseo dashing outside the bathroom. You were about to raise your voice, but you listened to him go down the stairs one by one with a content smile, satisfied that he obeyed you. "Thank you," you mumbled, wanting to take your son off the baby-changing table, but Sangyeon was quicker.

"You already carry him all day, let me relieved your back and take care of him," you rested his head on his shoulder as he hugged your son, feeling a hand cling to your cheek, making you laugh as Youngjae also wanted to participate in this moment of tenderness. "Come on, let's go downstairs before our other one gets all jealous," you chuckled before kissing your son then husband, letting him grab some sunglasses and a little hat for your son.

Grazing the railing with your fingertips, you sighed with ease, feeling loved and cared for by the three men who lived in your house. You used to have many doubts and insecurities about motherhood, but your husband's help and support had erased them all. You were happy to be a mom, and nothing could change that.

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before). Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #timari #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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shinsouskitten · 4 years

Note

Hey Kat🤗 I was wondering if you could write about Bakugou, Shinsou, or Hawks meeting the reader’s family and something goes wrong and they don’t like them at first. Or possibly the parents think they are a negative influence on the reader.

Hey hey hey

I asked my mom how she’d react if I was dating someone she didn't like and she rlly just said “you wouldn’t be dating them if i didn’t like them”

like damn sis okay chile

Warnings: does it count as angst if the parents are the ones being mean? if so, there’s angst, but also fluff, bakugou is bakugou

---

💥 Katsuki Bakugou:

It wasn’t the best first meeting. You had planned to introduce your long term boyfriend to your family at your own pace, but of course the villains of the city had other plans.

You were on a date, en route to the cinema to catch a new movie amidst Bakugou’s insistence that it was a ‘stupid unrealistic movie’. Mere metres from the entrance a villain came rushing past, a handful of gold jewelry in his arms. He pushed you to the side in order to keep running, which of course enraged Bakugou, who immediately took off after the villain, completely oblivious to the sirens following his path.

Unsurprisingly he caught him within moments, but what you hadn’t realized was that all the events had been caught by your dad, standing on the other side of the street. Your dad knew you had a partner, and he knew that they were a hero, given you cancelled every opportunity to meet with the excuse of ‘another villain attack’. What he hadn't expected, however, was for your partner to be possibly his least favorite hero currently climbing the ranks.

Later that night, after your forfeit on the movie date in favour of a much more simple date with your bed, you had a series of texts from your parents.

So, Ground Zero is the partner we’ve heard so little about?

He’s a bit aggressive, isn’t he?

You should’ve told us sooner.

We just don’t want you getting hurt.

That had been the moment you were waiting for. Anyone who didn’t know Bakugou (and a few who did) would describe him as a never ending pool of anger, too aggressive to be a hero and too mean to be a good partner. But if they knew him the same way you did, they would know that’s not always the case.

Of course he’s angry when he has to deal with stupid villains interrupting every date he plans, or news reporters crowding him like an animal in a zoo whenever they got the chance. But he was different with you, more relaxed. He didn’t exactly express his emotions in the best ways, but he loved you, and he’d never hurt you.

Your parents practically demanded a meeting the next day, and blatantly refused to accept any excuses of villain attacks or the like. The meeting was awkward, with your father almost attempting to provoke Bakugou simply to prove a point, but your boyfriend knew this. He put on a good face, masking his worry and anger with an uncharacteristically kind attitude and baffling you all.

Maybe he’d changed his ways. Or at least, that was the conclusion your parents came to by the end of the night, wishing you well as you made your way home. You fought the urge to laugh at Bakugou’s sudden change once your parents left his view, and held back a smile throughout his mutterings of ‘stupid extras’.

He kept up appearances for long enough, but by the time your parents noticed it was a farce, they realized there was nothing they could do to stop the love you held for each other. After all, he may be an ass, but he’d never hurt you.

---

💜 Hitoshi Shinsou:

Shinsou, on the other hand, wanted to meet your family pretty quickly. If anything, just to get it out of the way, but there was a part of him that wanted the validation that he was good enough for you. Sometimes he just didn’t feel like he was, so if your parents liked him, it’d definitely be a weight off his shoulders.

The two of you picked out a nice restaurant, keeping in mind your parents favorite foods in an attempt to butter them up, then send them a text asking you to meet you and Shinsou for dinner. They replied eagerly, especially when you mentioned the two of you were covering the bill.

You arrived first, giving your name at the door and sitting down on the plush leather anxiously awaiting the arrival of your parents. When you finally saw them, the two of you stood up to greet them, you offering hugs while Shinsou held out his hand with a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He said.

Your parents nodded, a false replica of a smile on their faces as they ignored Shinsou’s hand.

The air around you was thick, no one willing to be the first to break the uncomfortable silence, until you eventually suggested you all sit down. You made a mental note to tip your waiter extra when the night was over. It was clear they could sense the awkwardness, and thank the lord they came over at the exact moments you feared a bomb might explode.

The meals went down perfectly, but the atmosphere made it difficult to enjoy anything. Your parents spoke little, and when they did, it was always to you, almost as if Shinsou wasn’t even present.

To be truly honest, he’d expected this reaction, although he hoped he was just overthinking. He knew people didn’t react to his quirk well, and there were many misconceptions about how much he used it. He had hoped your parents hadn’t been so quick to judge.

By the time your waiter delivered your check, you were ready to curl up in your bed and not emerge for a good few weeks. The four of you walked to the door silently, but before you could wish them goodnight, Shinsou spoke up, his hand holding yours tightly as he faced your parents.

“I just want you to know, whether you like me or not, I love Y/n more than anything, and I would never do anything to hurt them. I will protect them until my last breath, and I hope that we can sort out any differences with time.”

Did he really just confess his love to you in front of your parents? Yup. Well, at least it seemed to get a response this time, as your dad replied:

“I should hope you do.” Your dad held out his hand, and Shinsou took it a bit more than happily. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Shinsou laughed awkwardly, not sure whether to be scared at your dad's threat or not, especially when he ended it without another word, turning and walking towards their car.

I mean at least he spoke to him, right? That’s an improvement?

Either way, Shinsou quickly realized in reality the only opinion that mattered to him, was yours.

oof having a good dad who cares about you? couldnt be me. also i absolutely hate this one and idk why, but shinsou’s my bby and i feel i disappointed him

---

🍗 Keigo Takami (Hawks):

The meeting was almost completely by chance. Keigo often took you on sky-high (not mile-high get your minds outta the gutters ppl) trips on his off days, and while flying one day, you saw your parents' house from the clouds. They hadn’t met Keigo yet, so you suggested that you pop in for a moment. He agreed, and in seconds, you were standing on their porch, hand raised high to ring the doorbell.

Your mother opened the door, surprised to see you, and even more surprised to see the bird standing behind you. Nevertheless she invited you both in, and as your father called Keigo over, your mother pulled you to one side, whispering quiet enough that the two men wouldn’t hear her.

“The news says he’s a bit of a playboy.” You said.

“The news says a lot of things.” You rolled your eyes.

“And his fans?” She asked.

“What about them?” You replied.

“Well,” she paused, “he can get a little friendly with them, don’t you think.”

You sighed. Your mother wasn’t the first person to bring up Keigo’s fans when discussing your relationship, but you knew that in reality, he couldn’t be bothered with the swarms of people throwing themselves at his feet when he had you waiting for him at home.

“He’s a friendly person.” You shrugged.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Just say what you want to, mom.” You rounded on her, the heightened volume of your voice drawing Keigo’s attention from the other side of the room. “Say it. Go on.”

She glanced around, seeing both Keigo and your father now watching the two of you.

“Fine.” You continued. “I know he has hundreds of fans who would kill to be in his bed at night. But you know what? He’s not there. He’s with me, watching crappy tv and binge eating kfc (CANNIBALISM). If you don’t like him, that’s your problem. But don’t try and convince me to do anything but love him, cause you’re not going to do it.”

Baffled, your mother stammered for a response, but you weren’t about to wait for one.

“C’mon Keigo,” you called, “we’re leaving.”

He was next to you in moments, and you grabbed his hand to pull him out of the house, stopping only when you were satisfied you were out of sight of your parents.

“So, kid…” He looked across at you with a smirk, wrapping an arm around your waist as he lay his chin on your shoulder. “You love me?”

“Shut up bird brain.”

again i hate this but where my baby birds at?

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou #bnha shinsou #hawks x reader #hawks #bnha hawks #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami #bnha keigo #mha x reader

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warpriest-writings · 3 years

Text

Red eyes on Grandmother's grave.

Sticks broke under her feet, running as fast and hard as she could but it felt like running through jelly, her feet caked in heavy mud.

“Someone! Help me!!! Please!” She cried out but couldn’t hear her own voice.

Before her was the pair of sharp, red eyes out in the middle distance. She couldn’t make out a face; she wasn’t even sure if the eyes were attached to anythin, just floating there, haunting her. Those hungry, starved eyes that wanted to devour her. The eyes just hung there as she sat there frozen.

“What do you want!?” she screamed out, but again her words came out silent.

The sharp, red eyes narrowed, then rushed towards her as a hand reached out at her.

With a difficult, almost pained, inhalation of breath, Patsy woke with a startled jump, accidently knocking her kitty out of bed.

She gasped, “Bean! Come here. Mweh, mweh.” She made kissy noises to her large Maine Coon. Rubbing her fingers together as she did so attempting to soothe Bean and entice her to come back into the bed. Not that Bean needed much convincing; no one in the Desoto household could remember a single night that cat hasn’t slept in Patsy’s bed. By the time she got Bean back in bed and started petting her, Patsy had almost entirely forgotten her nightmare about the...was she running? Regardless, after several minutes of kitty snuggles, she checked her phone, loathing to discover that it was 5:53, merely thirty minutes before her alarm would have gone off anyway.

Of course, she wouldn’t have been lucky enough to wake up from her scary dream at a reasonable 1:17, or even a moderate 3:32. Good, god given times in the early morning a girl could go back to sleep too. Patsy sighed and entered an anxious state of contemplation, debating getting in the shower now and getting that out of her morning routine or laying there, blissfully enjoying the time before she had to get up for real. An absolute miserable time that went on in her head until her alarm went off. Ah, yes, neither productive nor relaxing. Thank you, Anxiety.

Getting out of bed with a less than encouraging groan, Patsy began her morning routine. Feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted by 6:45 AM, Patsy walked briskly down the stairs while putting her long and bouncy kinky hair into a ponytail.

“Morning, Mom!”

Her mom, Elana, looked back at her as some toast popped out of the toaster, “Hey, Sweetheart!”

Joseph, her dad, poured two cups of coffee before handing one to his wife as she handed him the plate of now buttered toast. “Hey, Pats. Finished your homework last night?” Giving Elana a quick kiss.

“Course, Dad,” she said, silently beaming that her parents were still happily married after nearly sixteen years; it was more than could be said about several of her friends at school.

Her mother was the manager at a local small diner, it was a nice little place, near enough to her school that Patsy would usually walk there at the end of the day and hang out with her friends or finish her homework before her mom’s shift ended at six when the night manager came in. Her father worked from home, and studied. Technically, he was still a student at the University of Illinois, but he worked a lot of sub contracted programming and coding jobs on the side. Once she asked him why he was still in college and his reply was, “Sometimes people are just...nervous about getting out there, and sometimes you just so happen to be very good at filling out grant applications. Your momma has a steady job that takes care of us, and my work on the side makes sure we stay in the green.”

“Need a ride to school today, Pats?” her dad said, snapping Patsy out of it.

“I’m good; I kinda want some time to just think,” she told him.

“It’d be nothing, it’s getting colder out and I love driving my babygirl to-”

“Joseph,” her mother interrupted.

He backed down, “Alright, alright. Letting Pats be all independent.”

“Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll have breakfast at school today, I’m going to get going,” Patsy said.

Joseph began reaching into his pocket, “Need money?”

“I’m good, I still have twenty from helping out at the diner.”

“Now hold on, that’s your money. It’s our job to feed you,” he said, and offered her a five, “Take it, and make sure you grab an apple or an orange or something those school food scientist freaks can’t turn into half-baked prison sloop."

Patsy nodded, “Okay, okay.” She took the money, then gave her dad a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “Love you, mom. Love you, dad.” Then grabbed her backpack from a kitchen table chair and made her way to the door, only partially catching what her dad was saying about Patsy being braver than he was for voluntarily eating school food.

From her house it was roughly a twenty-minute walk to school. Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity for a quick ride to school, but her mind was still preoccupied by that dream. Most of it was lost, faded just beyond her consciousness’s reach. Those red eyes; Patsy could still see them crystal clearly in her mind. She could almost feel them on her back now. Patsy shuttered at the thought.

As she walked she barely heard the wizzing of bike tires until they were right behind her, lost in her thoughts Patsy made a sound reminiscent of an “Eek!” and jumped off to the grass beside the sidewalk. The biker slowed to a stop, “Miss. Pascala, are you alright?”

He knew her name? Patsy looked at the biker, as she had been largely looking at her moving feet up until that point and the fact that from her perspective the biker was right in front of the morning sun, she had to squint and couldn’t really make out his face, “Uh, yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Hmm?” he took off his helmet, revealing quite the head of curly locks, “Miss. Pascala, a little out of it this morning?”

As her eyes adjusted she suddenly realized, “OH! Mr. Morales, sorry. It was all sunny, and I was kinda lost in my thoughts, and I’ll just stop talking now.”

Her history teacher looked at her with a bit of a raised eyebrow, “I shall see you in the third period, Miss. Pascala, have a pleasant walk. Homework is due by the end of class.” He awkwardly coughed and rode off, quickly moving into the bicycle lane of the road.

Sometime later, after what is by all rights and definitions a poor excuse of a breakfast that would send Mr. DeSoto into a rambling state of disbelief that this was the best that taxpayer money could do for feeding America’s youth, as well as Patsy’s first hour math class (math first period of the day, she was convinced that the school gods hated her) and her second period economics class where they learned..something, Patsy was sure of that. She remembers taking notes and everything. There was a presentation with slides and everything, so they must have learned something...So after econ was her history class with Mr. Morales.

She liked Mr. Morales, more than her math teacher that’s for sure. “Math is the language of the universe.” She was taking English and French and frankly didn’t feel like she had time for a third language course. Mr. Morales was different, he got swept away with the subject sometimes and seemed to have a real love for it.

“We can learn much from history, but the people who made it weren’t trying to teach morals, and they weren’t thinking about just how important that what they were doing took place in 1776, or during the first or second half of the twelfth century. The past is made up of the actions of people who were concerned with living their lives, and if what they were doing was the right thing to do, or the right thing for them.” Mr. Morales said on the first day of school. He was also just a bit odd. His thick curly hair, a trait he described as indicative of his strong greek heritage, was peppered ever so slightly. Otherwise he held onto his youth remarkably well. looking closer to mid twenties rather than late thirties.

After the class ended, Patsy went up to her teacher, “Uh, Sir, excuse me.”

Mr. Morales looked up from his tablet from which he often powered through novels, “Hmm, yes, Miss. Pascala?”

“I was just going over that pop quiz you handed back today and I would have gotten one hundred percent if you didn’t mark my answer for question two wrong.” She said,

He set his tablet down, “That is usually how people do not get full marks. Allow me to double check that.” He held his hand open.

Patsy handed him the paper, “You see, I’m certain the correct answer is B and I’d like to get full credit.”

“Third century B.C. Yes, you are correct. I’ll be sure to update the gradebook and parent portal to reflect this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss. Pascala, I imagine I marked everyone else who answered as you did as incorrect as well.”

He handed her back the quiz after remarking her score and immediately wrote a note he then stuck to his computer monitor.

She excused herself and left with a bright smile, making her way to her next class, and then on and so forth with her day. As she was heading towards her computer typing class after lunch (which was not notably better than the breakfast, it is a wonder that these children survive long enough to eat microwaved ramen in college dorms.) She accidentally bumped into the Principle as she was turning a corner.

“Ooft!” She said, feeling like she walked into a lumpy brick wall.

Principal Robertson cleared his throat and looked down his nose at the young lady, “It is not becoming to run down the hails and blindly around corners.”

He had been the principal at her school for well over fifteen years now, and he seemed to live for it. Participating in school spirit events and playing along with the dress up days, at least he did last year. No one wanted to really mention it but over the summer he lost a lot of weight and his skin got paler...greyer was almost more accurate. Hushed rumors said he was diagnosed with some cancer or another but refused to stop working while on chemo and Patsy wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Looking down at her now she wasn’t feeling very comfortable.

“I, uh, I really need to get to class.” Patsy said

The sickly Principal sighed a heavy breath, “Just slow down.”

“Right, of course. Thank you Mr. I mean, Principal Robertson.” With that she took off, carefully walking not-to-quickly.

Passing around the next corner and with her computer lab in sight Patsy let out her own sigh of relief. The bell ringing just steps away, “Whyyyyyyy?” Patsy said in a hushed, exasperated tone.

She quickly rushed into the room and to her seat, hoping maybe she wouldn’t be marked late. The class lesson began and she got to work with her typing program.

“Hey, Patsy,” Her friend Abby said, “Think your mom would give me a ride home after her shift at the dinner?”

“Course, Abbs.” She replied, “You getting anywhere with these?”

“Not really, my hands know the keyboard but my words per minute is garbage.” Abby said.

“My words per minute is fine, but I have to force myself to type the way that we’re supposed to. It doesn’t help that at home I always just type with my pointer and middle fingers.”

“You type a lot at home?” She asked, “Are you writing something?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, “No! of course not...I just look up a lot of random stuff when I’m bored.” She must never know.

Abby raised an eyebrow, “Mhm, right.”

Over the intercom the school receptionist called out, “Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office, Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office.

Abby winced, and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

She tried to return it, her thoughts were racing. Surely she wasn’t being called down to the Office for accidentally bumping into the Principal in the hallway was she? Why wouldn’t he just take her there right after she did it then? Maybe it wasn’t about anything she did at all. Oh God...what if her dad accidentally started another grease fire trying to make home fries? What if Mom got into an accident on her way to the dinner? Her mind was a beehive that someone just punted halfway across a football field.

The receptionist must have noticed the worry on her face and gave her a very sweet smile, “Don’t worry about it too much, Sweetie. Just keep your chin up and remember none of this will matter in ten years.” Reassuring words, either her parents were fine or she was just as unsure why she called down Patsy as she was herself.

Bracing herself mentally, Patsy opened the door and pushed it to the magnetic door stopper that held it open.

“Closer the door behind you, Miss. DeSoto.” Principal Robertson said.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip, she wasn’t sure why she was feeling so destressed over this. She hadn’t done anything as far as she could remember or mentally justify. She closed the door, getting a last glimpse of Mrs. O'Riley, the nice receptionist.

Run! Every nerve in her body screamed out but she moved forward to sit in the chair opposite Principal Robertson at his desk anyway. He spoke up; she only saw his lips move, the words not landing correctly in her ears.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Could you say that again?” She asked.

His brow furrowed, “I do not care for repeating myself, Miss. Desoto.”

She sank in the chair. “Sorry.”

“And do not mumble. Speak clearly or not at all!”

Patsy sat back up in her seat in shock, “Principal Robertson, I don’t think you’re allowed to speak to me like that.”

“Do not speak back to me, you’re the one in trouble here.” He said venomously.

Trembling she stood up, “I need to go.”

He got up as well, “I think not, DeSoto. You’ve been hiding really well, tricked everyone but not me.” He licked his upper lip.

A full body chill ran through her entire being and oddly, in retrospect she felt, Patsy really wanted her kitty Bean there. She said, “Principal Robertson, you can’t be serious right now!? Think….think about your wife!”

Robertson frowned hideously, “That bint isn’t important.” He smiled, which was so much more disturbing to the young lady, “not like you, DeSoto, you have been worth all of my effort and patience.”

He reached out for her when the door opened, “Principal Robertson,” called out an all too reassuring voice, “I was wondering if you had the chance to look over those field trip papers I….” His hand less than two inches away from her, Patsy’s whole body was trembling but she couldn’t make her legs run.

Mr. Morales stood in the open doorway, his eyes moving quickly from Patsy to Robertson. “Miss. Pascala, behind me.” He said putting himself between them.

The Principal scowled in frustration, “I’m not entirely sure what you think you are doing, Linus. You are acting like I am some sort of threat to the girl.”

“This doesn’t look good, James.” Mr. Morales replied.

Robertson scowled deeper, and Patsy in that moment of fear and confusion thought his scowl pulled unnaturally at his skin.

Mr. Morales raised his hands defensively, “What are you?” Striking a serious tone with his voice that she had never heard from her history teacher before. It was a cold voice that set her skin on edge almost as much as Principal Robertson had.

Before her eyes the late fifties Principal of clear declining health grabbed Mr. Morales and threw him against a glass case containing various trophies for academic and sports accomplishments. Patsy left out a loud scream and Mrs. O’Riley’s own scream wasn’t far behind.

Later the police officers that responded to the Receptionist's call would ask Patsy what happened next, and she told them the truth. It all happened so fast she wasn’t sure what exactly happened. Mr. Morales, who had bruised ribs, and some cuts from the glass but was thankfully otherwise alright, shouted something that didn’t make sense to her at Robertson and the Principal ran off. She didn’t get to hear what Mr. Morales told them but they questioned him for a good long while.

School was cancelled early and parents were furiously calling the school board and the district for answers. There was a warrant issued for Robertson, and some people were threatening to pull their kids altogether. No one wants their kids to go to the school where the principal threatened a fifteen year old girl and assaulted a teacher.

Superintendent Wilkens sent a parent portal wide email that a warrant was formally filed against Mr. Robertson and the police had opened an investigation. In addition to Resource Officer Thomas three more Iron county police officers would be stationed at the school for security and rest assured that school would be open again Friday.

“No, no...this is ridiculous. My daughter was threatened by that man.” Patsy’s dad said to the Superintendent’s secretary. “Don’t put me on hold! ….Yes, I believe that you do have another call coming in. I….” he sighed heavily, and tossed his cellphone into the living room sofa.

“Sweetheart.” Elana said, putting her hands tenderly on Joseph’s shoulders.

“We worked with that man in the ice cream socal last year, Laney.”

Just out of their sight, sitting against the hallway wall Patsy hugged Bean. Now more than ever the tridactyl kitty gave her some comfort. She kept replaying it over in her mind, Robertson’s face looked so...uncanny valley. Elana had tried to reassure her that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wanting to think that he was somehow less than human because of how he was acting.

Her phone buzzed, touching the wall it tapped rapidly and loudly and Patsy reactively tried to grab it before her parents noticed.

“Pats? Babygirl, I thought you were laying down.” Her dad said, walking over to her, flipping the hallway light on. “Well, I thought you were scrolling through your phone, pretending to be laying down.”

She gave Bean a little squeeze like when she was littler, “I tried, but I couldn’t take a nap.”

“It’s okay, Pats. How'bout I make up some of my famous root beer floats?”

She slowly nodded, “That would be good.”

“Come on, Patsy.” Elana said, “We can sit at the table while your father makes us a feel better treat.”

She got up and walked over to the kitchen table, Bean closely trailing her like always. “Hey, think I could maybe sleep in your guys' bed tonight?”

Elana quickly glanced at her husband, the pair of them sharing a whole conversation in a moment.

“Of course, Pats.” Her dad said, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“It’ll be like when you crawled in my bed when you were little after a nightmare woke you up.” Elana said.

Her father was scooping ice cream into three tall milkshake glasses as Patsy pulled Elana into a hug, “Thank you for being my mom.” she said softly.

Elana returned the hug, remembering the first time Patsy told that to her and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She was Pascala's mom, there wasn’t any doubt of that. She didn’t give birth to Patsy though. Her birth mom and Joseph’s first wife passed away when she was less than six months old, an oncoming driver didn’t stop at the red light as she was going through the intersection on her way home from work. Elana was her birth mother’s best friend and Patsy’s godmother. After the funeral she just kept helping Joseph out with Patsy, eventually moving in with them. Joseph and Elana married when she was seven, but she had really always been her mom.

As frustrated as he was with the situation, Joseph did his best to cool down and help Patsy feel better, telling his corny dad jokes he spent hours and hours looking up at his computer desk.

He spent almost a half hour that night checking and double checking that every door and window was locked that night, as well as making sure their security system was armed. Unlike Patsy, who almost couldn’t sleep without Bean snuggled next to her, Elana found the heavy cat overly warm but she gritted her teeth through it for Patsy’s sake.

The next morning, Thursday, the day after her high school Principal threatened her, assaulted a teacher and just disappeared. She woke up to the smell of her dad making eggs, over cooking them. Elana always made them a little runny. Everything seemed to run by a little slowly. Like she had been jerked out of a deep daydream and couldn’t pull herself entirely out of her own head.

Around noon she and her mom were watching a cartoon as Joseph entered the room on the phone, “I see, well, thank you, Linus. Yes? I’ll ask her now, we were planning on going to the diner for lunch anyway.” He pulled the phone slightly away from his face and turned to the pair on the sofa, “Pats, Mr. Morales is out of the hospital. He asked if it would be alright if he met us at the diner today.”

She let out a huge sigh of relief hearing he was out, that meant he was okay, “Yeah, that sounds good!”

Joseph put the phone back to his face, “She’s okay with it. We’ll see you there at one. Yep, bye, it was good hearing from you too. And...thank you, Linus.” he hung up and put his phone into his pocket. “He said the superintendent pushed the school’s opening back to Monday, I guess we angry few can make a difference.”

Elana pulled her legs onto the sofa and sat cross legged, turning towards him, “That’s great! I think that’s what WIlken’s should have done from the start, but hey. So we’ll be eating with Patsy’s english teacher?”

“History teacher.” Patsy said, correcting her.

“Linus is also one of my work associates, but yes. He just wants to check in with Pats.”

She nodded, “Alright, I’m going to take a quick shower before we go.”

She gave Joseph a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the room, her husband replacing her spot on the sofa.

Patsy gave her dad a big hug. “So Mr. Morales is alright?”

“Some cuts and bruises but he sounded alright, he didn’t talk about himself much.” Joseph said.

Before long they were sitting down as Margret, one of the servers at the diner, was bringing over a pot of coffee for Joseph and Elana and a Shirley temple for Patsy. “Hey, Patsy.” the retirement age waitress said, “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m okay, Margret.” She said, putting on a cheerful voice.

“That’s the spirit, I’ll be sure to bring you over the biggest slice of cake.” She said

“Yay cake!”

Elana laughed a little, “We’re going to wait to order, Margie. We’re waiting on another person.”

The older waitress nodded her head slightly, “Sounds good, Laney. I’ll be back in two shakes with your refreshments.” With that she was off to serve some of the other customers, or guests as corporate would like they be referred to.

The three of them chatted while they waited for Mr. Morales, while they did Patsy’s thoughts drifted to the bizarre notion that when you see someone you only ever see at school, or school related events that when you see them out and about in everyday life the person is suddenly almost unrecognizable. Like in those children sitcom shows where someone says “Wait, you mean teachers don’t live at school??” or something else mildly insulting to the audience about their perceived intelligence. Still, Patsy wondered if it was going to be super weird seeing Mr. Morales not just outside of school, but on purpose outside of school. He normally dressed in clean but not ironed dress pants and some sort of long sleeved shirt, either a button up or a sweater; would he be wearing a rock and roll band t shirt and shorts? What if he wears his curly hair in a manbun outside of work? The horror.

It was almost a disappointment when Mr. Morales showed up in tan dress pants and a blue sweater, as well as a sling that held his left arm, some bandaging on his cheek with some purplish bruising around its edges.

“Linus,” her dad said, “Glad you could make it.”

“We’re both just so grateful for what you did yesterday.” Elana said as her husband scooted further into the booth, making room for him.

“Oh, I only did what any good samaritan should have in the situation.” Mr. Morales said, sitting down. “Ah!” He smiled at the pot of coffee sitting on the table, “May I? I’m afraid I skipped my usual morning cup...come to think of it, skipped most of my usual morning routine today.”

“Go ahead, refills are free.” Patsy said.

“Are they?” He asked with a smile, awkwardly pouring himself a hot cup.

Margret returned, prompting her mom to say that they’ll probably need a few minutes for Mr. Morales to decide what he wants.

“Oh, go ahead.” The teacher reassured, “ I know what I want, a short stack of pancakes, and two pieces of bacon on the chewier side.”

“Oh, alright!” Elana said, “Brunch it is then, I guess we’re ready to order. Patsy, you go first.”

Patsy put in her order, a belgian waffle with strawberries and a lemon poppyseed muffin. Her father ordered the same as Mr. Morales, but he wanted his bacon crispy. Elana ordered two sunny side up eggs and some toast to dunk in the yolk. With that Margaret took off again.

“It just seemed so...out of nowhere.” Patsy said, suddenly.

Surprised, Elana reactively gave her a side hug, “No one ever expects these sorts of things to happen, Sweetheart. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“Principal Robertson wasn’t...normal, right?” She asked, addressing her teacher.

Mr. Morales avoided her gaze, looking down into his coffee.

“Pats, Robertson wasn’t the man we thought he was, or he changed or something messed up.” her dad said.

“You saw his face too, right Mr. Morales, you asked him what he was.”

Her parents, worried for Patsy, then looked to the teacher they invited out.

“Miss. Pascala, I don’t know what had gotten into him, or what had become of him. That certainly wasn’t the man I have worked with for over two years now, but rest assured. He wasn’t some abnormality, he was a man, a man who revealed himself to be quite the monster.” Mr. Morales said finally, just as their food arrived.

To her parent’s relief, Patsy dropped the subject. They ate and her dad asked Mr. Morales how she was doing in his class.

“She is an ideal student” he told them, “Attentive, curious, she has a mind for nuance, and seems to genuinely want to understand why people did what they had done in the history lessons.” Which unfortunately made her quite uncomfortable, like she was in a parent-teacher conference all of all of a sudden.

As Patsy began to withdraw into herself, Elana asked her, “So, Patsy, is there anything else you’d like to do in town today before we head home?” She hoped to bring Patsy back to the surface of her own mind.

“Huh?” Patsy asked, she heard what her mom said, but her brain hadn’t really processed it yet. Something it usually would do about a split second after someone repeated what they said to her. “Oh, uh...well I was hoping we could go swing by grandma’s grave?” She stated her request with the inflection of a question. Her grandma wasn’t buried very far from where they lived. However, she knew that her dad always had a hard time going. He stayed in the car when they visited her grave a couple weeks before school started.

Joseph swallowed hard, but nodded, “Of course, babygirl.”

Mr. Morales raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize you had family buried here. I was under the impression that your family moved here from Louisiana.”

“We did, but Joseph is from here originally, we moved back here after his mother got sick.” Elana explained.

Mr. Morales turned his gaze back to his coffee, “I see.” Patsy could see his eyes darting swiftly like he either realized something or was thinking very swiftly. She felt like she could relate. “Miss. Pascala, Joseph, Elana. Please do not take me for overreaching but I’m not sure it is safe for the three of you to go to a location like that right now. If Robertson is following you it would be quite the place for an ambush.”

“Linus, don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.” Joseph said, something of a warning in his voice.

“No, dad, it’s alright.” Patsy said, “Mr. Morales, do you really think it’s a bad idea to go to the cemetery?”

Mr. Morales looked to Joseph, who wore an expression that clearly said “Be careful how you say things.” He looked back at Patsy, with a small sigh, “I think, perhaps you should at least wait under after school starts up again Monday? Thank you all for this lovely meal, but I think I should be going. This should cover my food.” He swiftly got up and pulled his wallet out and with just his right hand awkwardly pulled out some bills. Leaving forty dollars on the table as he took off.

“I think you scared him.” Elana said simply, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

They ultimately didn’t go to the cemetery, to both the annoyance and relief of her father. In fact they stayed in for the rest of the day. Watching TV, playing a popular kart racing game which Joseph began quite smuggly. Only to lose to his daughter because of an npc driver launching a nuclear option that blasted him back to third place less than half the track away from victory.

Patsy told her parents that she felt comfortable enough to go to bed in her own room that night, and Elana made chicken parm hero sandwiches. All in all the day drifted by quickly after their lunch with the odd Mr. Morales. It was almost 10 at night when she finally told her parents she was going to bed, and they reaffirmed their own tiredness from the day and wouldn’t be up much longer themselves.

Of course, Patsy wasn’t really going to bed.

She stayed up for hours, just to be sure they had actually fallen asleep. Her dad. Patsy disarmed the security system and left the house, heading straight for the cemetery. She had to see her grandmother’s gravestone. Something about how Mr. Morales reacted just didn’t sit right with her. It had to be around 1:20 in the morning now and it was very dark and while it was brisk out during the day her fingers quickly started going numb and she could see her breath.

The ground of the cemetery was hard and bumpy from thawing into wet muddy ground under the sun during the day. Patsy walked through the cemetery at a brisk pace, wanting to get to her grandma's grave and back before her parents could wake up to find out she snuck out of the house...or worse she was taken by Robertson. The made her stomach clench up, and she began regretting this whole idea. There was a rustling in the bushes and she began to sprint, she felt like running home and forgetting all of this but she was painfully aware she was heading right towards the grave.

She came to a quick stop, looking down at the engraved stone. Ellinore DeSoto, 1961 to 2017. She knelt down, tears building in her eyes. Deep down she knew coming here now was a mistake, her grandma wouldn’t want her sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, especially not under the current circumstances.

She sniffled, alright she got to the gravestone and proved exactly nothing. Time to get home as fast as she possibly could and swear off stupid impulsive decsions forever.

The wet smacking of lips that made her skin crawl.

“Pr.principal Robertson?” She tentatively asked, standing up and turning towards the gross sound. Her eyes widened in grotesque terror as she looked at the swollen thing that only scarcely held the appearance of her principal, the purplish grey skin stretched uncomfortably tight as the creature smiled wider than nature as she knew it allowed.

“Pascala Desoto,” It still spoke with Principal Robertson’s voice. “So courteous of you to come to me, now we may continue your...disciplinary measures, young lady.” The creature stuck out it’s purple tongue which extended down past its belly.

Patsy wanted to run, scream, anything, but her legs refused to move. Her body frozen. It walked up closer to her, and it’s foul breath was like a thick miasma that made her lungs clench up and burnt her throat, she couldn’t even tremble in fear.

“Speechless, DeSoto?” It leaned in and inhaled deeply by her hair, it chucked out as it spoke, “Yeeheeehesss. Your flesh will do, your form will do.”

Over the creature’s shoulder Pascala saw another, and the ghoul’s smile turned into a scowl. Apparently it noticed him as well. It wrapped it’s unnaturally large hands around her, its index finger on her shoulder and its pinky on her waist. Turning to face him it snarled out, “This is my Witch, get your own.”

The man stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight, the beams catching on his glasses, “Let her go, Corpse eater.” He held a revolver in one hand, and an old medieval looking sword in the other. His arm wasn’t in the sling anymore and he didn’t look injured at all.

“Morales, I knew I should have crushed your throat when-”

Her teacher cocked the pistol and aimed it right at his head.

“G...go ahead. I am not something you can kill with a bullet.” The ghoul said smugly.

“In your state it will hurt, it’ll be a whole world of agony.” Morales said, calling the monster’s bluff.

It took a slight step back, balking out a grunt in some fear. “We can split her! I don’t need her blood!”

Patsy’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

“Don’t worry, Miss. Pascala. This thing won’t harm you...and survive.” His voice was cold again, and she couldn’t help but feel an intense fear. Maybe from the slight tremors she felt through the ghoul’s hand, but somehow she knew that this thing that used to be her Principal was terrified.

“I can’t go back to the corpses people bury, they poison them, and every time I feed I whimper in agony for years, only to need to feed again, the cycle is torture! Have mercy!” The ghoul begged.

“You do not want my mercy, Corpse eater. It is at the end of my sword.” He began walking forward.

The ghoul released Patsy and pinched her throat, “Another step and I’ll break her neck!”

Reactively she reached up at the monster’s finger’s “I don’t want to die!” she sobbed, were she in a more clear headed situation she may have realized she can move again.

Mr. Morales paused, scowling back at the hellish beast.

“That’s right! You...you have a fondness for her, your student, HAH! So long as I have her in my grasp you won’t risk harming her.” The ghoul grinned hideously in it’s little victory.

Her history class teacher inhaled sharply, then said, “If you are going to do something, now would be the time!”

Principal Robertson the ghoul frowned, “What are you playing at?!”

Out from the bushes a large orange cat ran up much faster than Patsy had ever seen in her life and pounced on the ghoul’s forearm, clawing and tearing at it. The ghoul released her and she dropped, quickly and frantically crawling into an upright sprint several yards away from the monster.

Bean used the ghoul as a springboard and sprinted over to Patsy. The Ghoul was screaming and clutching the wounds the cat had left on it, as Morales lunged forward and with a clean swift strike cleaved the monster’s head from it’s shoulders.

Patsy’s breaths were short, and she pulled Bean into her arms as she tried to calm down. Morales wiped his blade off on the grass before sheathing it and steeping over to his student as he holstered his gun.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Pascala.” He said, “Are you alright?”

“What, what was that!?” She asked, looking at the ghoul’s limp body.

He paused, like he was unsure he could answer, “...Is there any world where you could accept that this was all a bad dream?”

She shook her head, “No, I have nightmares all the time, this is real.” Patsy looked at her teacher and gasped, she tried to step back but only fell backwards. “Those eyes!”

Mr. Morales sighed, and pulled his glasses from his face. His eyes were a hungry deep red. “Please, Miss. Pascala, I mean you no harm. You have my word, my oath as a man who has spent his very long life guiding the minds of the youth, and protecting everyone who I find in need of help.”

She tried to steady her breath, with Bean in her arms she felt much bolder and confident, “Those eyes, I’ve seen them in my nightmares, I trusted you and you’re another one of those things!” She pointed to the ghoul.”

He was taken aback, and gestured at his face, “You’ve seen these eyes in your dreams? Miss. Pascala, I assure you I am not a corpse eater.” He grabbed his lip and pulled it up, revealing a long and sharp fang. “I am a vampire, and amazingly you seemed to have augured my presence in your dreams.”

She stared at the fang with wide, slightly horrified eyes. “...Huh.”

“Huh. That...is a first.” The Vampire said, “I imagine you have questions, and you deserve answers. Especially if you refuse to accept this night was just a bad dream.”

She nodded, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, trust me I’m trying. Still here, next to my vampire history teacher.”

“Very well, Miss. Pascala. This ghoul was hunting you because you are a Sorceress, and whoever gave you that cat was as well. Seeing as how that animal is a Familiar, your Familiar.” He said, “Monday, come to my class after school, and I will tell you more. For now just go home, you’ll be safe there with the cat. I need to clean this up before anyone comes by and finds it.”

It was be a difficult thing to believe that Patsy would just accept things at that, that she would just go home and enjoy her long weekend with her folks, and she could just scratch Bean behind the ear knowing she was some magical protector her Secret Sorceress Grandma had given to her as a little kitten. That she could be nearly eaten and just go back to bed. All that can be agreed upon is that Patsy got out of bed the next morning around 10:30, that she took a shower and had slightly runny scrambled eggs for breakfast. Another thing that can be certain is that Patsy would never doubt what happened, what she saw and what she heard, and that the story of Pascala DeSoto, The Sorceress of Illinois had only begun.

End Chapter

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#Red Eyes on my Grandmother's grave #wip #paypal

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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1. December 26th, 2016

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

A/N: welcome to chapter one of THE ONLY EXCEPTION! i’m so flipping excited i could scream!!!!!! this fic is going to be a long boi so buckle up. also thank you to @meetmeinfleetwood for supporting this fic from the start ilysm!!!! xoxo, willa

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N’s dad had been having these Christmas parties for the past five years or so, each time on the 26th of December, each time packed with music industry people and lots of bottles of tequila and red wine. Her first time had been two years ago, and she had found it surprisingly enjoyable—she had expected it to be boring and to want to leave after the first hour. Instead, it was full of people she had known since she was a kid, musicians and producers and her dad’s old A&R guys who she had grown up hanging out with in recording studios and backstage at her dad’s shows. They had come to family dinners before and after her parents’ divorce, and so when she ran into them at the parties it was easy to catch them up on her life and suddenly it was after midnight and the party was emptying out.

This year she had volunteered to help set up. Her dad had rented a massive house out in the hills and it came already decorated, but it was on Y/N to make sure there were chairs set up for the music circle, a massive bar laid out and plenty of glasses ready. Her dad’s friend was making the food, eager to use the opportunity to promote the new restaurant he was opening, so when Y/N opened the door it already smelled like garlic and olive oil, her favorite scents on earth.

“Karl!” She called through the house, shutting the heavy oak door behind her. Her arms were laden with boxes of plastic glasses—her dad was too scared of the guests breaking glass ones—and she wandered into the kitchen. The tall ceilings of the entryway where a massive Christmas tree sat adorned with ornaments gave way to a modern, sleek kitchen. Karl twirled around to greet her, a grin on his face. “Smells delicious in here.”

He set down his spatula and came over, grabbing a box and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hello, darling. Are there more in the car?”

She shook her head, unwinding her scarf from her neck and placing it on the counter. Karl had been her father’s college roommate and somehow they’d stayed close over the years, every one of Y/N’s birthdays spent at one of Karl’s restaurants with all of her favorite dishes made special, a birthday cannoli with a candle in it for her to blow out. “This is all of the glasses. Dad told me to get the bar ready—he’s bringing the booze in a bit.”

“Hope there’s a glass of wine in there for the chef,” Karl said and Y/N chuckled—there always was a bottle of Karl’s favorite expensive wine set aside when he did one of these things and he knew it. It was part of the pay, her father always said. “Want to taste test?”

“Always.” Y/N joined Karl at the stove, eagerly tasting the sauce he was cooking. It was a simple sage butter sauce, but Karl always excelled at the most simple dishes. “Delicious, as usual,” she said.

Karl jabbered her ear off about the updates on the restaurant—they’d run into problems finding a good sous chef and he was about to do the job himself if he didn’t find someone soon—while Y/N decided where to set up the bar. Finally, she settled on a high table against the glass wall in the wide hallway between the kitchen and the sprawling dining room, which opened up onto the patio. She tugged open the accordion glass doors and breathed in the cool Los Angeles air, thankful for a relatively cold evening, since she always got overheated at parties like this, where people were crammed into every corner. Her dad seemed to know more people every year. Satisfied with the position of the table, she set out the glasses and paper napkins, before asking Karl if he had an extra cooler he’d brought with. She’d forgotten to ask her dad for one before she had left. She filled it with ice and set it next to the table with a scoop, and grabbed the special shot glasses her father had told her to bring, placing them on the table next to a bouquet of flowers.

Her job done, she wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous—she wondered how her father had found it. If she remembered correctly, he had said something about it being an official venue for music and parties, he’d done a private gig here a few years back and the owners had loved him enough to offer it for this party. It’s not like anyone really had gigs on December 26th anyway. She closed all the doors to the back bedrooms, remembering her father’s request, and set up a coat closet of sorts out of the bedroom closest to the front, before heading to change into her outfit for the evening.

“Y/N!” She was securing her favorite pair of earrings in her ears when she heard her father’s voice through the halls of the house. “Where ya at, sweetheart?”

“One sec, Dad!” She grabbed the hanger she had kept her top on and shoved it into her massive purse, settling it into the back corner of the room for safety. Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen with Karl, also getting a sample of the sauce she had tried earlier.

“Hi you,” her father said when she came in. His salt and pepper hair was balding a bit, but his bright smile was what drew people in, olive skin that tanned easily in the California sun. Y/N had selected his suit for the evening, a maroon red and a black tie, something a bit out of the ordinary for him, but Y/N loved it. “Look gorgeous.”

She hugged her father tightly. She had spent Christmas with her mother, as usual, so this was the first time she’d seen her dad during the holidays. “Not too bad yourself, captain.”

“Ha!” Her father pinched her cheek softly, just as he had when she was a child. “I’ve got your present in the car, come grab it with me?”

“Sure.” They had decided to exchange gifts at the party and Y/N had hers tucked in the back pocket of her jeans—dinner on her at Karl’s new restaurant, something she’d discussed with the owner a few weeks ago. Her father’s car sat in the driveway, trunk open where boxes of alcohol laid waiting to be carried inside. “That my gift?”

“You wish,” her dad answered, and Y/N gave him a pouty look that he just shook his head at. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn’t help but hope it was cash—she needed a new computer and was running a bit short. She knew her dad would help if she asked, but she hated asking him for money.

She took the envelope and opened it, a sheet of paper and something thicker hiding between its folds. She opened the letter and found a homemade coupon of sorts, just as she had done for him.

TWO TICKETS TO ANY SHOW IN LA - NON-REFUNDABLE, FUN REQUIRED!

“Papa,” she said, giving him a beaming smile. “My favorite!” She threw her arms around his neck and he chuckled, hugging her right back.

“Just give me a few weeks heads up, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and looked back down at the letter, eyes running over her dad’s sweet words of love and pride. It was their thing—homemade cards always, never store bought, despite that neither of them could draw. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Now yours!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his envelope, aptly addressed, Dad, and handed it over. Her father read her card as well, and chuckled at her drawing of them at dinner together.

He kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, squeezing his side. “Now let’s get all this booze out of your car before I drive away with it!” Her dad laughed and followed her to the back of the car, them each grabbing a carton of wine. There had to be enough for over a hundred people, Y/N thought to herself. Who would be new this year?

The party was in full swing, her dad’s favorite music playing softly through the speaker system, people littered all over the house with the alcohol flowing. Karl was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, his food a massive hit, and Y/N couldn’t have been happier for him. She’d caught up with her dad’s friends and people who were essentially her godparents, sharing how her job was going (fine) and her relationship prospects (non-existent), sipping tequila and red wine on rotation.

Y/N leaned against the patio railing overlooking the hills, a glass of tequila on the rocks settled in between her palms. She could hear her father’s voice in the distance calling people to come and start the music, the scrape of chairs and strumming of guitars. It was about time for her to go in, but she lingered, relishing the quiet of the night and the biting air wrapping around her. Since she didn’t play an instrument, despite her father’s attempts, this part of the evening was the part where she just sat back and observed. And also usually got quite drunk since all she had to do was drink and sing along.

“Y/N, right?” She turned around, eyes focusing on the person standing a few feet away. “I’m Harry.”

Harry Styles. How had he ended up here, and how had she not seen him yet? “Nice to meet you,” she answered, standing up straight and taking a sip of her drink. “Not going in to play?”

He shook his head. “Bit nervous, if I’m honest. Lot of talent in that room.”

She cocked her head to the side as he joined her at the railing. “You’re plenty talented,” she told him. It was true. She was a huge fan of his, had been for a while, following his work in One Direction since its inception, and now in the solo career her dad had mentioned. He was recording with some guys out at The Village a few months ago and called her at the end of the day, saying he ran into Harry Styles in the middle of a session doing some solo stuff. Said it sounded good, which she wasn’t surprised by in the slightest.

But Harry just chuckled. “Nah, those people are legends,” he said. She knew who he was talking about, too. One of the Dixie Chicks was there, some guys who had written with John Mayer and Kanye West, a dozen other Grammy-nominated musicians, some record label execs who had practically formed the industry as they knew it today, the A&R people who had found them. It was intimidating, definitely, but for Harry she didn’t think it would be.

“Just people.” She sipped on her drink, studying him. He was in a long black coat, a loose black v-neck silk shirt and red and white plaid pants that tapered at the leg, his cropped curls falling into his face slightly. He also had a tequila on the rocks gripped in his hand, rings adorning every one of his fingers. A skull, a red stone, a silver band, amongst them. “Having fun?”

He smiles at her, thankful for the change of topic. “Loads. Haven’t been at a party like this in a while.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze passed between them, ruffling his hair a bit. “I don’t know. Just, people who didn’t really give a shit about me, if you know what I mean? Holidays can be a bit much sometimes.”

She nodded as if she understood what it felt like to be a popstar of his fame, which she didn’t, but she could imagine. “Didn’t go home?”

“My mum and sister came here, actually,” he said. “They were craving a respite from the cold English winters.”

“Well, this is definitely a respite,” Y/N said, and Harry chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and Y/N tapped her fingernails against her cup. Maybe it was time to go inside, she thought. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

His question pulled her out of her head easily. “Brand strategy,” she answered, thankful for a comfortable topic. “I work mostly with fashion and product companies, preferably sustainable ones.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.” She did. She loved her work—she’d gone to school for it and thrown herself into it after school, loving pitching projects for clients and helping them understand their core purpose and how they could grow and evolve most authentically. “It was that or books, but I decided this was a bit more profitable. Also wasn’t too keen on living in New York.”

Harry nodded, twirling his glass in his hands. She took the opportunity to run her eyes across his face—he was gorgeous in this way that you weren’t sure was real. It was interesting to see how much he’d grown up. At 22, his cheekbones were cut and his jaw defined, his former long locks he had recently cut and Y/N liked these more, she decided. “What are your favorite writers?” He asked, pulling Y/N back into the conversation.

“That’s like asking which one of your children is your favorite,” she joked, and he chuckled, the sound music to Y/N’s ears. “Dunno, really. I read so much it’s hard to choose, you know? Reading a Louise Erdrich book right now that’s absolutely stellar. The Round House—you should give it a go if you’ve got the time.”

He pulled out his phone and she watched him type in the name to his Notes app, the action making her smile. “Been looking for a new book,” he said. “Just been reading The New Yorker and my mum about took my head off for not reading enough.” They both laughed, the sound filling the night air.

“Harry!” A man was standing in the doorway to the patio, a guitar in hand. “Come sing, mate.”

Harry glanced back at Y/N. “Coming?”

Y/N nodded and followed him inside, refilling her glass on the way. Harry handed her his, and she did the same, giving them both another glass of tequila to sip on while they listened to the circle of musicians. Someone had decided to do some Christmas tunes she Y/N smiled when she heard her father’s voice—he’d made it a bit country, just like he loved to do with popular songs. He’d grown up on a steady diet of folk music and country, just as Y/N had, and he always joked it was in his blood. Harry took a seat next to his friend who Y/N didn’t recognize—probably some producer her dad had met recently, maybe one of the guys from The Village if that was how they’d connected, and Y/N grabbed the seat her dad had saved for her next to him.

She joined in immediately, knowing this rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy” by heart, since it was the same one he had made up when Y/N was eight or nine. Karl was in the circle too, a plate of food in his hands and his bottle of red wine on the ground, and he gave her a warm smile. This was her favorite part of the night—feeling a part of something her father loved so dearly. When he gave her a kiss to her temple and introduced her to the group, she couldn’t help but find Harry’s eyes, his irises twinkling back at her under the lights.

At one o’clock, people finally began filtering out of the party, and Harry decided it was probably time for him to head. Jeff, who had invited him to come with, had already left, exhausted from the holidays with family, but Harry had stayed, hoping to talk to Y/N for a little while longer. He had unfortunately failed to catch her, though, the music running long and after it had wrapped up people had tugged her in for hugs and conversation. Despite knowing who she was through her father, he was still in awe of how intimately she knew all of these people. He overheard snippets of her conversations, asking about children and partners, parents who had cancer and career-defining moments she’d missed out on because of work. Harry was in this world too, but many of the people at this party were a bit older than his usual set—they belonged to the group of his heroes, rather than necessarily people he felt were his peers. He was still getting his solo career together, still only a boyband member in their eyes. He tried not to feel less than, but sometimes it was hard when you were sat next to Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks with utterly nothing to say but awe-inspired ramblings.

Finally, Y/N was alone, the older couple she was talking to having left for the door, and Harry seized the opportunity. “Y/N,” he said, and her head popped up from her phone to look at him. Her dark brown hair was soft against her skin, and he eagerly wondered what it felt like against his skin, brown eyes that searched his soul. “I loved talking to you earlier.”

She smiled and Harry loved it when she did. Lit up the whole room, just about. “Me too. Glad you came—with Jeff, yeah?”

He nodded. “He introduced me to your dad when we were at The Village.” Y/N nodded as well, obviously having figured out the story. “I—I was wondering, would you want to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to chat more, get to know you.” He restrained the urge to bounce on his heels, nervous in front of her. He felt like a kid asking out his crush, but that’s what this was, a crush. Even if it came to nothing, she was kind, interesting, and fit into the world he revolved in. It wasn’t the most important thing, but he appreciated it all the same.

“Oh,” she said, tone somber. “Sorry, Harry, but I don’t date musicians. Get home safe, yeah?” She turned away from him, feet carrying her back into the living room, presumably finding her father.

What? She didn’t date musicians? “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/N turned back to look at him. “I just don’t. Bit of a rule.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t feel the need to explain it. Bye, Harry.” Then, she walked away and Harry was left in shock. The abrupt change in tone was like whiplash—she had seemed so interested, involved in their conversation, only to tell him she didn’t date musicians? What the fuck kind of rule was that?

He huffed and tugged out his phone to tell his driver he was ready, and went outside, leaving behind Y/N and her confusing rule. But this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he decided. He wanted to know why she had this rule, this stupid rule that was stopping her from getting to know him. It wasn’t like he even asked her to date him, just to get coffee for Pete’s sake. Harry sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, composing a text to Jeff.

Could I write with Peter? Seemed like a great guy, really talented. Maybe if she got to Y/N’s dad, he could earn some brownie points. Maybe then she’d bend her rules for him, because despite their short conversation, Harry was intrigued.

Definitely, Jeff replied. I’ll text him tomorrow.

Harry closed his phone and smiled. Hopefully this worked, because Harry was dying to know more about this rule of hers.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed when she pulled into her dad’s driveway. There was another car sat in the drive, a black 4-door SUV she’d never seen before, the windows tinted so she couldn’t see in. It reminded her of those cars the FBI drives in crime dramas, which obviously led her to a part of her brain that was not necessarily a hopeful place. She scrambled to grab her bag from work and her keys, launching herself from her car and towards her dad’s door.

“Dad!” She called into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. “Whose car is in the drive? Didn’t tell me we’d be having company!” Gripping the wall for balance she toed off her shoes and set her bag on the floor next to the door, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a hook. “Dad?”

“He’s in the toilet.”

Her head whipped around and found Harry Styles standing in her hallway, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As much as she had planned to forget about him after the party, never really expecting to see him again, she hadn’t been able to. And now he was in her house, hair pushed back from his face, a grin painted on his lips. It was irritating how gorgeous he was. “The fuck are you doing here?”

A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck and for a second Y/N regretted being quite so aggressive. “‘M writing with your dad,” he explained. “Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she answered. She brushed past him into the living room where, as Harry had said, it was obvious they had been writing. Her dad’s treasured old Gibson guitar leaning against his favorite armchair where he’d set it, computers out with GarageBand up for recording demos, papers with scribbles strewn across the coffee table. “Good session?” She decided that there was no way he was here just to pursue her—he was there for professional reasons, after all. Her dad and Harry must’ve hit it off at the party last week. There was also the fact that her dad was a really fucking good songwriter, so of course Harry would want to work with him. Ever since he’d stopped touring, her dad had started doing mainly writing, his songs appearing on records from everyone from up-and-coming artists the label found him to John Legend.

Harry just nodded. Her eyes drifted to his own guitar, a soft brown wood that had obviously seen some heavy use and travel. She recognized it from her dad’s own guitars that he used to take on the road with him, the nicks and faded wood at the base of the bridge.

“Y/N!” Her dad’s voice fell through the silence of the room as he re-entered. He was wearing his favorite old UCLA shirt, where she’d just graduated from not too long ago. “Home earlier than usual. Was going to give you a heads up about this one,” he pointed to Harry then, “but I see you’ve already found out.”

Her eyes drifted to Harry, who stood awkwardly next to the couch, unsure if he should sit or stand. “Finished my projects early and didn’t have any meetings, so thought I’d get out early and surprise you.”

“Well,” her father said, giving her a quick hug, “glad you did. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” She nodded, she was always ravenous after work. “Harry, would you want to stay for dinner?”

No, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to sit at a table with a guy she’d rejected and her father and eat an awkward dinner on a Friday night. She just wanted a massive glass of red wine, her delicious romance novel from her bedside table, and maybe lighting a fire in the pit in the backyard.

Instead, Harry said, “Sure. Don’t want to impose though.”

“Nonsense! Y/N why don’t you go change and Harry and I can tidy up from working. We were about done anyway.” Her dad kissed the top of her head sweetly and she just did as he said, Harry a forgotten thought behind her as she went to her room upstairs.

It was her childhood bedroom which she had been residing in for a month now. How her landlord could put her out for this long was beyond her, but she hadn’t had the energy to fight it—plus, it was an opportunity to spend some quality time with her workaholic father. So she was spending her evenings in her light blue colored room, sleeping between her soft pink sheets, and picking her work clothes that butted up against remnants from high school she’d left behind as memories. Y/N pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt that probably belonged to an ex-fling from college—Daniel maybe? Y/N couldn’t remember. Slipping on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm from the tile floors of the kitchen, she left her room, tugging her door shut so if Harry went exploring he wouldn’t stumble into her room.

Downstairs, Harry was sat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a smile on his face, deep in conversation with her dad about Fleetwood Mac’s chord progressions. A glass of red was waiting for her on the counter and she picked it up, wandering over to where her dad was cooking

“Whatcha making?” She asked, peeking into the pot.

“Pasta,” he replied. “Now stop being a nosy Nelly and talk to our guest while I try to focus on not burning the pasta.”

“Dad you haven’t even put it in yet.”

Her dad shooed her from the stove and she chuckled, backing away. “Get out of here, ya pest.”

She turned to Harry, realizing her dad was actively trying to get them to hang out. He was so annoying sometimes. “How do you feel about a fire?”

“Positively,” he answered and she led him outside into her backyard.

It was chilly out, but nothing too bad. She set her glass on the table and went over to the stack of wood her dad kept against the fence, picking up some logs and carrying them over to the fire pit they’d had for years. At first it was so Y/N could roast marshmallows at home, her father trying to do anything to get her to come over to his house more after the divorce, and as time had gone on it had become her favorite place in the whole house. When her dad was out of town and she came over to check up on the house in high school, she’d bring her weed and smoke out here under the stars.

Harry sidled up next to her and picked up a few logs, following her to the fire pit. “This is cool,” he said, words breaking their silence.

Y/N dropped the logs into the fire and looked up at him. “Favorite part of the whole house.” A box of matches sat next to the door and she grabbed them, as well as some kindling, and brought it over to the logs, setting the kindling under the logs before lighting them. The fire leaped up, the wood nice and dry from the lack of rain recently. “So, who got in touch with who?”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

She settled into one of the chairs set by the fire, wine tucked between her fingers. “The writing. You or my dad?”

“Oh,” he answered, joining her in the chair next to her. “Me, actually. Through Jeff.”

As expected. “And?”

“He’s really good,” Harry said, to which Y/N chuckled.

“That he is.”

“What was it like growing up with him as your dad?” He asked, breaking the silence between them.

Y/N shifted in her chair. She’d been asked this question so many times over the years, but it still was hard to answer. “Hard, if I’m being honest,” she told him, truth surprising her. But she had a feeling Harry would get it to a certain extent. He was a hugely popular star, after all. She’d heard rumors that he was a part of a movie coming out this year, something historical. “Like, my parents are divorced, which I assume you know.” He nodded, probably having figured it out by now. “And with my dad’s tour schedule when I was in school, I didn’t see him all that much, especially in elementary and middle school. He was gone all the time, even missed my birthday a couple times because of tour dates, so I just didn’t really know him that well, I guess. Fuck, sorry, this is a lot,” she breathed out, realizing she was rambling. Harry was just surprisingly easy to talk to, his eyes steady on her, intently listening to her every word. Boys didn’t usually listen to her like this.

“S’fine,” he replied. “When did it change, if you don’t mind me asking? Seem so close now.”

The fire, having grown by now, crackled in front of them. “Late high school, but mainly when I was in college. My mom moved to San Francisco for a job and I went to UCLA, so my dad was closest. Came over to do my laundry sometimes, have a home cooked meal, he’d take me to dinner, that stuff. Came to football games with me, sometimes, which he always tried to be interested in but never succeeded.” Harry chuckled at that and Y/N smiled at the sound. Harry was obnoxiously pretty. Like, impossibly pretty in this way where you couldn’t help but look at him again to make sure that yes, he was a real person. And it was really fucking distracting. “His touring kind of stopped when I went into college too,” she added, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Started writing mainly, putting out music only when it suited him. He’s a lot happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m glad you guys were able to have that kind of relationship, even if it was later.”

Y/N blinked at him, his words so kind and honest. “Me too.”

“Always been one of my fears, if I’m being honest,” he said, words soft in the cool night air. Sun was starting to set and it was getting dark around them, the light of the fire putting an orange ember to his face. “About having kids with my career, you know? I want to be a dad, but it’s like…how do I do that while being gone all the time?” His honesty shocked her, but then again Harry Styles seemed to be excelling at that in every regard. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you.”

“No it isn’t,” she reassured him. “Just told you about all my daddy issues, yeah?” He chuckled, and it lightened the mood just enough. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his wine and she did the same. It was her favorite, the one her dad bought multiple of whenever she came to stay. Even though they’d gotten closer over the years, his desire to make his house perfect for her never seemed to fade. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“The rule—I—why is that?”

Well, fuck. This was the exact conversation she didn’t want to have, the one she was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. “It’s actually related to what you were just saying,” she said slowly. He’d get it after everything she’d explained and the fears he shared, right? “I don’t date musicians because they’re always gone.”

Harry was quiet, absorbing her answer. It was true, they always were gone—she had every right to her rule, she told herself. She didn’t want a repeat of what her parents had experienced, what she’d experienced. Her dad’s job had ruined everything in their family, ripping her parents apart, keeping him away from her for more of the year than he was home. She didn’t want the same thing for her kids. “That’s a pretty broad stroke, isn’t it?” Harry said though, pushing back against her. “Like all musicians. Kinda a generalization ‘bout us.”

“You said it yourself,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her thighs. “You’re gone all the time. How do you build a life with someone who isn’t there half the time?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Harry said, setting his wine on the arm of his chair, “but hypothetically you’re dating someone who tours all the time. But they make you a priority, coming home and seeing you, putting your relationship first. That wouldn’t matter? You wouldn’t even take the chance that it could work out okay?”

This time it was Y/N who was quiet. “I mean, musicians only have so much control over their schedules,” she said, remembering the excuses her dad used to tell her. “Plus, it’s not the relationship that’s the problem. It’s the part when you get to marriage and kids.”

“…So it’s better to just avoid the whole thing entirely?”

Y/N nodded, her logic laid out in front of her. She’d never had to do this before—most times, guys just took her at her word and dropped it all together. Harry pushed though, wanting to understand in a way the others didn’t care enough to do. “It’s safer.”

“But then you miss out on the opportunity to fall in love with someone,” Harry says, his words like rocks in her stomach. “And what if that person was a musician?”

Y/N had a feeling they were no longer talking in hypotheticals. “We can fall in love with tons of different people.”

“No soulmates and shit for you, then?” She shook her head. She didn’t believe in all that crap, never had. Relationships were about work, effort, time. The person was important, but the life that person led mattered more to her. How much they’d prioritize the relationship, the kind of life they wanted to build. “That’s kind of depressing,” Harry said.

The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t think so. It’s…practical.”

“Love isn’t supposed to be practical, Y/N.”

Y/N found herself speechless. She didn’t have an answer for him. She’d never been in love before, that was for sure. Hadn’t found that kind of love that people like Harry write songs about and she’d often found herself wondering when it was going to happen for her. There just hadn’t been any guys that were right for her yet.

“Y/N! Harry!” She turned and her dad was in the doorway, pasta sauce splattered on his shirt. He’d always been a messy cook. “Dinner’s ready.”

Y/N took one last look at Harry before grabbing her wine and heading inside, Harry following at her heels.

After dinner, Harry decided this was his last chance at Y/N. He couldn’t exactly use the same excuse twice and after understanding her rule, he was determined to be the exception. He helped Y/N clear the plates while her dad settled in at the TV in the other room, telling them it was his time to watch the nightly news and they could clean up since he had cooked. Harry had missed being in a home like this, the kind where he got told to clean up from dinner and there was calm and normal conversation at the table, Y/N talking about her day at work and Harry sharing about his activities from his mum’s visit. It brought him a kind of peace he didn’t know he needed.

The plate clattered on the counter as he set it down, Y/N turning, her hands soapy with the water from the dishes. “Gonna break our dishes,” she said with a snort. “Be careful, please.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He’d cleared the table, so he grabbed a dish rag from the peg and joined Y/N at the sink, taking the clean dishes from the rack and drying them, stacking them on the counter since he didn’t know where they belonged in the cabinets.

They worked in silence, the only sound her dad’s TV from the other room. He could hear Rachel Maddow’s show on NBC, the same one he liked to watch, learning from her commentary on American politics that he was still trying to wrap his brain around.

“Y/N,” he said when they’d finished the dishes. “I promise I heard everything you said earlier.” She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Harry tried to pick his words delicately, wanting to make sure she knew he did hear her, he was just entranced by her and couldn’t give her up. “But what is the likelihood you would be willing to give it a shot? With me?”

She took the dish towel from his hands and dried her own, considering his words. The waiting was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush her. He knew what her worries were and he was asking her to put them aside.

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her, stumbling over the words. “Promise. You set the pace, you decide about commitments. I just…” Can’t stop thinking about you.

But then Y/N surprised him by saying, “I know. I feel that way too.” His eyes widened, not believing the words from her mouth. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said slowly. “Better make the date good.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask again unless you’d like me to change my mind.”

“Can I get your number then?” She nodded and read it off, Harry typing the numbers into his phone next to her name. Then Harry shut up and just smiled at her, following her like a puppy dog into the other room where her dad sat watching TV. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket her dad had so it would cover part of her and his heart softened at how sweet she looked. He loved seeing her like this, at home, comfortable in her space. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Thank you so much for dinner, Peter.”

Y/N’s dad turned from the TV and gave him a wide smile. “Of course, Harry. You’re welcome anytime—wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here!”

His eyes drifted to Y/N and he knew that with her around, there was never anyway he could be lonely.

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

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Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it.

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out. "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania? You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours. The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

#Charlie Weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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what-a-silver-lining · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spooks (But Mostly Just Sugar)

It's Grimmtober 2021!

Day 1: Candy

“Hey, honey, what’re you...” Henry stops his sentence short, making eye contact with Sabrina, mid-bite of her chocolate bar.

The slightly unhinged look in his eldest daughter’s eyes might have clued him in on the situation because he very quickly reassessed the situation.

“Alright. Great talk, honey, see you soon.”

or, Sabrina Grimm isn't a big fan of Halloween, but that doesn't apply to the sugary treats the holiday is known for.

Note: It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything for the Sisters Grimm so bear with me, please! It’s also been QUITE a while since I’ve shared any of my work with the public, much less Tumblr, so that’ll be fun.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Sisters Grimm and I'm not MB. Just a fan partaking in a fandom even for Halloween :)

Some notes about this series: All the stories take place in no particular order of timeline. We’ll see about that though. It depends on how long I manage to keep this up. Not exactly canon-compliant since it’s been a hot minute since I’ve read the scripture, y’know?

So yeah, Briar’s alive (and whoever else I need for the purposes of the plot, I guess). Okay, I’ve kept you along for long enough, enjoy the first prompt!

Sabrina Grimm was not a big fan of Halloween.

Maybe she was, once upon a time, before losing her parents to a cult led by her long-lost grandmother’s magical mirror.

But the Sabrina who dressed up as the Sugar Plum Princess to go trick-or-treating around Manhattan would be very disappointed indeed at the Sabrina who grimaced at the thought of parading around in a silly costume and begging people for candy.

Which is precisely what Sabrina Grimm was doing as her younger sister begged her to take her trick-or-treating later that week.

“Please Sabrina?” Daphne begged, hands clasped together and face on the verge of breaking out into a pout. “Red and I’ve been working all month to figure out the optimus path for trick-or-treating!”

This, Sabrina knows, is very true. She’s had to chaperone a few late-afternoon adventures as the two girls timed each other on how fast they could run through the block to yield the most candy. But trailing behind her little sister and Red on the way home from school is very different from being forced to go trick-or-treating. Besides, she had plans.

“First of all Daphne, it’s optimal . And second of all, isn’t dressing up in Ferryport Landing pointless when half the people here look like they regularly shop at Spirit Halloween?” Heck, most of the people in the town have about a million variations of their likenesses up for sale in party stores around the country.

“But mom won’t let us out later unless we get someone older. She and Basil Jr. are just going to kill the mood if we have to stop before 5 pm!” Oh boy, here come the puppy eyes…

“Dad?”

“He’s too old and grumpy for Halloween.”

“And I’m not grumpy enough for you? Uh, how about Uncle Jake?”

“Already asked him. He said he’s going to a party with Briar. And something about a Monster Mash.”

“Granny? Canis? Snow? Charming?? ” Sabrina was running out of options at this point.

“Granny’s got some errands to run and Mr. Canis is going with her. If Snow takes us she won’t be there to give out giant chocolate bars, and If we ask Charming, then Snow won’t be able to convince him to give out his giant stash of imported fancy chocolate.” As Daphne counted off the options with her fingers, Sabrina felt her chance at a peaceful evening slip through her fingers.

Well… almost.

“What about Puck?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Sabrina felt the soft halo of victory engulf her.

Fairy Boy was (more or less) the perfect candidate for Daphne and Red’s shenanigans— with the added bonus of keeping the trickster king from pulling any pranks on her in the spirit of the season.

With a quick shout of “You lucked out this time, Sabrina!” Daphne shot up the stairs in search of Puck. Presumably to work out a costume for him. There’s no chance that Puck will be able to say no to the opportunity to possibly pull a boatload of pranks on the houses that give out crappy candy.

Sabrina thinks that she’ll probably regret this decision by the end of the night on the 31st, but she’s mostly thinking about how nice it’ll be not to have to deal with Daphne on a sugar high on Halloween night.

And that’s exactly what she finds herself doing on the evening of the 31st. Not dealing with a hyperactive little sister or a prankster fairy boy with access to a million pounds of sugar. Sabrina’s confident she could probably handle Red, but she’s also never seen the Everafter girl eat a pixie stick.

None of that matters at this current moment, however, because by some stroke of luck, Sabrina is the only person currently in the Grimm household.

After double-checking that Elvis and her dad were actually out on their walk and that Puck wasn’t hiding behind any doors with an unpleasant surprise waiting for her, Sabrina let out a breath of relief.

Setting up the TV to one of the more classic seasonal reruns, Sabrina makes her way into the kitchen to retrieve her secret stash of candy. On the very bottom section of the higher shelf, out of reach of Daphne, and low enough to escape the direct view of Puck sits an inconspicuous box of generic raisin bran cereal.

Moving the box of cereal to the side reveals a second box of the same generic cereal box— gotta be careful in case her mom or dad suddenly crave a healthy dose of cereal for breakfast, right?

Again, moving that box of cereal to the side, right there . A box of plain, steel-cut oats remains the gateway between Sabrina and her secret candy stash.

Taking the box of oats with her back to the living room with the television, Sabrina spares one last cursory glance around the room to make sure there were no witnesses to her mini escapades.

The first treat of the night: a peanut butter cup.

Sabrina makes it through half the movie (and most of the peanut butter cups) before she switches to the next delicacy: a decent-sized milk chocolate bar.

As she’s about to take a big bite out of the bar, however, she hears the front door open.

Sabrina freezes, eyes wide as she realizes she’s probably been caught, and now Daphne and Puck are going to eat all her candy, and just after she’d saved up all the candy over the past couple of weeks. All that sneaking just for—.

“Hey, honey, what’re you...” Henry stops his sentence short, making eye contact with Sabrina, mid-bite of her chocolate bar.

The slightly unhinged look in his eldest daughter’s eyes might have clued him in on the situation because he very quickly reassessed the situation.

“Honestly, sweetie, I totally get it. I think Elvis and I should take an extended walk today, hm, Elvis?” The great Dane barked his agreement. “Okay, so we’ll be heading out. Maybe we’ll catch your mother and brother on the way and we’ll pick up some dinner from the diner?”

Silence.

“Alright. Great talk, honey, see you soon.”

And with that, Sabrina Grimm was once again alone in the house, free to stuff her face with discounted Halloween chocolate to her heart’s content.

Gummy bears, jelly beans, Twix bars, gumdrops, even a couple of pieces of candy corn met their demise as Sabrina continued on with the movie just as before.

Candy after candy succumbed to Sabrina’s sweet tooth binge until a decent dent had been made into the stash. As the credits rolled on the cheesy horror film, Sabrina gathered up the wrappers and candy boxes and cleaned up any remaining crumbs on the couch to dispose of the evidence.

Replacing the box of oats behind the cereal boxes in the cabinet, Sabrina silently pats herself on the back for her sneakiness. Just in time, too, as she can hear the sounds of the other kids stomping around by the entrance.

“Sabrina! We’re back!” Daphne calls from beyond the kitchen door.

“Yeah, Grimm! And we’re not sharing our candy with you!”

“...I’ll share with you, Sabrina..” Red’s voice rings, softer than the other two.

As Sabrina walks back into the living room, she sees that the three trick-or-treaters have already begun trading their candy from their trek around Ferryport Landing. True to Daphne’s word, there looked to be a couple of full-sized candy bars, probably from Snow.

The older Grimm sister sits on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t been caught. Her stash was safe— at least for today. She snags a Kit Kat and listens to the three (mostly Daphne) catch her up to speed on everything she missed when the trio had taken off earlier that afternoon.

“So actually, Puck had to do a little convincing for Charming to hand over some of his fancy candy but thankfully...”

So Sabrina Grimm isn’t the biggest fan of Halloween, but she does see the appeal of candy.

And that's a wrap for day 1! I know, cutting it super close to the deadline! I can't believe I got Ao3, Tumblr, AND FFN

Speaking of ffn, you can find me at LavenderMoonRose on fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own

#sisters grimm #grimmtober #grimmtober 2021 #sabrina grimm #puck goodfellow #daphne grimm #i tried #fanfiction

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daisychainsinthespring · 3 years

Text

The Snowball Effect.

As a child Darcy Elizabeth Lewis had a Bucky Bear. With its soft brown fur, and navy blue Howling Commandos jacket the bear had quickly become her favourite toy. Her parents thought this adorable, and so never questioned Darcy's complete attachment to said comfort object.

As a teen Darcy Elizabeth Lewis had kept the Bucky Bear, now placed proudly on one of the many bookshelves in her bedroom. Upon learning of the man behind the bear (corporations were behind many evil things, but whoever thought up the idea of making a bear modelled on the ultimate forties heartthrob turned hero deserved a god damn raise in her mind), promptly had her first celebrity crush. At sleepovers Darcy and her friends would sit around in a circle, on their sleeping bags, and share their various fantasies (which only became more realistic with age). Darcy mentioned her affinity for one James “Bucky” Barnes, and her friends latched on to it with a crazed sort of glee that would be concerning from almost anyone else. From that point on Darcy, at random moments throughout the year, received varying levels of increasingly inappropriate Bucky Barnes themed merch, and she (shamelessly) loved it all.

As an intern (not a real adult yet, because no thank you, responsibilities can stay in the far off and distant future) Darcy Elizabeth Lewis realised her minor obsession with a decidedly not dead war hero may be an issue. With Jane having recently moved her lab to Stark Tower, where said hero turned assassin lived, and her childhood friends being aware of said relocation she was worried. The gift giving had only increased in intensity and explicitness with age, and Darcy knew her friends would be having a field day. There was also the fact that despite her move having taken place three months ago, she had yet to receive a single piece of Bucky themed memorabilia. With this in mind Darcy did her best to avoid Sergeant Barnes, which was admittedly not a hard task to accomplish, an intern had little business with an avenger after all. In truth she had only met Sargent “call me James, dollface” Barnes once, when Jane and her had just moved in and Thor was recalling his teammates with stories of his lady and lightning sister. The way he looked her over with his intense ice blue eyes should have been illegal. It was like all of her young adult fantasies coming true at once, and Darcy was fairly certain this had been written all over her face. Upon seeing his utterly sinful smirk slide into place, Darcy knew she had been made. So yes, since that first embarrassing meeting with Sargent Barnes, sex god extraordinaire, she had avoided him like the plague and kept one eye open for suspicious packages from not so well intentioned friends.

As a Stark employee (which was really just a glorified intern with a fancy credit card because Tony didn’t know how to express emotion), Darcy Elizabeth Lewis had yet to receive a single gift from her friends. She had crossed the line from scared to offended. They had missed her birthday for heaven's sake! That never happened. Darcy was also becoming increasingly aware of a shadow that had taken to following her around the tower. The only reason she knew this feeling was not the result of too many science benders (and was in fact real) was because said shadow had also taken to gifting her breakfast on her little wooden desk in the corner of Jane’s lab. She was not going to look a caramel cloud macchiato with a butter croissant in the mouth, thank you very much. Jane was under the impression that this shadow was a secret admirer. Darcy wanted Jane to shut up and stop trying to hook her up with a boyfriend just because she felt bad that Darcy wasn’t getting any while she had a literal God to come home to every night. She had continued to avoid Bucky like the plague, even though he had been quite persistent in the first few months of her living at the tower. He had eventually left her alone, seemingly having given up. Darcy was still unsure of what exactly had led to his interest in her at all, she was just Jane’s gofer, not a superhero or superbrain in her own right. Things had been going well enough, that of course they had to eventually go wrong, and on a Monday no less. Darcy had been missing her mail for long enough, and had decided to go down to the mailroom on her break to see what was the what. Upon entering said room she was promptly told by the nice people working down there that mail for Avengers and Avengers related personnel (which she sadly fell under the umbrella of) was looked over by one James Buchanan Barnes before being allowed to be delivered. Upon further stunned inquiry she was also told that this was another way Sargent Sexy was able to ensure the safety of the tower and its inhabitants (which for a veteran and ex prisoner of war did make some sense). Darcy shuffled back to the labs in a state of rising mortification, her head bent in her phone trying to ignore the crushing sense of knowing exactly what had happened. She did not notice the man in front of her, not until she bumped into him that is. A silver hand had reached out to steady her and Darcy took in a breath when she realised who she had bumped in to. She looked up into his eyes and (in typical Darcy fashion) said the first thing that came to mind, “So funny story, it would seem that you’re in charge of checking over mail for us Avengers adjacent folks, and I’ve been missing said mail since I came to this tower. You don’t really have that big a thing for ladies underwear do you? I mean hey, if you do no judgement here, just get your own dude.”.

Bucky looked down at her for a minute, his gaze turning damn near predatory, and Darcy had the distinct impression that she had fallen into some sort of trap (which, knowing of The Winter Soldier wasn’t outside her realm of possibility), “Well doll,” he drawled in that edible Brooklyn accent of his, “now that you mention it I do. Especially when it comes to lingerie fashioned after my own old uniform. Have to admit I’ve been wanting you to model it for me for some months now”.

Darcy was fairly certain her brain had finally broken. The James Barnes was not standing in front of her in fucking Stark Tower of all places, practically propositioning her. “I, uhm, what?” she said, cheeks beginning to resemble her cherry red sweater.

Bucky only laughed, using his arm to bring her flush against his body “Will you model it for me? I’d love to see what it looks like on you. Although I will admit that I’m even more interested in seeing what it looks like off of you, on my bedroom floor. But I was raised in the thirties, you know, I have to treat a lady right. Would you settle for dinner and the promise of future modelling opportunities?”.

Darcy, having finally regained her speech capabilities, brought herself up to his ear and whispered an affirmative that had even the great Winter Sexbot blushing.

As a newly married woman, Darcy Elizabeth Lewis-Barnes was completely and incandescently happy. This may be down to the honeymoon on one of the many private islands owned by one Tony Stark, or the many orgasms her new husband had managed to pull out of her. Darcy wasn’t one to dwell.

#bucky barnes headcanons #wintershock #darcy lewis #bucky barnes #winter solider fanfiction #marvel

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writeiolite · 4 years

Text

curiosity killed the cat — [ WTF U! 18 ]

❝ You’re close to your dream life: early graduation and big-city opportunities. A one night stand with Oikawa turned into two, which turned to three, which somehow turned into two little lines on a plastic stick. It was nice being able to live your dreams, but suddenly it’s time for you both to wake the fuck up and start being parents. ❞

wc: 2,027

WTF U!: m.list . 18 . 19

There’s that saying about butter and a knife and tension, right? That would’ve been a dream these past couple days. Instead, Tooru wasn’t sure if there’s any blade that could cut through the heavy weight between his brother and sister-in-law. Whatever caused them to storm out of his game had nothing to do with him, but it was affecting him enough to not want to stick around any longer. Even the pleading looks from Takeru could never convince him to stay — if anything, he wants to take him too.

Neither of the two adults is passive-aggressive by any means, but Tooru definitely heard the hushed arguments from their bedroom and watched how Tarou would sometimes clench his jaw during meal conversations. There was no denying the tired, faux smile on Akiko’s face when she’d see Tooru after work, but there was also no confronting it. He’s not going to butt into their relationship, but he’ll wish them the best of luck from afar. It’s surprising to see them fight, especially to such a degree in a short amount of time, but that’s exactly why he wants to stay out of it.

“If things between Y/N and I can improve, then there’s hope,” he cheekily teases Akiko in the doorway, his duffle bag hanging on his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me stay this long. Tell Tarou I said thanks too when he gets home.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I will! I hope that means things between you two are getting better.”

He nods proudly. Sure, he messed up in the end, but that call felt like progress back to where you two once were. Just getting to hear your voice in a casual setting, without expectations, made his heart lighter. It’s been so long since he felt that with you, but he’s never forgotten the feeling. Behind the smile, he’s sporting are thoughts and memories of you as he drives back to his apartment.

He didn’t ask what you had been up to when he called and that only means his mind wanders now. Months ago, you two were strangers to each other, last names and formalities, and your job was the only thing tying you together. Now it’s what pulled you apart and he can’t seem to balance the bitterness with the longing he has for you.

Do you miss him too? Do you despise him too? Part of him wants to see you just so he can yell at you again, to lecture you and dig his words in with a knife and bury his heart with a shovel. And the other part of him wants to visit so he can hold your hand. Just that. Right now, all he wants is the simplicity of holding your hand again because that was something consistent for the two of you when the road got rocky.

As for you, your inner turmoil is still muted, but maybe that call did something. It’s clear that the two of you bond over nostalgic thoughts, which only serves to make you more conflicted about the call. If he called just to make you feel something again then it worked, but you don’t want to feel anything.

You just want to work. Right now, that’s the only thing you can do best.

“Y/N…”

You look up from your computer at the sound of Dayoung’s soft voice, alarm causing your eyebrows to lift. She looks worried. You might have to retract that earlier statement.

“Yes?”

Her neatly manicured hand waves a paper with a small swish. “Is everything okay? I noticed you requested some days off in December and quite a few next year as well.”

How do I say “Your ex knocked me up and those are my maternity appointments?”

Hesitation grabs hold of your lips, especially when Dayoung furrows her brows at you.

“I’m fine!” You hold up your hands in reassurance. “I just have a few appointments and some fam- guests might be coming to see me.”

Now one neat brow comes up. “Ohh, family? Liiikkeeeee a boyfriend?”

Pfft, who is she? Rina?

“Something like that…! How’d you and your husband meet?” You need to change the topic before she drags out the f-word again. Hearing the word come out of your mouth surprised you more than her, for sure. And since when have you started referring to things as _-word?! How does that infuriating man still have an impact on you?

She doesn’t spare a breath before she’s pouring out the words like a memorized speech, much to your relief.

“We met through an ex-boyfriend of mine, actually. He and Paulo were volleyball teammates in Argentina but my ex wanted to go Olympic while I wanted to settle down. Things didn’t work out, Paulo ended up helping me start up this business, and then the rest was history!” There’s an uncharacteristically dreamy look in her eyes when she talks about it, but somehow it makes your stomach flutter with butterflies and… surprise.

So much for not having feelings. But how can you not? She met her husband through Oikawa? Is that why he’s so fragile now? Maybe the swirling in your gut isn’t the fuzzing feeling of romance but the churning of stomach acid right before you puke.

The resemblance of the two scenarios is too uncanny, but you can’t tell which is worse, honestly. All you know is suddenly your lungs aren’t as big as you thought they were when you think about Oikawa going through this twice on different ends of the spectrum. Shouldn’t this mean he understands where you’re coming from to some degree? Right now, you can barely swallow down everything Dayoung has spilled to you.

Yet you want to know more.

“Did you hold it against your ex?” you gulp out, not meeting her eyes. “Prioritizing his job over settling down? Does he hold it against you?”

“No, I could never,” she immediately tells you with a rosy smile that comforts and confuses you. “He may still be hurt because I couldn’t wait to get married, but I think it just shows that we weren’t meant to be anyway. We had different goals. I heard through the grapevine that he’s doing really well now and I… I’m happy for him…”

The small pause that follows is due to the look on Dayoung’s face. Her eyes are far from dull and a reminiscent curve plays on her glossy lips. Maybe the hint of pink on her cheeks is from her makeup… or maybe it’s not.

It doesn’t hurt to see that expression on her beautiful face, but rather you wish you had the same look. You wish Oikawa would think about the future and be okay with your choice because, truly, your heart is aching now when you think about raising this baby with financial stability and no present father figure. It may be wrong, but Dayoung has something you want.

She has a flower garden for smiles when Paulo comes around while you have vines and weeds around your heart. Maybe you were misguided in leaving, but what other choice did you have?!

“I believe your résumé said you worked at the athletic club he trains at so you might know him. Small world isn’t it?” She rips you away from your noxious thoughts with a direct smile at you, this smile much different than the one she had for Oikawa.

“Yeah,” you push out with a nervous laugh. “Small world. But I’ll probably never go back there. I think I’m at home here.”

And home you are, a few hours after that, at least. Somehow the rest of your workday was complete hell. All you could think about was Dayoung, her husband, and Oikawa. Just a few days ago you were sighing dreamily over her marriage but now you feel like there’s something off about it.

And the call from Oikawa? What exactly did he need from you? Why did you let him talk for so long? Ripping out your hair and scratching your head isn’t going to dig up the answers, but a little snooping might…

Even after the long hours at your office computers, you still manage to keep your eyes trained on your laptop when you pull up Dayoung’s Facebook. Online stalking your boss is definitely not the way to go, but you want to look at someone else’s drama for once.

Shared post.

Scroll.

Tagged in a photo.

Scroll.

Timehop.

Scroll.

Happy photo with a younger Oikawa.

Scroll.

Boring.

The iced tea beside you is watering down the longer you sit there, without any progress, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything but drink in the words on the screen. Especially when you type in her fiancé’s name on her profile, hoping for results.

Vacation post in Dubai.

Photos of their dog.

Tagged in a post.

Each one dates farther back until you finally find something of importance: an engagement post.

Wait-

There’s no way this can be right. You swore you just saw a similar date on a previous post… And now I have to scroll all the way through again- Oh.

No, you don’t. As luck would have it, in her fickle form, you don’t have to scroll too far. You went back to her home page and scrolled right back to where you were, finding the engagement post with sickening ease, posted just mere weeks after that happy photo with a certain volleyball player.

Your vision blurs a little, lungs closing up, and fingers freezing as you try to fool yourself into thinking you’re wrong. There’s no way she got engaged so soon after the two of them broke up. Nothing could convince you to believe that! She just looked so enamored with Oikawa hours ago, why would she c-

You don’t know the whole truth, you don’t know the whole truth.

Your small lungs expand as you ground yourself with a big breath of a reality check. Even then, you’re met with the familiar churning in your stomach. All you wanted was to do a little snooping on Dayoung and figure out why she’s so… elusive. But now you understand why people say curiosity killed the cat.

Too bad they have nine lives.

“Hey, Aki!”

“Y/N, hi! How are you?”

Just great! Found out my boss might be a cheater and- Fuck.

You freeze up again, realization hitting you much harder now because this is Akiko you’re talking to about your boss and Oikawa’s ex. The same Akiko that once said she doesn’t know Dayoung Silva… But wouldn’t she know his-

You gasp sharply before you even realize it, bringing your hand to your mouth as if to swallow the sound — or your suspicions — back up.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“H-hey uh,” your mind fails you, “what else do you know about Oikawa’s ex?”

“Like what?”

“Like uh… Why they broke up?”

“He wasn’t ready for marriage but she was and his parents wanted him to be. So they ended up splitting. Why do you ask?”

Of course, what else could you expect? She’s been lying to you this whole time about not knowing- no. No, no, no, it could be a coincidence. She may not know about Dayoung’s marriage.

“I was just wondering,” you mumble out, not completely convinced. But what choice do you have? Aki’s your closest friend right now that knows about the pregnancy — your only friend that knows. If you’re going to believe in anybody, it has to be her.

She may not know.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening with us right now? Except the roles are reversed?”

You don’t hear the sigh of relief Akiko lets out, nor do you see the glare Tarou gives her. “Yeah, but it’s still a little different. You shouldn’t compare the two situations.”

“I know, but…” Dayoung is his ex and I just realized you told me you didn’t know her, and history is repeating itself and I don’t know how to feel about the situation because I just want it all to go away.

“I guess I’m just paranoid.”

{ taglist — tell me if you want to be added or taken off: @vventure @ilikeyourstory @infamouswhitepawsies @lapofthegodss @svtbitch @jaehyunluvcult @for-ests @spikertrash @booklover240 @ushimiyas @skysixx0523 @skyguy-peach @kozukens @lady-naho @toofickleheart @ksyy @keigosbitch @srhlsx @moonchild-kun94 @thissilverbadger @dreamyjaems @n3verending16 @asexualmarauder @taeiliee @samwritesss @kiwiialoe @theshirleygamer @tycrackculture @doenerfee @awkwardali6106 @icythotsenpai @dyosatalaga @ochikundekuma @vanderaliwaal @preparingtofall @yams046 @asahi-is-jesus-periodt @atsumunotsangwoo @sugawsites @nekoma-hoe }

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sylvie-writes · 4 years

Text

Bad (2): What Happened?

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: What went down that fateful night...

A/n: I got carried away, and kinda forgot about the real plot lol. So there’s more fluff than angst... I think.

Disclaimer: this chapter is sort of a filler before we get to the real shiz.

Warnings: Cheating, mild profanity, poor writing. Ransom being an asshole (rip all the soft Ransom stories I’ve written)

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist

Picking up from where we last left off: About two months ago, your work gave its employees a week off for the holidays. It was once in a blue moon that you got to see your family, so you seized this opportunity. You wished your husband could have come, but Ransom had to stay behind to help Harlan with an upcoming novel. In truth, Ransom never saw himself reverting back to his bad ways, but who knows what entices people to change…

They always say to choose a job that you love. Something even your own parents had drilled into your head as a young child, trying to prevent you from their own mistakes. It was known then, that if you chose a job you didn’t love, you would be metaphorically chained like a prisoner bound to the wall, or in your case, the job.

Well, you followed their advice, and chose a job you were passionate about, something you didn’t mind studying about all those years ago in college. It’s not that you didn’t love your job, but you were tired, very tired. Life was fast paced and you were running out of fuel, so to say. So this morning when your work offered you an exclusive week off, you took the offer, worked quickly yet precisely, and flew out the door, before it was dark. Normally, you’d work more than the normal 9-5 shift, it was more like 9-7 for you, anyway.

Ransom was supposedly off today, and you wanted nothing more than to kick off your break, by eating a nice lunch with your husband. While you gave your holiday wishes to your friends, you shot Ransom a quick text asking him to call you.

So, just as you drove down the highway, your phone steaming your favorite playlist to the car’s stereo, Ransom’s name popped up on the large screen, a picture of him in college, showing up. (yeah, you liked to tease him about his college years, when he thought he was all that and a bag of chips.)

“Hey Gorgeous! What’s up?”

“Well… you interrupted my carpool karaoke.”

Your husband laughed along with you, before you dropped your surprise on him.

“Other than that, my work gave me the week off. No biggie though.”

Being married to Ransom and having known him for many years, has given you a real sense of sarcasm to say the least.

“That’s amazing! You deserve it, my love.”

“Ohh, quit trying to butter me up, Ran.”

More laughter from his end, making a large grin grow on your face. Only you could ever make Ransom laugh at the stupidest things, that’s just the kind of bond you two shared.

“Anyhoo, I was wondering if you wanted me to come pick you up for lunch?”

“Sounds great, love ya.”

“Love you too.” The rest of the drive to your house was enjoyable. Today had been spectacular, something that hadn’t happened in ages. As you continued to drive, all the amazing occurrences from today settled with you in the car, a permanent smile on your face the whole way.

You pulled into the driveway, opting to stay in the car just to keep the warm air flowing from the vents, sending Ransom a quick text.

A few minutes later, the man himself came out, his brown suede trench coat on, your own raspberry pea coat slung over his left arm.

The passenger door popped open, and Ransom’s warm lips pressed slowly against your cheek, instantly warming you up.

“I figured you might be cold.”

A deep laugh resonated in his stomach as he reached over the console to hand you the jacket, the one you had forgotten this morning.

“Thanks, hon. So, where do you want to eat?”

You looked over to Ransom, whose eyes had been lovingly glued to you since he’d gotten in the car.

“How about that little sandwich shop in town?”

A bright and sweet smile graced your lips, stunning Ransom with its effect on him. His own eyes crinkling up as his frowning lips slowly formed into a content smile.

Once you had reached town about twenty minutes later, Ransom rushed out of the car the minute you had stopped the engine. His actions leaving you confused when suddenly a blurb of tan suede halted and revealed the missing man, who was now pulling your door open.

“Wow Mr. Drysdale, since when did you become such a gentleman.”

You teased Ransom, wrapping your arm around his, embracing his warmth, and playfully kissing his nose.

“Since you became Mrs. Drysdale.”

His little quip caught you off guard as you weren’t expecting a response from the man. As a result of that surprise, your cheeks slightly warmed, causing you to shyly look down. It was a given, what had just happened, as Ransom knew your reactions like the back of his hand.

That arrogant jerk knew very well what he had done and slightly leaned over to kiss your bowed head.

Confidently, Ransom spoke up, and without even looking over at him, you just knew he was smirking.

“Still have that effect on you, huh?”

Before you could banter back at him, your arm interlocked with Ransom’s was tugged, prompting you to look up.

Apparently, when you were just mindlessly walking to the restaurant, Ransom had another stop on his list. One full of eye-catching flower bouquets. Blood red roses, yellow lilies, variegated tulips, you name it, they littered the glass window of the flower shop.

As you stepped into the shop, the distinctive smell of baby’s breath filled your senses. You were still interlocked with Ransom, so at this point wherever he walked, you went. Also meaning he’d dragged you to the counter despite your words of defiance.

“Ransom, you don’t need to buy me anything. All I want is to eat lunch, with my husband.”

“And that you’ll get.”

Just when you’d thought you’d won this argument, the man continued.

“Along with the bouquet of carnations and baby’s breath please.

Your husband spoke up just a bit louder, so the man behind the counter could hear his order while also making it known to you that you were indeed gonna accept these flowers.

Ransom quickly paid for the bouquet, coming back to lock arms with you and hand you the flowers. It was a simple bouquet yet the meaning behind the choice a lot stronger. Coral carnations ideally intermixed with the snow-white baby’s breath. The soft aroma from earlier, now in a bouquet held by your cold hands.

When you were young, your grandmother would always buy carnations for her home, specifically the coral ones. She’d tell you about each flower and how they were all unique, capturing your curiosity. As you got older, you became more versed in floral design and structure. Soon, you were going every other day to buy fresh carnations for your grandmother. When you had first brought Ransom to meet her, she told him about the story behind carnations and when you were always buying them.

To this day, Ransom remembers, and the carnations have since then become your flower.

If it weren’t for the constant wind, the temperature would have been enjoyable, but now your hands were slightly shaking and Ransom noticed. Taking your free hand in his, he then put your conjoined hands in his coat pocket.

Just a few more blocks and you had finally made it to the humble little sandwich shop, one Ransom had actually introduced to you.

Mr. Miller, the owner of the shop happily greeted you both. Over the years you’ve lived in Massachusetts, you and Ransom have become regulars at this shop. It may have been a small place, with seating for only thirty people, yet the food was outstanding. Especially Mr. Miller’s Monte Cristo, your’s and Ransom’s favorite. To no surprise, that is in fact what you ended up ordering.

As you sat at the booth, the two of you laughing and enjoying the time spent with each other, never once did it cross your mind that this was it. That this was not gonna be the normal anymore. It’d become a memory you’d end up savoring for the years of the future.

Because little did you know, that was the last time he’d ever buy you flowers, the last time he’d ever laugh with you…

The last time he’d ever really love you.

That very next day, you woke up early to pack your bags for the unbearable flight to come. You absolutely hated the airport, but then again, who doesn’t? It was a constant marathon and by time you make it to all your gates, you’d probably lose ten pounds from running so much. There was no peace at the airport, especially with the holiday rush and you dreaded it. If only your husband could have come, it would make things ten times better, but he can’t and you aren’t going to miss this opportunity. It’s been a few years since you’ve been able to go home, and truly relax for the holidays. The years before, you’d only get to spend the weekend, but now you have the whole week and in the end, it’d be worth the living hell at the airport.

By 10:00 am, you were all ready to go, Ransom carrying the bags to your car, sulking as he did so. He really wanted to go with you. Believe it or not, but Ransom would love to spend all his time with you if he could, except Harlan really needed his help to finish up a few things.

With everything packed, it finally came time for you to bid goodbye. Sure, it was a week away, but this was your first Christmas as a married couple, and you couldn’t spend it together. Had things been different, you could have, but Ransom understood you missed your family. For once in his life, Ransom Drysdale thought about someone else’s benefit beside his own.

The car running, you flung your arms around Ransom, who stood at the door, coffee in hand, balancing it as he reciprocated the hug.

He could feel your tears on his neck, running through his sweatshirt. Your head was buried in the crevice, and your sobs made his heart shatter. Ransom couldn't bear it anymore, because soon he’d be the one crying. A warm hand, ran up and down your back while soothing whispers rang in your ear.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay.”

Your sobs that racked your body soon ceased, Ransom pulling back to give you his best attempt at a smile. His eyes worriedly scanned over your red ones before pulling you into a soothing kiss. Releasing your lips, Ransom once again gave you a comforting smile, handing you the coffee, knowing you had forgotten your own.

“Go on, you’re gonna be late, my love.”

On tippy toes, you pressed your lips to the corner of Ransom’s, slowly leaning away, then solemnly heading to your car.

That night, you had called Ransom, telling him you made it safely and that you’d facetime him tomorrow. In his voice, Ransom hid his sorrow, but in truth, ever since you left this morning, he’d been wallowing in despair. What better way to drown out your sorrows than to actually do that? So just as Ransom hung up the phone, he dashed to the car and to the nearest bar, slowly easing the pain via eight beers.

Just about to ring up the bartender for a check, a small, womanly hand slowly wrapped around his forearm, setting it back down on the counter.

“Hey stranger.”

Ransom was so intoxicated, he struggled to even focus, but all he knew was that a woman was sitting in front of him and he sure was missing his wife. It was wrong, but at that moment, his priorities blurred the minute the girl’s lips smothered his. There weren’t boundaries anymore and he knew damn well, that this lady was making his thoughts and good judgement dissipate, he forgot why he was even there in the first place. Right now, you were in the back of his drunken mind, and Blair in the front. Literally and figuratively.

The two broke away from the kiss for air, and Ransom soon remembered the woman staring seductively at him. At this moment, the man was no longer in his own mindset and was reverting back to his old self. The playboy Ransom Drysdale was out tonight, not the man bound by the ring on his finger.

“It’s Blair right?”

She nodded, a few waves of chestnut brown hair moving with her head. Soon drinks long forgotten, Ransom threw down a one-hundred dollar bill, taking Blair by the hand, and out the door. As he gripped her warm hand, he could feel the cold metal of his wedding ring, slightly breaking him out of his lustful haze as mentally kicked himself for what just almost happened. He let out a small laugh, you were always there to keep him in line, whether he accepted it or not. And thank god for that, he thought. After that little reminder, it was like he had sobered up.

About to send Blair back into the bar, lips peppered small kisses to his ear and his fresh mindset was thrown out the window. The sober thoughts now gone. Starting that car engine and driving out with Blair in the passenger seat, Ransom was unknowingly throwing away the best thing to ever happen to him. By doing this, long gone was the better man you had helped make Ransom become.

If only he had been strong enough to fight the temptation and listen to the little warning the symbol of your love (his ring) gave him...

And that night, as Ransom washed away his longing for you with Blair, you laid awake in your childhood bed, happily replaying the memory of lunch with Ransom just the day before. Soon, you’d be reliving that memory in your head, more often than once, but with tears streaming down your face.

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If I’ve messed up and tagged the wrong person, please lemme know. I’m very tired and typing up the taglist was probably not the best idea.

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader

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