#saw a bobcat in person for the first time ever

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Surprisingly see more animals with the sidewalk in my backyard than before they cleared out the trees

Like i know those animals were there before and were just hidden by the trees but I thought the sidewalk would scare them off

Apparently not

[bi-bard]

The Retreat - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural/Criminal Minds Crossover)

Title: The Retreat

Pairing: Winchester Brothers X Sibling!Reader, Spencer Reid X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,382 words

Warning(s): none that I know of

Summary: (Season 10, Episode 8) Spencer and (Y/n) get invited out to a Sheriff's retreat on behalf on the B.A.U. Of course, no trip could ever be that easy.

Author's Note: Remember when it was said that Spencer was supposed to be bi, but his crush on J.J somehow made that impossible? Yeah, that's gonna be my villain origin story. This is justice for bi Spencer.

I really just wanted this to be cute. Nothing else mattered to me.

MORE ABOUT THIS OC HERE

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

"Wonder why Hotch wanted us to come out here," Spencer asked as we got out of the car.

I shrugged as we grabbed our bags, "Don't know. Maybe we're the shiny new faces of the B.A.U."

Spencer scoffed as we walked in.

"That and you're a certified genius," I added.

We walked up to a table being run by a blonde sheriff. I put on a kind smile and pulled out my badge.

"Hello there," I said. "Agents Campbell and Reid. We're the speakers sent by the B.A.U."

"Oh, yes," she smiled widely at us after marking our names on a list. "Nice to meet you both. I'm Donna Hanscum. I'm a sheriff out in Stillwater, but I grew up here. If you need any advice on where to eat and stuff, I'm your gal."

"Nice to meet you," I grinned, grabbing the information from her. "Where are we staying?"

"Oh, those stairs just behind you will take up to all of the rooms," she pointed behind us.

We both looked back at it for a moment before looking back at her. When we did, she was holding out two suckers for us.

"Thank you," Spencer said, a little awkwardly as we both accepted.

"I am just so excited to hear your talk," she explained. "You two are easily the biggest names here."

I chuckled and looked down for a moment, "Thank you."

I turned around when the door opened.

"Jody," I said when I saw who it was.

She looked up from her broken suitcase and immediately relaxed when she saw me. I walked over and hugged her, carefully moving my bag so I didn't hit her.

"God, it's good to see you, (Y/n)," she replied.

"How are you," I asked as I stepped back. "How are Claire and Alex?"

"Good and... getting there," she nodded. "I think we're getting there, y'know?"

"Good," I said. I looked over and waved Spencer over. "Jody, this is Spencer Reid. We work together at the F.B.I. Spencer, this is Jody Mills. A complete badass."

"Oh, thanks," she chuckled at the compliment. "Nice to meet you, Spencer."

"Nice to meet you too," Spencer nodded.

"Come on, let's go get settled so we can start looking around," I shoved Spencer toward the stairs. "I'll talk to you later, Jody!"

"Later!"

--time skip--

Most of the conference went just fine.

Most of the people there were nice enough. They seemed to be actually interested in what Spencer and I were going to speak about. People were kind and it was going pretty well.

Except for Donna's ex. That guy was a tool. Nothing could change my mind.

However, when news started spreading about a body being found, I knew something was going to go downhill.

We had met up with Jody and Donna when we first heard about it.

"Eaten," I asked the sheriff who had told us. "Sorry, Campbell and Reid, F.B.I."

"Yeah, eaten. Like just the peach pit kind of eaten."

"Any idea what did it," Jody asked.

"Coroner's saying animals out of the woods," he shrugged. "Bobcats and whatnot. No wonder Sheriff Cuse was so out of sorts back there. Got all of this to sort out."

Jody and I looked at each other for a moment.

"Do attacks like that happen a lot in this area," Jody looked at Donna.

"Heck no," she said immediately. "When I lived here, we kept our critters in check. Did it leave any track... hairs?"

"Not even a claw mark on the body," the man replied.

"Crap," I whispered.

"I'll be right back," Jody walked off.

I followed her outside. She pulled out her phone.

"I'm calling your brother," she told me as I made it over. She froze up when she saw Spencer.

"He knows," I answered.

"Why does he-"

She cut herself off when he answered the phone. I listened to them make small talk. Apparently, Sam didn't call Jody when he tracked Dean down after the whole demon ordeal. We ended up leaning on her car.

"Listen, this may not be your kind of thing, but a body was found here this morning, and something had gone to chow town on it," she explained.

I didn't hear any of Sam's responses.

"Worse, I'm hearing that all the flesh had been eaten down to the bone. Any ideas?"

"Nah, it's okay, I can handle it. I've got (Y/n) and their buddy, Spencer, so I'm not alone. I promise I'll call if it gets to be something I can't."

"Screw you, Winchester."

She hung up soon after that.

"We should head to the coroner's office," she suggested.

"We can't," Spencer checked his. "Our talk is gonna start soon. We can't just leave."

"Text us any updates," I said. "We only have the one talk and then we're free."

"Good luck," she replied, going to get in her car.

"Let's go, Reid," I nodded back toward the building.

I could never have a normal trip, could I?

--time skip--

I spotted Sam and Dean as soon as they walked in the next day. I sighed at them and walked over, Spencer right behind me.

"Jody told you we had it handled," I said.

"I was going crazy in the bunker, (Y/n)," Dean explained. "I needed to do something."

I sighed before stepping forward and hugging him. He had been through a lot of shit recently. I had to at least try to be understanding.

"How are you doing," I asked after stepping back.

"Better," Dean nodded. I grinned. He looked over at Spencer. "Hey, Spencer."

"Hi," he grinned. He looked over at Sam and immediately seemed more nervous. His voice was suddenly quieter as he awkwardly waved. "Hi."

"Hey," Sam seemed awkward too.

Dean and I shared a look. These two again.

"I said I could handle it," Jody said as she walked over.

"Yeah, we got the speech," Dean replied as she hugged him. "Nice to see you, too."

She hugged Sam quickly before stepping back, "I'm heading to the morgue, want in?"

"We just came from there," Sam said.

"And?"

"And flesh was eaten off the second victim too," he explained.

"Anything missing?"

"His wallet, why," Dean asked.

"Because I think a belt was missing off the first kid," Jody mentioned.

"Why take souvenirs when you're dumping the body in plain sight," I asked. "The scene looks like it's done out of hunger, but the robbing... that's very different."

"Could robbing be an afterthought," Spencer asked. "If it was about souvenirs, the killer would take the same thing each time."

"Stealing out of necessity," I replied. Spencer nodded.

"Are you two profiling a monster," Dean whispered.

"It works," I shrugged. "Most monsters have an element of human to them."

"Jodio, you take sugar?"

We all paused to look over at where Donna was standing. She was making her and Jody some coffee.

"No," Jody replied awkwardly. "No sugar."

"Okeydokes," Donna called over again.

Dean, Sam, and I bit back laughs while Spencer just grinned.

"Jodio," Dean asked.

"It's... don't ask," Jody shook her head and looked down.

"Wait a sec," Sam hit Dean's arm. "Isn't that Donna?"

"Fat-spa Donna," Dean nodded.

"You guys know my stalker?"

"Fat-spa," I asked.

"She nearly blew a case for us last time," Dean explained.

"I haven't been able to shake that ray of sunshine since I got here," Jody muttered. "She's actually been pretty helpful, but, you know, it's just tough keeping her out of this nightmare stuff, you know?"

"And her ex is a tool," I muttered.

"You mind distracting her while we poke around," Sam asked Jody.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "You show up, and now I'm a babysitter?"

"Look, she hasn't gotten mixed up with this crap yet," Dean said. "Let's just try to keep it that way."

Jody sighed, "Fine. But if she tries to show me her sticker collection, I'm out."

"Agent Frehley, Agent Criss," Donna said as she walked over. The two of them greeted her. "I thought that was you! Ain't this a kick in the pants? Have you guys met Agents Campbell and Reid?"

"Well, we don't get a lot of chances to work with other teams," Dean lied through his teeth. "Just happened to cross paths."

"What dragged you two in then," she pushed.

"Well, we can't talk about it," he lied again.

She nodded, "Oh, yeah. I hear ya. Anything I can help with?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing," Sam insisted.

Jody managed to drag Donna off to the gear expo.

"So, what now," Spencer asked.

"Who's the... main sheriff here," Dean asked.

"Cuse," I answered. "Be careful though. He has my boss's number. Don't give him a reason to call it."

They nodded and went to walk off.

"What about us?"

"We play it cool," I replied. "Steer clear of them. That way, no one can accuse us of overstepping and our team doesn't get any crap."

He nodded.

"So... let's go do some networking at the gear expo."

"Sounds like a plan."

--time skip--

We could really only hide the truth from Donna for so long.

She had spotted a potential attack in action, so they kind of had to explain everything to her.

Spencer and I only headed outside when I got a message from them about Sheriff Cuse.

"A vampire," I asked when we got to the group.

"These two are in on it," Donna asked.

"Well... Spencer's not, really, he found out on accident... like you did," Sam explained.

"I'm Sam and Dean's sibling," I added.

"Really," she asked.

I nodded before looking at the boys, "What do we have?"

"Donna got an address that could be something," Dean said.

"It's the only lead we got," Donna chimed in.

"'We'," Sam repeated. She nodded. "All due respect, sheriff, but vampires are far more dangerous than the Johns you throw in jail."

"You're gonna sit this one out," Dean said.

"Stuff you, Dean," she snapped. "Or whatever your real name is."

Jody smirked, "Hanscum's good."

"She doesn't have any training with this," I said.

"I said, she's good."

"(Y/n)," I looked at Sam. "Stay here?"

"And let Donna go?"

"If the sheriff comes back, it looks sketchy if all four F.B.I agents are gone," he explained.

"Fine," I let out a breath. "Let's go, Spencer. Half an hour and I'm coming after you idiots."

They all nodded.

"Good luck."

We were sitting inside, just counting the minutes.

"It doesn't make sense," Spencer said. I raised an eyebrow. "The sheriff killing, maybe, but stealing. He already has a good job. He doesn't need to."

"You don't think it's him," I asked.

"At the least, not on his own. It has to be a team."

"Which would mean that the group walked into a whole nest, thinking he was alone," I muttered. "Let's go."

When we rolled up to the house, the impala was still there. Spencer grabbed his gun.

"Nope," I reached back to grab the spare bag I had brought. "I'm overly cautious."

"What- Oh my gosh," Spencer said as I handed him a machete. "How did you even sneak that in here?"

"Magician never reveals their secrets," I replied as I sat back up with my machete. "Hope you're ready. It's gonna be chaos."

"I'm ready," he nodded.

We got out of the car and started toward the house. We were only a few steps from the doors when they swung open.

"Whoa," Dean held his hands up. "Weapons down. No fangs."

"What the hell," I asked.

"It was a team."

"Yeah, we figured that much out."

"I killed a vampire," Donna said quickly.

"Good... job...," I replied hesitantly. "Is everyone physically okay?"

Everyone was nodding.

As we walked back to the cars, I caught Sam and Spencer talking off to the side. I tapped Dean's arm before pointing over at them.

"What- oh," Dean said. "How long until they kiss?"

"Two hours max," I replied. "They're cute though."

"Sammy deserves it."

"Yeah," I nodded. "So does Spencer."

"Snooping on your brother," Jody asked.

"Maybe," I muttered like a guilty kid before jogging to my car. "Spencer!"

His head popped up.

He awkwardly said goodbye to Sam and started jogging over to the car. We got in and started driving back to the motel.

"What's with the smile," I asked.

"What," Spencer seemed to suddenly snap out of some kind of trance.

"You have a huge smile on your face," I chuckled. "What happened?"

"Oh," he tried to make his smile smaller. "Nothing. Nothing."

I didn't believe him.

Not even a little bit.

But still, I dropped it.

Until we got back to the motel and Spencer decided to speak up again.

"(Y/n)," Spencer said nervously.

"What's up," I asked.

"Your brother... Your brother asked me out."

"What," I replied quickly. "Wait, wait. It was Sam, right?"

He paused, looking down, "Yeah."

"Aww," I smiled. "This is great. This is good, right? This is a good thing?"

"Yeah, I think so," Spencer was still staring at the floor as he spoke. "I said that I wanted to go get cleaned up and then meet up with him... mostly because I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, Spencer," I gushed. "I'm so happy for you."

"You're not upset that I'm ditching you?"

"You aren't ditching me," I replied. "I'll go hang out with Dean. Maybe we'll drag Jody and Donna with us. Have fun."

He nodded.

"But... how long have you two been talking," I asked. He furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't dive into relationships, Spencer. You never have."

"He... gave me his number when I met him," he explained. "He said it was for emergencies, but... it really was just us talking whenever we wanted."

"I should've known," I chuckled. "Damn. I'm oblivious."

Spencer shook his head.

"Go get ready for your date," I said before he could explain.

"Okay," he walked to the bathroom. "Thank you... for being so okay with this."

"As long as you and Sam are happy."

He grinned.

"I will murder you if you hurt him. And I have plenty of ways to make sure no one figures it out."

His grin dropped.

"Have fun tonight," I smiled back.

Sometimes being scary was a little bit fun.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[helenarlett-rex]

Helen Arlet’s Favorite Cryptids

#7 The Fresno Nightcrawlers

This is a new one for me that I only just recently learned about. I don’t even know how I missed these guys before now... But I’m instantly fascinated with them. They are just so weird and cute. And we have multiple cases of them caught on video?! I love this already!

Do I believe in them?

Well I’m new to the whole Fresno Nightcrawler scene, but for now I’m going to have to say no... I’ve watched the videos of these guys and I’m trying to figure out what they actually are, but weird alien creatures isn’t at the top of my list. The first video could very easily just be a guy in a sheet. I could see how that could be done. The second video that was captured of them almost looks more like puppets to me, but I just can’t figure out how the puppeteering would have been done... Either way I’m fascinated by it. Who knows... Maybe I’ll change my mind as I delve deeper into it.

#6 Snallygaster

I honestly don’t don’t know a ton about Snallygaster. I know it’s the signature cryptid of Maryland and I lived in Maryland for a short time... so I guess I have some attachment to it that way... I know he’s a big tentacle dragon and he looks pretty cool... But that’s about the extent of what I know. I haven’t taken the time to do research on him yet. I think honestly, I just really like the name. Snallygaster... That’s just fun to say. Say it with me... Snallygaster...

Do I believe in him?

Not at the moment, but then I haven’t really looked into this guy yet so I haven’t seen what kind of evidence is out there to support the belief of such a creature. I just look at the pictures of him and I feel like if such a thing existed, we’d probably be hearing about it... a lot... like every time he swooped out of the sky and snatched someone off the street...

#5 The Wampus Cat

It’s a big cat with 6 legs. And it might possibly be a shape shifting woman. That’s pretty cool. Plus she’s also the signature cryptid of my home state of Tennessee. I may not exactly like certain things about Tennessee, but I’ve still got to show some loyalty to our state cryptid. Funny thing is, despite the fact that I moved to Florida when I was very little and grew up there, even then I knew about this thing and heard about it all the time. We actually believed there was a Wampus Cat living in the woods there in the town I grew up in. I even knew an old man who had claimed to have been attacked by it. So the Wampus Cat has always been a part of my childhood.

Do I believe in her?

Debatable... Do I believe in a shape shifting cat woman with six legs? Probably not... But Tennessee has a lot of panther sightings. People see panthers, especially black panthers, around here all the time. And the thing is... officially there are no black panthers (or any other kind of panthers) in Tennessee. Officially, Tennessee doesn’t have any kind of cat larger than a bobcat. Black panthers, which are just a variant of jaguars, are extinct in the United States. But people still see them here all the time. It’s just kind of a known fact they are here regardless of what anyone else says. So hey... Maybe that’s just the Wampus Cat? *Shrugs*

#4 The Van Meter Visitor

The Van Meter Visitor is super interesting because it’s one of the few cryptids that is really hard to disprove, and yet, hardly anyone ever talks about it. It’s one of the more obscure cryptids out there to the point where I’d bet nine out of ten people reading this list have never even heard of it before. And you may be thinking, it’s a big pterodactyl with a horn on its head that shoots light... How is that hard to disprove? But when you think about it, this isn’t just some random cryptid with a few isolated sightings by a couple random people who may or may not be trustworthy. An entire town saw this thing. In 1903 the Van Meter Visitor terrorized the entire town of Van Meter, Iowa for days before they tracked down its nesting place and then the whole town showed up to shoot it and it’s mate(?), which they in fact did. Yeah, the creatures vanished into the mines after being shot at and were never seen again... so there’s no body... But it doesn’t change the fact that an entire town saw these things multiple times, lived in fear of them, and then finally shot them. So regardless if you believe it was a pterodactyl that could shoot light from its horn, there was obviously some kind of creature terrorizing the town of Van Meter that October in 1903. And the fact that it was so widely sighted just makes it really interesting to me.

Do I believe in it?

Like I said. Something terrorized that town that week. I believe that much. Was it a spotlight pterodactyl? I’m open enough to consider the possibility... But I’m also open enough to consider the possibility that it was something more on the normal side and it being 1903 people just didn’t know what they were looking at. We can’t really rule out mass hysteria as a possibility.

#3 The Jackalope

I simply love Jackalopes. I’ve thought they were awesome ever since I was a kid. I even used to love those creepy Jackalope videos they used to run on America’s Funniest People (Remember that show? Don’t feel bad if you don’t...) There’s just something weirdly captivating about the idea of a vicious rabbit with antlers.

Do I believe it in?

Well, despite the fact that I have an “I believe in Jackalopes” patch on my jacket, no, I don’t actually believe they exist. I’m a reasonable enough person to understand the history of Jackalopes and know where it came from. I wish they were real, but I know they aren’t.

#2 The Flatwoods Monster

The Flatwoods Monster is equal parts cute and creepy, which is really cool. She’s nowhere near as popular as Mothman, despite the fact that they are both West Virginia cryptids, and that’s kind of a shame. She certainly has one of the coolest designs of any cryptid. And her story is pretty interesting too. It’s one of those cryptid stories I still sit and ponder over.

Do I believe in her?

Not exactly...? I’m highly skeptical of aliens. Now did something happen in Flatwoods, West Virginia on September 12, 1952? Yeah. Something clearly happened. And the reports are strange enough that I can’t quite figure out what exactly happened... But as for the monster herself, as cool as she is, it’s more likely that she was just an owl in a tree that a group of people panicking in the dark mistook for a giant alien.

#1 Nessie

Of course Nessie has to be my favorite. She’s my home girl. Okay... Nessie is Scottish and I’m Scots-Irish, with more Irish than Scottish, but it’s close enough. I’ve still got some Scottish in me. Plus she’s like, a big dinosaur, so we have that in common as well. And Nessie was the first cryptid I ever truly believed in so how could she not be number one on my list? I love this girl.

Do I believe in her?

I’m going to say yes. There is totally something down there. There’s enough evidence at this point that it would be harder to convince me there isn’t something down there. We’ve got scientists who are now saying she’s a big turtle, and I guess that’s possible... probably more possible than an actual plesiosauria... Although I haven’t seen a ton of evidence to support the turtle idea yet... But whatever you want to think she is, I certainly think there’s something down there.

[nad-zeta]

Hello, my dear! I just stumbled upon you yesterday and read a good portion of your archive until 7 AM. I don't know if you know this, but you are an amazing writer. I seriously enjoyed reading everything you've written. If you're still taking requests, might I request two reactions, one for the IkeSen boys (Masamune, Hideyoshi, Nobu, Ieyasu and Yuki) and one for the IkeVamp boys (Comte, Leo, Arthur, Theo, and Napo) in which the femMC gets involved in a girl fight and she goes 21st c on them? ❤️

Hi, hi, dear! ❤ omw staaaaap ya making me blush😳😳😳 thank you so much for the kind words 🌻Thank you so much for the request! Hehehe I got super excited when I saw this!❤🌻 I think I’m gonna try and focus on HC this week! 🔥🦊Lol also as for the other Ikesen bois... I will post that HC tomorrow or the day after, hope you don’t mind, but I combined it with another pretty similar request! 😊🦋Hope you enjoy this, dear! And I hope you have a super good day! ❤

Headcanon: MC getting in a girl fight! feat; Comte, Leo, Arthur, Theo, and Napo

Comte

You and Comte had been in a relationship for a while now, so you were used to the lavish balls and endless nights spent socialising and dancing with your dearest love (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Tonight was another one of those occasions

Comte had invited you out to a ball hosted by a dear friend of his, except what he failed to tell you, was that this friend of his was actually a woman

⚆ _ ⚆

Now you were not the type of woman to lose your marbles over Comte having female friends

BUT

This woman was clearly trying to steal your man, right from under your nose (；一_一)

The moment the two of you had arrived at the venue, she was at the door to greet the two of you (◕▿◕✿)

She gave Comte her biggest brightest smile, and when she looked at you he eyes grew dark and her smile turned strained

“and who might this be my dear Comte?” she asked with a forced smile as she looked you up and down (◕⍸ ◕✿)

“Ah my apologies, it seems you have not yet heard the news, this is the love of my life,” Comte gave your cheek a quick kiss as he flashed you a charming smile ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ

The hostess of the party was furious, she had, had her eye on Comte since the first day she met him, and now some stranger just swoops in from out of nowhere to steal him away (¬_¬)

UNACCEPTABLE

As the night progressed you and Comte danced and chatted away, you started getting a little thirsty from all the dancing, so you looked up at his golden eyes, “I will be right back, just want to get some water.” 

Before Comte could offer to get some for you, you were already off to the drinks table 

He chuckled as he watched you weave your way through the crowed 

The hostess saw you break away from the crowd and decided that if she were to do something now would be the time.

“Hey you!” the woman yelled as you took a sip of water. “Who do you think you are stealing what is mine.” ╚(ಠ_ಠ)=┐

You looked up at the woman confusion painted on your face, she wasted no time leaning in close and while she dumped a glass of champagne out on top of your head she whispered, “stay away from Comte or else.”

(┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻

“If you think I am going to stay away from my soulmate, then you have another thing coming.” You glared at the woman threateningly, if she wanted to fight you were ready ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ

The woman blinded by rage, attempted to smack you across the face, little did she know, this wasn’t your first chick fight!

You caught her hand mid-air and pinned it to her back（╯°□°）╯︵( .o.)

The woman then started screaming and tried hitting you with her other hand. 

You simply smiled and kicked her knees until they buckled, pinning her to the floor. (─‿‿─)

Just then Comte came over to see what was happening, as sometime during your argument a crowed had started to form around the two of you ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

Comte’s eyes widened in surprise to see you sitting on top of the woman as you pinned her arms behind her back in an effort to restrain her

He rushed to your side to see if you were okay, “Ma Cherie, are you unhurt, oh dear your hair is all wet, come let’s get you cleaned up.” (◕▿◕✿)

He gently took your hand in his, smiling at the way you managed to take down the woman without even throwing a punch 

Arthur

So, it is no secret that before meeting you, Arthur had had a few laps around the block, if you catch my drift (~˘▾˘)~

He was an incredibly well-known flirt and well clearly some woman still didn’t take your relationship with the Arthur seriously

They low key thought you were just some one night stand, yet little did they know Arthur was serious about you (°ロ°)☝

The two of you were leisurely strolling through the markets with Vic

(❍ᴥ❍ʋ)

When suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere a beautiful woman appeared and tackled Arthur in a big hug planting a kiss straight on his lips ʘ‿ʘ

This of course had you pissed (눈_눈)

Arthur gently pushed the lady off him and gave you an apologetic smile before turning back to the woman, “Beth, I would like to introduce you to my dearest love, the one who had stolen this old playboys heart.” ಠ‿↼

The woman scoffed slightly at the statement, “Surely this can’t be true Arthur, I give it two weeks with this drab little thing and you will be out on the rebound.” She looked you up and down, disgust clear as day on her face ¬_¬

“Why don’t you ditch this little girl and come and have some fun with me and the girls,” she said with a flirty unfaltering smile (^̮^)

Before Arthur could do anything you pulled the woman away from Arthur and glared daggers at her, “Perhaps you didn’t hear him, he is in a happily committed relationship and if he is in need of a night companion I am more than capable of fulfilling that role, thank you.” your tone was authoritative and slightly possessive ノಠ_ಠノ

Yet the woman continued, “Oh I heard him alright, and I stick by what I said,” she got up real close and personal as she whispered in a taunting tone, “he will leave you within the week sweetheart and come crawling back to me.” (¬‿¬)

You honestly snapped, and before you knew it you punched her smack in the face, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief for a moment, before a dark look closed over her face  (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

She fought back, and soon the two of you were engaged in a full-blown chick fight  (ง'̀-'́)ง

Some bystanders help Arthur in pulling the two of you apart, “Come, love, she is not worth it.” (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

Arthur now had you held in a tight hug, restraining your arms from throwing any more punches (σ≧∀≦)σ

Soon the police got wind of the fight and started running to the scene with the intention of catching and locking up all those who was involved in causing the ruckus.

Arthur quickly grabbed your hand and dashed away with you trailing behind him, he ducked into one of the alleyway holding you tight in his arms  ᕕ(╯°□°)ᕗ

“You are quite the little bobcat aren’t you love,” he said while looking down at you wearing the most dashing smiles ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You let out a loud sigh, “I can’t believe I got into a fight, over a flirt none the lest,” you then started laughing, you really couldn’t believe you got into a fight over your possessiveness of your playboy boyfriend  (◕‿◕✿)

Arthur then burst out laughing at the thought of you being so jealous of the woman and fighting for his honour, “ahaha, I must say Luv your jealous face is, A-DOR-A-BLE.” (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The two of you continued to laugh in the alley over the little incident

Leonardo

You and Leo were out strolling around the streets of Paris helping people, as per usual (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

You were enjoying the relaxing stroll in the summer sun when all of a sudden a woman bumped into you 

She gave you one look up and down and scoffed

As she made her way past you, she whispered in you ear, “filthy commoner.” ◉_◉

Your eyes widened as you looked back and watch her walk-off

Sensing your slight distress Leo squeezed your hand and stole your lips in a quick kiss, “Pay her no mind Cara mia, yes, she clearly is uncomfortable from the stick so far up her butt.” ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

You laugh as the Italian tried to lighten the mood with the phrase you had taught him after encountering a very rude woman at one of Comte’s balls

After a full day of helping people you and Leo were exhausted (*ﾉω-)

The two of you walked back down the familiar road, slowly making your way back to the mansion 

When the smell of coffee filled your senses

You smiled over at Leo who also caught a whiff of the delicious hot drink, “Would you like one, Cara mia,” you smiled and nodded finding a park bench to sit on, to rest for a moment (◕‿◕✿)

That is when the rude lady from before stormed up to you

“Found you, you thieving street rat,” you looked at the woman super confused ಠ▃ಠ

“Thought you could steal my brooch and get away with it,” you were now even more confused, but the woman was not backing down getting even closer to your face and spitting out more accusations ლಠ益ಠ)ლ

“Ooooh if you didn’t steal it then what is that?” she said pointing to a small brooch of a butterfly that Leo had gifted you a while back.

“Give it back, and i’ll forget this little incident ever happened” she said in a matter of fact tone as she folded her arms (¬_¬)

You covered the brooch with your hand and thought for a moment, “No this was a gift from my Compagno, it is not my fault you were careless with your belongings” you said meeting her challenging gaze (¬_¬)

That is when the woman reached out and decided to take the brooch by force

Of course things escalated, and you were now in a full-blown fight with the woman (=ﾟωﾟ)つ)ﾟ∀ﾟ)

Leo spotted the two of you fighting and his eyes widened in shock, he paid for the coffee’s and strolled up to where you were fighting (ʘᗩʘ')

He contemplated helping you for a minute but then decided to let you handle the situation on your own, as you were a “strong independent woman.” ｡◕‿‿◕｡

And strong and independent you definitely were, it took no time at all for you to end the fight and come out victorious 

You dusted off your hands and looked at the woman who was now being held back by a companion of her own. The man looked at you apologetically for his partner’s behaviour and accusations, to which you just gave a simple shrug ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“brava cara mia,” Leo said with a lazy smile as he handed you your coffee

The two of you continued your leisurely walk home, as you told Leo about the few fights you had gotten into back in the future 

Theodorus

The two of you were out in the bar as per usual after a long days work at the art gallery 

Theo was rather popular among the woman of the bar ಠ_ಠ

Well who wouldn’t be with a wingman like Arthur

The two of you liked each other, yet neither of you had confessed your feeling for each other yet 

So in the eyes of the woman at the bar he was a free man (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

“Oi Theo, watch my drink ill be right back, just need to quickly run to the ladies room.” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It wasn’t even two-seconds after your departure, that a woman stole your seat and decided to pounce on the rugged man

Theo being Theo, ignored the woman but when she refused to leave he decided to say something, “If you haven’t noticed mutt that seat is taken,” he glared daggers at the woman as his frown deepened ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

“Tsk just what was taking his hondjie so long” (；一_一)

You returned from the bathroom to see a woman laughing and touching Theo’s hand, honestly you were gonna kill that woman and then you were ganna kill Theo ಠ_ಠ

“well well what have we here, I’m gone for a minute, and you already replaced me with a new drinking partner (¬_¬)

The woman turned around and looked at you, you could tell by the redness of her eyes that she was obviously drunk

You reach past her to grab your drink

Thinking this was an attack the woman punched you in the stomach, “bad move” you said gritting your teeth from the pain ╚(ಠ_ಠ)=┐

You then pulled her by the shoulder until she was successful of your seat, not giving up the woman grabbed a glass intending to break it over your head. ｏ(メ・・)=日☆

Luckily for your quick reflexes, you dodged the attack with ease, but the small squabble had now turned into a full-blown brawl.

You were going 21st century on her ass. (*＇Д＇)ﾉｼ)ﾟﾛﾟ)

Things got so heated that Theo had to pull the two of you apart and hold you back, thankfully the bartender helped Theo by grabbing hold of the woman. ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

Theo carried you out the bar like a sack of potatoes, “Geez what are you hondjie, some kind of a junkyard dog.” Although his tone was harsh, he was wearing a big smirk  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Definitely low key impressed him that you could hold your own in a fight

Napoleon

You and Napoleon were out teaching the street kids how to read and write

It was a nice sunny day and during the break you decided to sit on the park bench and soak up some summer sun (◠‿◠✿)

You watched the children play with Napoleon, jumping on his back and swinging on his arms

Quickly losing interest in climbing all over the former French emperor like a jungle gym some of the kids started to play a game of tag

You smiled watching the children run around with a carefree smiles on their faces (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

Just then a noble lady came strolling down the street, most likely on her way to some or other fancy boutique (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

Immersed in the game of tag, a small little girl, ran straight into the woman. 

Big doe eyes stared up at the noble lady as the little girl started apologising profusely.  (｡◕‿◕｡)

The noble lady however wore an incredibly displeased frown on her face, “Why you filthy little street rat, have you any idea who I am.” ಠ_ಠ

The woman than griped her umbrella tightly and swang it back, “Clearly a lashing is in order to compensate for your filthy little hands ruining my expensive dress.”  (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, you made it just on time to catch the umbrella before it struck the child, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size you prissy little missy” you said with a dangerous smile ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

“Don’t threaten me you, you disgusting peasant, perhaps I shall teach the both of you a lesson you won’t soon forget,” the woman let go of the umbrella and swang her fist toward your face 

Thankfully you had been spending most of your time with Napoleon an excellent boyfriend and an even better fighter 

After weeks of nagging he finally gave you some self-defence classes, even teaching you how to wield a sword

You easily dodged her every attempt to hit you, taunting her every time she failed to land a punch (pﾟﾛﾟ)==p)`д)

Just than you heard Napo call out your name, you turned your attention to him for a second, giving the woman the perfect opening to land a punch

She kicked your knees causing you to go down, as you fell you grabbed hold of the woman pulling her down with you

As the two of you rolled around on the ground, you gave this woman a 21st-century beat down, one which she would never forget. 

（╯°□°）╯︵( .o.)

The children stated to circle the two of you, cheering you on (≧∇≦*)

Napoleon legit sprinted to your side and watched you beat down the prissy noble, he honestly had no words

He simply watched as you pinned her down and pushed her face in the dirt, “Yield” you simply said giving the woman an out to the fight. 

Yet she remained silent trying her hardest to struggle in your grasp, “Yield and apologise to the little girl for the way you treated her.” (≖︿≖✿)

Eventually the woman relented, “Fine, I yield.” You loosened your grip slightly wearing a smug smile, “and aren’t you forgetting something.”

The noble lady stood up with a huff and dusted herself off, she apologised under her breath and limped off  (T＿T)

Napoleon looked at you with a stern expression, “what was this all about nunuche” Before you could explain the little girl ran and tackled you in a hug “Merci for protecting me” (｡◕‿◕｡)

Napoleon watched the girl hug you and started laughing, “I’m glad to see the self-defence classes paid off,” he ruffled your hair and gave you a big smile, “Good job giving that woman a-, what do you call it again-, ah yes… a twenty-first century smackdown.”(｡◕‿◕｡)

I hope you enjoyed this, dear! And thanks again for the request! 🦋🌻🌈

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Home for Christmas

This is my fic for the @aftgexchange winter round for @andreil-minyasten

I had so much fun writing this and I really hope this lives up to what you wanted! I actually had an idea for a part 2 to this from another bit of your prompts. If you want me to write that for you, feel free to message and ask, I’ll be quite happy to do so:)

Enjoy!!<3

--------

December 22nd

“What the hell do you mean that you aren’t going to be here for christmas, Andrew?”

Neil was beyond, angry. He was pissed. Their holiday plans had been decided back in November. Andrew would come to Neil in Boston from New York and they’d host Aaron, Katelyn from the twenty fourth before they’d meet Nicky, Erik- who were spending Christmas with Eric’s family in Germany -and the rest of the foxes down in South Carolina to spend New Years with Wymack and Abby.

But apparently, that was all going to shit, now.

“I’ve tried Neil, but flights are delayed and there’s a storm coming in. I don’t know if I’ll make it, the Mas definitely won’t.” Now he was beyond consoling.

“If you had come two days ago like you said you would, this wouldn’t be a problem. We haven’t seen each other since September.” He missed his partner, missed soft touches when they’d reach for one another in the night, he missed laying his head in Andrew’s lap while the other man read one of his newest books. Overall, he just missed Andrew.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it was Kevin’s fault I couldn’t come out when I had planned?” Neil scoffed.

“What Kevin wants has never stopped you before. Whatever, Andrew, I’m going to bed.” He ignored Andrew’s reply, hanging up and flinging his phone onto his bedside table. He was so tired of everything. Neil carried out his nighttime routine quite aggressively, flinging back the duvet with force, ignoring the constant buzzing of his phone. Tonight, the bed felt uncomfortable, lumpy and cold, so awfully cold. It had been three years of this, of the long distance, scheduling time to see each other, of having to be without one another for the majority of the year after spending four years attached at the hip while they were at PSU. The two of them, being how stubborn they both were, had sworn that the distance wouldn’t be an issue. Neil had to play with the Bobcats for two years minimum, considering it was the best contract he could get straight out of college and the closest to Andrew’s team.

Everything was great at first, wonderful even, they saw each other on as many weekends as they could, called and texted every day, and Skyped at least twice a week. But then shit went down hill. Practice built up and up if the team’s performance declined, promotions and photo shoots and team signings started taking up their free time. It was shit, they knew it was shit but, what could they do? He hated this, he hated everything about it.

His sleep that night was fitful and restless, and he was wide awake when the sun rose the next morning, yellow and orange rays of light hitting the empty spot beside him.

December 24th

Neil hadn’t spoken to Andrew since he abruptly ended their phone call two nights ago. There were several missed calls from the blonde on his phone, and many unread texts. He saw them as they came through, sometimes just his name, sometimes they asked if he was alright and ‘why won’t you pick up the fucking phone, Abram?’

Every part of him wanted to, fucking god, did he want to, but he had no idea what his brain would spout from his lips. He was terrified that the anger, the hurt of the separation, would come back full force and he’d say something awful that he’d most likely regret. That was his personal default when he was mad, finding exactly what to say that would hurt and hurt hard. So, no, he didn’t pick up the phone, he just left it alone and listened to the odd buzz as it vibrated against the kitchen counter. It was almost 8:30pm and Neil was making, or hoped to be making, cinnamon sugar cookies that would with any luck, still be warm and not burnt by the time Aaron and Katelyn arrived. They were apparently Kate’s latest pregnancy craving and he wanted for her to have them on hand so Aaron wouldn’t have to leave at some ungodly hour to get store bought ones.

There was flour everywhere and he was pretty sure there was some cinnamon on his forehead somehow, on top of that, he’d used more bowls than were actually needed for the ingredients the recipe called for but he wasn’t exactly surprised. Anything to do with cooking or baking was Andrew’s area of expertise: Neil just liked to watch, a giddy smile on his face whenever his partner whispered ‘staring’ without even looking at him. Shaking his head before he started to wallow in his own self pity, the timer to the first batch went off just as the buzzer to the apartment did. Quickly pulling out the baking tray, he placed it on the side, barely taking note of how the shapes he cut out now resembled blobs as he rushed to the door and pressed the button for the speaker. “Hello?”

“Neil! It’s Kate, Aaron is just sorting the bags and told me to come up first.” He smiled despite his somber mood for the past week.

“Come on up, I’ll buzz you in. Do you want me to wait outside the elevator for you?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine!” He agreed and let her in, wiping his hands before propping his front door open and waiting for her anyway. Before long, he was greeted with an eye rolling Katelyn, but there was a grin on her lips nonetheless. “You’re nearly as bad as my husband, I’m surprised he even let me come up on my own, but thank you.” She said, as he held out his elbow for her to take. She had begun to waddle a little now with how big she had gotten. Neil supposed that having twins made the whole process a little different.

He helped her settle into the armchair in the living room and asked, “can I get you a drink?”

“Water would be great, thanks. Also, is that cinnamon I smell?” He felt his cheeks go hot and knew he was blushing.

“You mentioned at one point on the phone that cinnamon cookies are your newest craving and so I made some for you. They’re still warm if you’d like a few?” Katelyn nodded excitedly, murmuring how grateful she was at the thoughtful gesture and he hurried off, placing a few questionable looking snowmen and coming back into the other room just as the buzzer went off again. He left the pregnant woman to devour her food and admire his sparkly Christmas tree and went to let Aaron in. When the elevator opened up on his floor once again, he was met with a ruffled Minyard twin who was surrounded by bags.

“What the hell do you bring with you?”

“Shut your mouth and help me carry this shit, would you?” Neil kept his mouth shut and hefted a couple of bags into his arms. Most went into the spare room where the couple would be sleeping and then Aaron unloaded a big bag of presents to sit underneath the tree while he went back to put more cookies in the oven, and to load a few more onto Katelyn’s now empty plate. When he came back and sat himself on the couch, Aaron seemed out of breath, hugging as he lay on the wood floor.

“I’ll ask again, how much did you bring?” The woman stuffing her face giggled as her husband giggled and replied;

“We have your presents and Andrew’s presents from us, mine and Aaron’s that we’ve gotten each other, and we brought all the gifts for when we see the others next week. Also our clothes and my hospital bag even though I have about two and a half months left.” He nodded, though he was confused on the amount of clothes. They only lived an hour away from him and could go back for more clothes before they headed to South Carolina. Neil was about to mention just that when Aaron interrupted.

“Where is my brother anyway?” Ah yes, he’d forgotten to mention that. He let his face go blank as he told them what had happened. That Andrew kept pushing it back until he couldn’t come, that they’d argued and that they weren’t currently speaking. Katelyn had something akin to pity on her face and Aaron looked as though he was angry on behalf of Neil. “What the fuck? He’s seriously going to miss Christmas with his family, with you?”

“Looks like it.”

“But since when has what Kevin wanted ever mattered to him? Unless it benefitted his own needs of course.” It was weird slowly becoming friends with Aaron and seeing that occasionally, they could be on the same wavelength and agree with each other. It was a little bit dangerous, in his opinion.

“That’s what I said.”

“Is he still going to come to Palmetto next week.” He didn’t know what to say, because Andrew could still turn up at Abby’s despite not being here now. He also hadn’t spoken to him, so he hadn’t got the chance to ask. Neil stayed quiet. Aaron looked like he was about to press for more when Kate suggested that they watch a movie together and started setting up the tv without waiting for either of them to reply. Twenty minutes into the movie, Katelyn had picked A Christmas Carol because it was a classic, Neil got the final batch of cookies from the oven and cleared down the kitchen for tomorrow. Another ten minutes after that, Katelyn disappeared to put on pyjamas and Aaron grabbed him and Neil a beer from the fridge. By ten o’clock they were debating on watching one more film or going to bed when the apartment door opened and closed loudly.

The three of them half jumped out of their seats, turning violently to see Andrew Minyard standing in the doorway, and Neil’s breath caught in his throat. He was bundled up in a thick black coat, the collar pulled up around his neck, and his black knitted bobble hat Neil had brought him last year was pulled down over his ears that he just knew would still be adorably pink at the tips. One of his hands was tucked into his pocket and the other held a large duffel bag.

“Well well, look at what the cat finally dragged in.” Both Neil and Andrew glared at Aaron, who only rolled his eyes in response to their annoyance. Turning back to Andrew he gave him one last once over before standing slowly.

“Why don’t you go and sort yourself out,” he pointed to the bedroom where their en-suite was, “I’ll be in there in a minute.” Andrew gave a curt nod in confirmation and disappeared down the hall, bedroom door shutting softly. Katelyn was speaking to him, saying that she and Aaron were going to head to bed, kissing him on the cheek and pulling her husband along. Neil’s first instinct was to run to the bedroom, wrap his partner up in his arms, kiss him until they were breathless and then never let him go again but he was still mad at him. So, he cleared the few empty cans from the coffee table, and took Kate’s dirty glass and plate to the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. He locked the door and the windows out of habit and switched off all of the lights and slowly walked to his bedroom where he knew Andrew was waiting.

When he reached the door, he froze with his hand on the handle, closing his eyes and breathing deeply several times before he forced himself to step inside. As he suspected. Andrew was now in a pair of grey sweats and, he noticed with some satisfaction, one of Neil’s long sleeve cotton shirts. This one was a navy blue and Andrew had never looked more beautiful than he didn’t now, in soft clothes, hair ruffled and his nose and cheeks still a little pink from the cold air outside. He tugged on his withering self control and stopped himself from climbing over the other man and just holding him. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Taking that as a cue to start first, Andrew spoke, though Neil never expected for those words to ever come out of his partner’s mouth. “I lied to you.”

“What?” The blonde looked down at his hands, sighed, and then stood, walking and walking until he was a mere few steps away from Neil. Before, before there would be no need for that distance, because they’d healed and grown together and barely used ’yes or no’ unless it was a bad day or they were trying new things. Fuck long distance relationships.

“I lied. Kevin was never the one to keep me back in New York the first time, and there was no storm coming in to stop me from coming this time.” He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“What the fuck? How could you lie, you swore you’d never lie to me. Why didn't you want to come, and why turn up at the last minute?” Andrew did step into his space then, on hand gripping his hip and the other linking their pinkie fingers together.

“Because there was something I was trying to sort out but those god damn stickball coaches are a pain in my ass.” Neil blinked, and then blinked a couple more times, before he was led to the bed where Andrew let go of him to dig out a stack of papers from his duffel bag and handed them into his scarred hands. “Merry Christmas, Junkie.” Okay, now he really was confused as he stared at the item in his hands with a furrowed brow. His anger was still there, but dying out slowly. He flicked through page after page eyes widening and mouth dropping open before he looked back at Andrew whose lips were quirking at his dumbfounded expression.

“You’re serious? You join the Bobcats when the new season starts?” His lover nodded.

“I’m tired. I’m tired of being away from you, of all the fighting. I’ve been working with your coach and mine to trade me with your goalkeeper, Angie. They hated it at first but I got there in the end. That’s why I’m so late, they were still hesitant about signing the damn forms.”

“So you started yet another fight with me?” In one swift movement there were hands on his cheeks and words were being breathed against his lips, sending pleasant, incredibly missed shivers down his spine as he wrapped his arms around Andrew’s waist.

“Not my finest moment, but I was trying to surprise you. Clearly, I’m not very good at it.” Neil chuckled wetly, and pressed their foreheads together.

“This is really happening?” He whispered gently.

“Yeah. I’ve still got to move all my stuff out here and things like that, but it’s real, Abram.”

“Then kiss me, you asshole, and make me forget your very bad surprise.” Andrew laughed then too, walking him backwards and pushing him down onto the bed, straddling his waist. They kissed for what seemed like hours, wrapped up and lost in one another. When they finally pulled apart, his lips felt tingly and his breathing came in pants.

That night, he fell asleep to warm sheets, a soft body behind him and cradled in a strong pair of arms. Despite the rocky start, Neil thought this might have been his best Christmas yet.

-------

I really hoped you liked it and if you do want that part two, I’ll be more than willing. I’m actually quite happy with the idea:)

[thiswasinevitableid]

82, Sternclay, NSFW if possible? Ty so much for all your great fics <3 -☀️

You’re welcome! I hope you enjoy the fill. It’s NSFW, and involves mating cycles, because my A03 stats suggest a lot of y’all like that.

82. you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have

He has no one but himself to blame. 

Stern is always so careful about shutting the doors in this cabin, as the old hinges and worn frames can send them swinging open when coupled with a strong wind. He thought he had that same care when he came in with more firewood from the basement, which can only be accessed through by going out of the house and then down to the locked door. 

Apparently not. At one, he went to check on Yeti and found the back door open and the faintest shape of feline paws leading into the darkness. 

They’ve got two feet of snow on the ground, with another foot forecasted to fall by morning. And Yeti is sleek and snow-white.

He’s wandered the perimeter of the house, left her favorite blanket out on the covered porch, and tried in vain to follow the tracks, filled in by the falling snow. He’s been outside for an hour now, with no sign of her. Not even the jingle of her collar in the cold air. He’s shivering, but he can’t stop the search; Yeti is out here, cold and scared and it’s all his fault. 

As he’s crunching through the snow, warm light spills onto the trees. His neighbors  (a loose term out here) house. He couldn’t stand waking Barclay up to help him, but if he’s already awake…

Stern raps on the door, and four seconds later it opens, his neighbor looking like a lumberjack centerfold given life, even in his sweatpants and brown sweater. 

“Joe? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Yeti, she got out without me noticing and I can’t find her, I’ve been out here an hour and there’s no sign. I, um, I know it’s a stretch but can you help me look for her? We can cover more ground that way.”

Barclay gives a small, worried smile as he nods, “Yeah, of course, lemme get enough on so that I don’t freeze and I’ll join you.” 

He waves Stern inside, passes him a box of tissues before disappearing upstairs. Here he’d hoped the tears from his brief panic and self-blame spiral hadn’t left evidence. He’s good in a crisis, has handled much more stressful incidents with grace and calm. But for some reason every time he musters up those emotions, gult rips them to shreds. Yeti is his to look after, he’s supposed to keep her safe, and one careless move has her out in the woods, in freezing weather, with predators, or thin ice, or, or, or-

His brain is excellent at generating contingency plans on the fly, but tonight it directs that ability to making him think about all the bad things his error could cause. 

“Okay, got my headlamp so I can keep my hands free. You got a light?”

Joe holds up his flashlight.

“C’mon, let’s go find the Yeti.” They set off side by side in the snow, “where do you want to look?”

“Fan out near the creek, I think. The snow isn’t as deep there, so she might have gone that way because it was easier to move.”

“She’s a climber, right? So how about this; we go on either side of the creek, you look on the ground and I’ll look in the trees?”

“That makes sense.” 

It’s slow going, both of them being meticulous, shining their lights on every branch or under every bush. Stern’s always appreciated how careful Barclay is; he assumes it comes with a profession where being messy slows you down, but the first time he saw his well-organized kitchen his heart did a little dance of delight. 

In the month and a half he’s lived here, the cook invites him over at least twice a week to try out a recipe. He works at Amnesty Lodge in the nearby town of Kepler, and spends some of his nights there. Still, he’s at his cabin often enough that Stern’s been able to invite him over some evenings. Though it’s odd he’s up so late on a work night.

“Do you not have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this week off. I have some vacation time and when I get back it’ll be the holiday break rush until New Years. I got caught up in the latest Agent X novel and didn’t see how late it was until you knocked. How about you, staying up researching again?”

“Yes. I was trying to keep the fire going because it’s nice to work in that little living room but, um, going out to get the wood is how she got out. If I’d just gone to bed-”

“Whoah, hey, none of that.” Barclay stops, turning to face him, “shit happens, even when you’re careful. This isn’t your fault, Joe.”

“I know. It still feels that way.” He starts forward again, feet freezing in spite of his snowboots (chosen for optimal weight to insulation ratio). Part of him wants to keep talking, because Barclay is interesting to talk to, his years playing “Lodge dad” giving him endless anecdotes and the ability to be honest without being cruel. 

It helps that his baritone voice makes Stern think of brown sugar; rich, complex, just the right kind of sweet. 

After a solid hour of searching, Stern is so cold he’s having trouble getting words out. Barclay sets a big hand on his shoulder, guiding them towards Sterns cabin.

“Joe, you’ve gotta take a break. Worried your lips are gonna go as blue as your eyes, and then tonight will really suck.”

“But I haven’t found her.”

“And you won’t if you freeze to death or get so chilled you can’t think straight. At least sleep for a few hours.”

Stern’s about to protest as they reach the door, but then his knees buckle and he slumps against a broad chest.

“I’ll do one more spin into the deeper woods on my way home, and leave some blankets out on the porch in case she makes her way to me. She’s smart, just like her owner; I think she’ll get home okay.”

“Right. Okay. We’ll be okay.” 

Barclay hesitates mid motion, then pulls Stern into a hug. Stern is not small, and at Six feet zero inches he’s used to being the tallest person in a room. Barclay always feels like he’s dwarfing him, though right now that’s the most comforting sensation in the world. 

“I’ll check by in the morning.”

“Thank you, for everything.” He mumbles into Barclay’s scarf.

“Any time, Joe.”

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

Barclay waits until Joe is inside and the upstairs light switches on to leave the back porch. God, it’s so fucking cold tonight. He doesn’t blame Yeti for getting curious, but she could’ve picked a less awful time to do it.

He’s glad the other man came to him for help; he hates the idea of Joe out here alone and stressed, searching carefully and kicking himself the whole time. He’s glad Joe took the suggestion to sleep. 

He’s glad the other man came to be his neighbor. 

Ironically, they’d met when Joe came over and asked to borrow a cup of sugar. The dark-haired man was short on what he needed to cook, and Barclay was happy to supply it. It’s not everyday a cute guy asked him for some sugar. 

They ran across each other in town, and Joe even came to eat at the Lodge, usually at off hours where Barclay had a chance to talk. That’s how he learned Joe was here to research a recent Bigfoot sighting. 

“I used to be in the FBI, investigating the same thing. Then I got so frustrated, no one really believed in the possibility of unknown creatures, and the few who did saw them as having some sort of use to the department of defense. Great idea, find something so rare it’s existence is unproven, and then lock it away or blow it up.” The sip of coffee is more aggressive than usual. 

“Won’t they get mad if you spill their secrets?” It was only half a joke. 

“I doubt it. They weren’t too interested in my theories when I worked there; odds are they’ll keep an eye on me a little while and then ignore me. Unless I find Bigfoot, of course, in which case they may want me back. I’m not interested, from now on I monster hunt in the name of science.”

Barclay hopes Stern never finds Bigfoot and stays in his cabin, writing and researching and consulting and coming over to Barclay’s for dinner twice a week. He has a whole menu in his mind titled, “foods for seducing Joe” that he’s going to whip out in the next few weeks, he swears it. 

He’s been swearing it for two weeks. 

Joe is sophisticated, smart, has really good taste in books and food, and Barclay feels so listened to when they talk. Barclay starts blushing whenever Joe smiles at him, which would be embarrassing except Joe does the same thing whenever Barclay drops his voice a little. Besides, he likes it when Joe smiles. 

Barclay would give anything to make Joe smile tonight. Which is why he’s tromping into the spot where they lost the last of Yeti’s footprints. He stands, listening for any sign of human life. 

Then he slips the woven bracelet off his hand, and his foot-prints almost double in size. 

It’s a bad idea, he’s not all that far from other houses or the road, but in this form his sense of smell is twice as strong and his night-vision a bit sharper. It’s also the reason he’s taking this week off work. Yes, he likes to rest up before the winter rush; but his heat, which comes ever fourteen years, is due in the next few days. He’s actually a little worried turning into his Sylph self will make his brain fuzzy enough to forget his mission. So he reminds himself, as he tromps through the growing blizzard, that he is doing this for the person he’d most like to impress in this world, and that does the trick. 

A whiff of the same, non-human scent he stole a noseful of when hugging Joe catches his attention. He follows it to a disused burrow, gets down on his belly, and finds reflective eyes blinking back at him. 

The animal hisses. 

“Man, please be Yeti and not a bobcat. Duck’s gonna fucking kill me if I harass the wildlife.” He reaches into the burrow and hears a telltale jingle. Yeti, surrendering to her fate, goes limp in his hold. When he puts her against his chest she chirps, curiously sniffing him. As soon as the bracelet is on she blinks once, then purrs as he bundles her into his coat. She’s cold and damp, but she’s in one piece. 

“C’mon cousin, let’s get you home.”

The lights are all still one, and the front door is wedged open the exact amount a cat would need to get inside. He steps in, kicks the wedge free and shuts the door. The fire is low, and there’s no sound of anyone moving around. 

“Joe? Whoa, careful Yeti, I know you wanna get warm but we should show him your okay.”

“Mew!” Yeti bites the fringe of his scarf. 

He tries again, “Joe, you still up? Got someone for you?”

A scuff and groan from the kitchen, “Huh? Oh, shit, I fell asleep, one second”

Yeti shifts her focus while Barclay is distracted. In one graceful leap she rips his bracelet away, lands, and bounds to the kitchen.

“Yeti! Thank the lord, there you are my little cryptid, I was so worried about you, don’t ever do that again, thank god you’re okay.” Joe’s voice goes muffled, as if he’s holding the cat to his face and talking into her fur. Barclay is frozen, not wanting to be seen but even less wanting to have Joe spot Bigfoot dashing into the trees. 

“What do you have--Yeti, it’s rude to take things from the man who saved you from being-” Joe rounds the corner, cat in his arms, and gasps. Yeti, uninterested in the unfolding drama, tumps to the floor and scampers upstairs. Joe’s hands fly over his mouth the instant she’s no longer in them. 

“Hey” Barclay waves.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m, uh, I’m Bigfoot.”

“What the fuck?” Joe isn’t moving, and Barclay decides now is his best chance. 

“I’m just, uh, gonna go get my bracelet back.”

“No, you’re going to explain everything.” 

“I really, really can’t, some of it isn’t mine to explain. I mean, uh, I can explain some bits later-” He creeps toward the stairs. Joe steps in front of him. 

“Barclay, this can’t wait. You, you’ve been him the whole time, my entire world view is simultaneously being proven and flipped over, would you please just talk to me?”

“Mew?” Yeti is halfway down the stairs, watching them with the bracelet still in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, Joe reaches up and out, plucking it from her teeth.

“You’re not getting this back until you explain.”

“Babe, please, I promise we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“No, wait, what did you call me?”

“Uhhhh” Barclay lunges for the bracelet instead of answering. Stern twists out of the way, sprinting for the kitchen. Barclay gets an arm around his waist and yanks backwards, sending them both over the back of the couch. Joe elbows him and scrambles up. Barclay only just manages to block him from going up the stairs, stalks him back onto the rug and tackles him. It succeeds in bringing the man down and keeping him pinned. 

It also sends the bracelet flying onto the floor, where Yeti snatches it up and disappears up the staircase. 

Barclay realizes he’s growling, stops so that he won’t frighten Joe, only for it to start up again as a reflex.

“Barclay, I swear, if you hurt my cat-”

“I won’t, I, that’s what not that noise is for. Or, uh, I mean I’m pissed you played keep-away with something I need, but I also have some bad news about Sy--uh, Bigfoot biology. Uh, so, first thing: I have a heat, which is why I was trying to stay away from people. Second thing: my kind uses a very intense game of, uh, chase as part of courtship.”

Stern shifts his thigh, “That explains what I’m feeling.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Look, can you go get the bracelet and then we can, like, have some tea and talk about this? I’m sorry, I feel so bad for making you deal with this.” The growl rumbles up again. He gears up another apology when he notices Joe’s blue eyes getting wider.

“Is this, um, only because of your heat? I mean, if you tackled some passerby, would the same thing be happening?”

“No.” Barclay squeaks. 

“Then I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, big guy.” He grinds his thigh up, making Barclay yip and pin him to the rug while touching as little of him as possible. 

“Joe, this doesn’t make me like, mindless or anything, but if you say you want this you are signing up for several days of as much fucking as I can manage.”

“I don’t have any deadlines.” Joe’s eyes remain fixed on Barclays crotch. 

“I’m serious, if you say stop I will, but if you don’t you won’t be able to get out of bed for days. And, uh, I can put my disguise back on, you don’t have to fuck me like this, I know it’s weird.”

“Barclay, I built my life’s work on weird.” Joe pets his arm.

“Yeah but not on fucking it.”

“How do you know? Lots of my time with the UP is classified.”

“Joe…” it’s a warning, the heat in  his brain suggesting a dozen things to do so the human can’t be touched by another cryptid ever again.

“I want you, Barclay. In both forms. As long as you promise we’ll talk after, I’m okay with doing this first.”

“I promise”

“Good, because otherwise I was going out to see if there’s another bigfoot in the area who was interested.” Joe smiles, moves to pull off his shirt. He doesn’t get to; Barclay snarls possessively and drops onto him, biting his neck and ripping his clothing into a flurry of fabric scraps. The human moans, gasps when Barclay makes short work of his own pants and reveals what’s waiting beneath. Barclay doesn’t give him time to process, shoves his legs as far apart as they’ll go, and finally sinks into him.

“JesusfuckingCHRIST, ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggodAH!”

His cock is more thick than long, splitting the human open while bottoming out on every thrust. Joe’s fingers knot into the rug, his words morph into sharp, ecstatic sounds. Every creature in the forest can probably hear him. 

Barclay clamps his hand down over the humans mouth, “shut up babe, don’t want anyone else in the woods getting any ideas about how good a fuck you are. You’re fucking mine.”

A muffled moan and, when he pulls his hand back, “Y-you really think I, fuck, I can keep quiet when you fuck me like this?”

“Thought they taught FBI agents discipline” he drags his claws across Joe’s chest, relishing the shaky, happy noise that gets him. 

“There’s discipline and, AAHnnn, there’s inhuman restraint.”

Barclay slams the hand down again and growls, pleased, when Joe’s posture turns submissive.

“Here’s the deal; you keep quiet and take it like a good mate, and after I cum in you, can be as loud as you fucking want, because anyone who gets near you’ll know belong to me. I mean” he jerks his hips, “they’ll be able to tell that from the fact I’m balls-deep in you too, babe.”

Joe nods, replaces Barclays hand with his own as the Sylph hooks his knees over his shoulders. The next minute goes in a heat haze, his brain and body united in the desire to cum in Joe, to claim him,  while the human stifles his screams and grows slicker with each thrust. 

He tips his head back with a howlgrowlpurr as he cums, leaving faint clawmarks in Joe’s legs as he holds them open to make sure he takes every bit.

“Lord almighty” Joe’s hand falls to the floor, “that, that was amazing, why on earth were you acting like this isn’t something I’d waaAAAAAntohgod.” He whimpers as Barclay starts up again, fucking his cum up into him.

“Shoulda known you’d like it; you’re perfect, Joe.”

A blush and a shy moan, and he leans down to kiss him gently.

“You are. You’re the perfect man, the perfect mate, and we are gonna have so much fucking fun together.”

“And fun fucking?” He looks pleased with the wordplay.

He snorts, “Glad to know that sense of humor sticks around when I’m filling you up, oh, ohfuckyeah” another orgasm hits, milder this time. 

“Are they near constant when you’re in heat?” Joe eyes the trail of cum sliding back down Barclay’s cock.

“No, just easy to have. So” he flips the human over, squeezing his ass appreciatively, “let’s try it from  behind this time; wanna find out how it feels to cum in you while I get you off.” He slips his hand over Joe’s thigh and between his legs, “and you better fucking do it too, of I’ll drag you outside and fuck you against a tree so anyone passing by can see how fucking eager you are for me.”

“Please, we’ve spent so much time outside tonight.”

He thinks as kisses along Joe’s shoulders, “You’re right. I’ll fuck you against the door instead.”

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

When Stern wakes up, snow is falling in the grey light and his clock reads 2:30 P.M. Downstairs there’s a homey clink of pots and pans, and the smell of coffee winds it’s way to him. 

He fell asleep around five, he thinks, when the cumulative exhaustion of his day overpowered the thrill of being with Barclay. Honestly, he’d have kept going, but Barclay was adamant he rest. So they finished with him fucking Stern’s slack, sleepy mouth, before the cryptid bundled him into bed and snuggled up to him with those deep, rumbling purrs that Stern now loves.

The bracelet is gone from the nightstand (Yeti didn’t eat it, thank god), so the chef must be making breakfast in his human form. Now would be a good time to go down and talk. 

“Mew” A weight lands on his chest as Yeti kneads the blankets, purring when he reaches you and rubs her head.

“You know, little monster, this almost makes the heart attack you gave me worth it.”

“Mew?” The cat stares hopefully out the windows. 

“Not a chance. I can’t take that stress again. Besides” he scoops her up, “we need to unbox that new toy I ordered. Barclay and I need some time to ourselves today.”

[legoshi-plz]

Confession (Bill x Reader)

Summary: Bill has an obsession. Bully!Bill x Lynx! Reader.

Warnings: Cursing. Bullying. That’s about it.

A/N: This was a requested fic. I don’t really care for Bill’s character but this was extremely fun to write 😁

///////

You once again found yourself in detention. This was the third time this month, which had to be a new record for you. You angrily scrubbed the cafeteria tray as you seethed in hatred at a certain Bengal Tiger that landed you in here.

Bill and his goddamn personal vendetta against you that had haunted your life for the past 4 years now. The worse part was that you had done absolutely nothing to him to warrant such a grudge. One day he simply decided to hate you the same way he simply decided to make sure every day of your life was more difficult thanks to him.

It had all started in middle school. Actually the story dates back before middle school. It started when you were born.

You were a [Y/C] Lynx, a pretty rare form of bobcat. In actuality, all forms of Bobcats were rare in this city. But that never hindered you as a child nor made you feel different. You were happy and always smiling. People always told you how you had such a beautiful smile and eyes that were even more captivating.

“She’ll be quite the heartbreaker when she gets older,” your mother and her friends would joke all the time.

You had friends in abundance in elementary school and in middle school it seemed the trend would continue. Until you got your first boyfriend. He was an ordinary leopard, sweet as could be and always made you laugh. You were in heaven for all of maybe two weeks when Bill started his onslaught.

It started off as snickering behind your back. Then he began enlisting your so-called friends in his teasing. Bill was pretty popular given not only his status as a Tiger but also his ability to make girls swoon, even Herbivores, so it was all too easy for him to get your friends to turn against you. The two of you had classes together but you’d never said a word to him. It didn’t matter, he picked on you anyway.

He gradually moved on to spreading nasty rumors, writing cruel things in your notebook, and even tripping you up in the hallway. Even your friends who weren’t ensnared by his charm began to steer clear of you. Your then-boyfriend called it quits so that Bill would ease off of him as well. You started to feel incredibly dejected, going from having quite the outgoing personality to being withdrawn and quiet.

And that continued until high school. You put all your eggs in the basket that high school would be better. It had to be. You’d even gotten accepted into the highly coveted Drama club, a big step towards you getting over your shyness. You finally had something to look forward to in terms of school.

All that was crushed however, when Bill sauntered into the club’s Freshman orientation. You felt physically sick at the thought of being subjected to his torment for another three years.

At first it had started to be no big deal. You stayed out of his way and he pretended that you weren’t there. You made a couple of friends again and were even doing well in the club. As well as you could at least while trying your best to not be seen.

And the President of the club at the time (a senior Antelope that was the Cherrington Heartthrob) offered you a part in the upcoming play. It wasn’t a main role but it was considerable for a Freshman.

“T-there must be some sort of mistake,” you said quietly as the remainder of the group either gushed or groaned over the roles assigned to them.

“No mistake, you’re easily one of the prettiest girls in this Theater, maybe even in the school. I’d be an idiot not to give you the role of the ‘Fairest Maiden’,” he said casually as he walked away. You turned around to see Bill staring at you from across the room. He looked livid.

Bill never passed up on an opportunity to let you know how ugly you were, calling you a “hideous disgrace to the feline community.” For someone like you to play a part of beauty? It had to be a cruel joke.

And so that was the straw that broke the tigers back. Somehow, it was even worse than before, his contempt for you hidden behind his Nice Guy persona. Nobody would ever believe half the things he’d done or said to you, not that you would tell anybody. Wardrobe malfunctions (that just so happen be in the form of someone ripping your clothes to shreds), bumping past you and nearly knocking you down, trashing your locker, loosening the bolts on your desk/chair. Anything he could think of to make your life a living Hell, he did it.

Which brought you to your current situation. You were currently washing dishes in detention yet again because somebody had ripped the roses from every rose bush in the school’s courtyard, and haphazardly stuffed them in your desk so that everyone could see. Before you could even enter the classroom to witness Bill’s handywork in the flesh, you were called into the Principal’s office and sentenced to two weeks detention. Typical.

“Well, well, well what do we have here,” you knew that voice anywhere.

“What do you want, Bill?” You asked quietly, not bothering to turn around.

“You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble can you?” Yoy could hear the smirk in his voice but you were determined not to let him get you riled up so you remained silent.

He walked up besides you and slapped the tray you were currently washing out of your hands. The harshness of his actions caused you to gasp, frozen in place.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him. Now you were actually beginning to panic. It was already late in the evening and you were here all alone. Bill had never physically hit you before but there was a first time for everything.

“L-leave me alone, Bill,” you craned you neck to look up at his face, now glowing in anger and disgust. He was always so angry around you, as if your mere existence was an offense to his own.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” He barred his fangs at you and you felt your eyes go wide in horror. Would he really attack you? There was no one around or near enough to hear you scream. You were an idiot for thinking you were safe from any threats on campus just because you were a Carnivore. You should have been more cautious like a Herbivore and maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“I... I... I can’t do anything about it,” you whimpered in defeat. His grip on your wrists tightened.

“Of course you can’t. Poor little Y/N, too weak to protect herself. Thinks all she has to do is bat those pretty little eyes and guys will come running. Well where are they now huh?” Bill roared and you felt tears well in your eyes.

“Bill, please stop,” you whined softly. Bill caught your gaze and held it for a long moment before you saw something in him finally snap.

“Fuck it,” Bill murmured to himself before latching his lips onto your own. You wanted to recoil immediately but you were once again frozen in place.

It seemed that his instincts took over because in a matter of seconds he had picked you up and placed you on the edge of the sink all without breaking the kiss. His hands went to your waist to pull you closer before he jerked back, pushing you away. He had a look of shock on his face as if you had slapped him.

He was panting, his eyes filled with horror at what he’d done. He immediately turned and fled without another word.

////////

The next few days almost didn’t feel real. It was like you were trapped in a weird fever dream that dragged on endlessly. You might have even believed you had imagined the whole thing if not for Bill’s sudden change in behavior. He went from endless borderline harassment to avoiding you like the plague. It was actually.... pleasant? If you had known a kiss was all it took to get him off your back, you would have done it a long time ago.

One week bled into another and you foolishly let your guard down. You were walking back to your room from detention when someone grabbed you and pulled you into a dark empty archway. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of lighting but one look at the striped hand clutching your bicep and you knew who was behind this.

“Let go of me!” You began to struggle against his hold but Bill refused to release you.

“We need to talk. Or rather, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen,” Bill sounded serious, more serious than usual at least, so you stopped struggling and actually listened.

“I have a girlfriend, a Tigress, the way nature intended-

“Look if this is about the other night, it never happened okay? It was a mistake, it didn’t mean anything,” Bill slammed his other hand against the wall besides you effectively caging you and shutting you up.

“How could you say that?” He growled, “ How can you sit there and say it meant nothing?”

You finally gained the courage to look up at him and immediately regretted it. His face was a mix between pure fury and utter anguish. You began to seriously doubt if you would actually make it out of this alive.

“You just don’t get it do you? How hard this is for me!” He spat. Anger began to boil in you. How dare he claim your very existence was hard on him when he had made every day of you life for years a living hell.

“I think about you night and fucking day! You’re always fucking there, acting so goddamn innocent. Acting like you don’t see anyone. Well I’m tired of being goddamned invisible!” He was heaving in malice but his eyes gave him away. They were desperate, hurt.

“B-Bill.... I don’t... understand.”

“There you go again, acting clueless. Do I have to spell it out for ya?” He leaned in closer and you could feel his breath fan your face, “I can’t get you out of my head. Never could, but since that kiss? Fuck, Y/N, I want you. Bad. Always have, only difference in now I don’t think I can control it. I’ve tasted perfection and I’m not going back.”

You were so stunned that all you could manage to do was stare. Before you was the boy who hated your guts, and now he was trying to make some sort of fear mongered confession? This had to be a joke.

“Y-you can’t be serious.... Bill how many times have you called me ugly? Or dumb? Or weak?” You gasped.

“I was lying. Every time. You’re gorgeous, and everyone knows it. I’m surprised you don’t, with the way these losers throw themselves at you.” His face was inching closer to your own.

“Everyone hates me Bill, thanks to you. No one is throwing themselves at me,” you lean away in disgust.

“Yeah because I was protecting you. You really wanna waste your time on scum leopards when you could have the King of the Jungle?”

“I don’t wa-” he cut you off by crushing his lips to yours. This kiss was nothing like the one from Detention . He had confidence about him, using every skill he acquired over the years to show off. In any other instance, you would have been swooning. But this was Bill, your bully, and you weren’t going to let yourself fall for his antics.

“You feel that? I can make you feel like that all the time. I can make you happy, so freaking happy. Just give me a chance,” his breathing was husky as he broke the kiss.

“Bill this is wrong. You’ve picked on me for years-”

“I know, fuck. I know alright, but you can’t really blame me. I had to get your attention somehow, I had to get you to notice me. C’mon, you like me too. That’s why you’re always staring at me, making sure to skip around me. You’ve been playing this game for while,” He couldn’t honestly be this self-absorbed and psychotic could he?

“I was afraid of you, idiot! I was trying to stay out of your way so you’d leave me alone!”

“Bullshi-”

“Bill!? Is that you man? What are you doing over there?” A voice in the distance (one of his friends, no doubt) called over and he unknowingly let your arm go. You didn’t wait a second as you bolted from under him, running away as if your life depended on it.

You didn’t stop running until you got to your dorm, immediately getting ready for bed without a word to anyone. Sleep evaded you, of course, the very time you needed to escape your thoughts the most. They kept going back to a certain tiger.

Had he really been pining after you all these years? Was he seriously so fucked up he thought torturing you was a way to your heart? Was this all apart of some elaborate scheme to humiliate even further?

You couldn’t be sure as the same questions played on loop through your mind. The only thing you could be sure of was you’d never been kissed like that before. Your lips still tingled defiantly with the ghost of his touch. You wanted to despise him. You had despised him. And nothing about that had changed except now you knew what a good kisser he was.

You groaned and buried your face into your pillow. You needed to get him out of your mind. Years of abuse couldn’t be wiped away in one evening.

So why didn’t the butterflies in your stomach go away?

///////////

AN: I wasn’t sure what I wanted the endgame to be so I just ended here.

[aion-rsa]

How TCM Resurrects Plan 9 from Outer Space for Ghoulish Table Read

https://ift.tt/3rnt3hu

UFOs are often visible, but not always. Sometimes they make noise, sometimes they are silent. If you’ve never seen a flying saucer, that is proof they are everywhere. This is one of the many amazing things we learn in TCM’s upcoming table read of Ed Wood’s masterwork, Plan 9 from Outer Space.

We once laughed at the horseless carriage, the aero-plane, the telephone, the electric light, vitamins, radio, and even television. But it took a while to get the joke about Plan 9 from Outer Space. Written and directed by Edward D. Wood Jr. in 1959, it was a little-known independent film with a direct line through directors who carried on the DIY-filmmaking spirit like John Cassavetes, Melvin Van Peebles and John Waters. The Cult of Plan 9 began when Ed Wood was posthumously awarded a Golden Turkey Award for Worst Director of All Time in 1980. Though this has been disputed.

Turner Classic Movies is the go-to channel for prestigious films. You can always count on a showing of The Treasure of Sierra Madre or The Public Enemy, or Citizen Kane. But top prize in the Golden Turkey awards carries its own prestige.

“This isn’t ‘Plans One Through Eight from Outer Space,’” Jerry Seinfeld proclaimed at the Chinese restaurant in a 1991 episode of Seinfeld. “This is Plan 9. The one that worked. The worst movie ever made.”

The SF Sketchfest presentation was adapted for the stage and virtual stage by former The Simpsons writer, and self-proclaimed Ed Wood superfan, Dana Gould. He and his Stan Against Evil co-star Janet Varney have been acting in live staged reads with a revolving cast of eager comic actors for over three years. The Zoom production also features Kat Aagesen, Bob Odenkirk, Bobcat Goldthwait, Oscar Nuñez, Deborah Baker Jr., Maria Bamford, David Koechner, Jonah Ray, Paul F. Tompkins, Baron Vaughn, and Gary Anthony Williams. The miniature visual effects, which are by no means just cardboard cutouts, were done by Mike Carano, and the sounds of musical accompaniment came out of Eban Schletter.

Laraine Newman is the narrator. She brings Gould’s adapted stage directions to such vivid life they can reanimate the dead, which is a key element of the actual plan at the center of the cult movie. Originally titled “Grave Robbers from Outer Space,” the film marked the last appearance of Bela Lugosi, who had also acted in Wood’s 1953 feature Glen or Glenda.

Lugosi’s footage for Wood’s unmade film “The Vampire’s Tomb,” was repurposed for Plan 9. Lugosi died of a heart attack on Aug. 16, 1956. To complete the film, Wood cast his chiropractor, Tom Mason, who in spite of his professional familiarity with the human skeletal structure, somehow believed he could mask the fact that he was much taller than the horror icon by pulling his cape over his face.

The table read of Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space is part of TCM’s Classic Film Festival weekend, which runs through May 9. For easy comparisons, the original film will air directly after the event. Dana Gold and Janet Varney spoke with Den of Geek about refurbishing the low-budget cult classic, and how, like their predecessor, they proudly spared every expense on its new décor.

Den of Geek: I watched the table read a second time while playing Plan 9 in another window, and I just have to say, recreating those sets must’ve cost a fortune.

Janet Varney: Yeah, just like it cost Ed Wood a fortune.

Dana Gould: That’s the genius of, of Mike Carano. All those things were this big. You can see, I have the Bela Lugosi statue and the saucer. What he did was so amazing, and it really brought [the production] up to be better than it had a right to be. When Janet and I discussed doing this on Zoom, we were like, “Well, how do we take the limits of Zoom and turn them to our advantage? Why is it on Zoom?” By doing it, one, it allowed us to get a cast that we might not be able to get. Got people in different places. Maria Bamford was in Minnesota. Bob Odenkirk was in Vancouver. So, we could get people that normally we couldn’t get. Doing it in black and white helped. And then what Mike Marano did, it made it something unique.

Janet Varney: I would just also add, as a tribute to Ed Wood, we’ve never had anyone that we’ve asked to do the show who hasn’t wanted to do the show. Whether or not they’ve been in town for the live version, every person that we love that we’ve asked to be a part of the cast at one time or another is like, “Oh, my God, I need to do that. I want to do it. When is it? Please say it’s not a date I’m out of town. Please say it’s not. Will you ask me on the next one?”

Everyone knows this movie. And the idea of getting to step into its shoes in any kind of iteration is really exciting for every single person that we’ve ever asked.

Dana Gould: And it’s great to see how different people play different parts. Joel Murray plays the General different than David Koechner plays the General. Bob Odenkirk plays Eros differently than Patton Oswalt plays Eros. It’s always great. And Janet and I, we don’t want to know what you’re going to do. Just do it.

For this production, you assembled the all-star team. But were you ever tempted to use the same kind of players Wood used: wrestlers, tap dancing accordion players, chiropractors, and radio psychics?

Janet Varney: That’s a great question. I feel like we also have pretty good access to all those folks. So maybe that will get the next variety version. Because our friend, Jim Turner, is just about to do a fundraiser for the kind of variety acts who have been struggling in this last year, because of the many myriad things that they do.

So, I actually love that idea, Tony. And you’re right, it would be a totally different experience. That’s an interesting idea too, because we do come at it with a bunch of people who love the movie, but there’s also some major winking going on, as all the comedians and actors try to lean into being: “It’s my first time on stage, maybe my first time saying words,” really playing that up.

In the future, do you hope to see this performance eviscerated on Mystery Science Fiction Theater 3000?

Dana Gould: That would be great. If they did this.

Janet Varney: Especially because Bill and Kevin have done it. They have been in our production of Plan 9. Bill had been what Laraine [Newman] did. Bill did the narration at a show, at SketchFest, and it was great.

Dana Gould: I would like to see Jonah making fun of himself.

Janet Varney: Yeah. Let’s get meta. Our fans can handle it. Fans of MST3K can handle it. Plant 9 fans can handle it. Everybody could handle it.

I know I’m paraphrasing Seinfeld, but as the person who’s trusted with Plan 9 and all that comes with that, did you get to see the first eight plans from outer space?

Janet Varney: And are you allowed to talk about it if you did?

Dana Gould: Exactly. What were they?

Janet Varney: So many questions.

Dana Gould: So many questions.

Were the first eight plans rejected?

Janet Varney: Or were they all executed? And I use that word purposefully. Were all of those plans executed and they didn’t have great results?

Dana Gould: That’s a drunk man at a typewriter, “Plan 9 sounds good.” I remember showing Plan 9 to somebody who’d never seen it before. And they turned to me afterwards and said, “Did he not have any friends he could have shown this to and gotten notes?” He didn’t have those kinds of friends.

Read more

Movies

From Hitchcock to Star Wars: What Makes a Great MacGuffin

By David Crow

Movies

Why Turner Classic Movies is Reframing Problematic Hollywood Favorites

By David Crow

What are some of your favorite mistakes from the movie?

Janet Varney: Oh, God. I was going to say Dana had mentioned that the first time he saw the movie was on a video cassette that Tom Kenny and Dan Spencer, and Bobcat Goldthwait showed him. And I was actually going to ask, did you think it was the tape glitching at the end when the monologue goes from, blip to [makes a noise]? And you’re like, “Wait a minute. Back that up, hold on. Is somebody going to fix this?”

That’s definitely one. That’s a spectacularly new, weird problem in a movie that was not a consistent problem. So, you’re like, “Wait, how did that happen one time, in this very, very overt way?” So good.

Dana Gould: From the very beginning, it’s like the first time you saw William Shatner do “Rocket Man.” I remember, I had a party at my house, and I was working on The Ben Stiller Show, and everybody was there. And back then, there was no YouTube. You would just have these cassette tapes with all of the weird stuff that you had collected on it, like the farting priest and all these weird things that you had, and “Rocket Man.” And I remember showing “Rocket Man” at this thing and Bob Odenkirk just shouting at my television, “You’re a grown man. You’re a grown man.”

I always thought Shatner gave the same line reading for “Mr. Tambourine Man” as he did for “Kahn.”

Dana Gould: Yes, he did. He did. He had a couple of tricks, and he used them. Yeah. There’s one direction he doesn’t get a lot, “You want to just try one big? You want to just see how it goes?” “Take the chains off and let it rip?”

Was some of the background music in this reading, especially the oxidation bit, inspired by The Simpsons?

Dana Gould: That’s all Eban [Schletter, the musical accompanist], you have to ask Eban. But again, that’s great, especially the Solaronite song. Necessity being the mother of invention, that is a brutal chunk of dialogue for anybody, a thankless, brutal chunk. And every time I give it to Paul, I say, “I’m apologizing ahead of time. I give it to you because I don’t want anybody else to do it. Because if it was anybody else, it would be death.”

Eban came up with that. And we were just like, “Maybe we can break this up. Maybe there’s a way to break this up.” And then Eban came up with that kind of thing. And it is one of those things that I love, that it’s like a mutant. It’s grown into its own weird thing to solve its inherent problems. You can’t describe it to anybody. It’s just like, you have to see it.

I used to remember describing Kevin Meaney, the comedian. I used to just tell people, “I can’t describe what he does. You just have to see him, but then you’ll know. You only need a minute, and you’ll get it. But I can’t describe it to you.” That’s really a good analogy.

Laraine Newman, I believe, steals this as the narrator. How much of that is improvised and how much of that is written by you? Because I know that you wrote the stage directions.

Dana Gould: It’s written, but Laraine, I call it “newscaster flat.” Laraine knows how the notes need to be played. It’s like the Wrecking Crew, you have a guitar behind you. I don’t know what Tommy Tedesco is going to play, but I know it’s going to be good. I don’t know what Carol Kaye is going to play, but I trust it. It’s the same thing. It’s a murderers’ row, and I wouldn’t have the gall to tell them what to do.

Janet Varney: It takes a very specific kind of confidence as a performer to be that deadpan. It’s such a specific skill. And it’s a skill, I think, born out of a type of bravado and expertise that’s all just tightly contained in this tiny space, where she’s not trying to sell any of it. And that is the genius behind what she does is just letting it lay out there like that. I mean, it’s hard.

When you have something that you know is funny and you would be laughing yourself, if you were listening to someone else read it, it’s so hard not to want to sell it. Like, can I make this even funnier? And she’s like, “No, I need to take it all the way back, to the back of the house just like, who me, who me? I’m just reading these things.” And it’s just so brilliant.

Dana Gould: This is a person that did sketches on live television with John Belushi and Bill Murray. So she definitely knows where her center of gravity is.

Janet Varney: That’s right. Well said.

Dana Gould: And yeah, again, unflinching. And that takes, as a performer, just like a little inside baseball, a lot of control and to really, to have control of your own ego, to know that I’m going to get what I want by stepping way back. I mean, Sterling Hayden is the only person I’ve ever seen blow Peter Sellers off the screen. And he does it just by, he’s like a statue, but there’s so much weight to it.

In the original movie, I love the “Criswell Predicts.” So I wanted to ask, Janet, do you get asked to do bathroom readings?

Janet Varney: I would if asked, I would love to. That’s one of the things that’s great about Ed Wood in general too, is just having this a sort of fascination with the occult and that kind of thing. And the way that it fits into camp is so appealing. And so, yeah, I would very happily jump back into some bad psychic practices if I could. Hopefully, I will someday.

Dana Gould: And an unerring dedication to Wicker furnishings.

Janet Varney: That’s right. Always that. Paula and her wicker.

Because the table read is done during COVID and everyone feels an immediacy to Zoom calls, were you ever at all concerned about an Orson Welles’ scenario, where the residents of San Fernando Valley will believe they’re under attack by flying saucers from outer space?

Janet Varney: If only.

Dana Gould: Yeah. That’s the least of our problems out here. I don’t know when you visited last time, but the walking dead, they’re around.

The table read of Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space airs on Friday, May 7 at 8pm on TCM. Plan 9 from Outer Space airs at 9:30pm.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post How TCM Resurrects Plan 9 from Outer Space for Ghoulish Table Read appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Rxjm4a

[blackbackedjackal]

What were your thought on Call of the Wild? I personally find the mix of live action and animation disjointing and uncanny valley. Also don’t like how it perpetuates dominance theory. Personally I think it would have made a better cartoon.

I haven’t watched the newest movie but I’ve been dragging the design of Buck ever since I saw it. I was a big Jack London fan when I was little, I remember being in like 3rd grade doing the best I could to real White Fang and Call of the Wild even though my teachers said ‘this is above your reading level :)’ (that has nothing to do with this I’m just being petty lol).

I can’t really give my full thoughts till I watch it but I was less than impressed with the CGI. Just get a dog actor, edit or CGI what you need, but it follows the same rule of taxidermy with me oddly enough. Animals like deer or bison, not a lot of people see those things up close, they don’t have a lot of character or recognizable traits to the general public because people aren’t looking at them all the time. So when you see a taxidermy one, even the ‘ok’ mounts by competition standards look fine to the general public. But the reason even the average person can tell a taxidermy coyote or bobcat looks bad, even if it’s just slightly off, is because we’re much more used to seeing dogs and cats in an up-close and more personal basis. The average person can tell that the design is off because the face and expressions and shape of the mental image of a dog in your head would never break or bend the way CGI animators try to make the models do. You CANNOT make a realistic looking dog express the same way a human can without really understanding the limitations of making those adjustments to the anatomy and expression. It’s very difficult, and the slightest thing off will break the illusion you’re trying to create.

But that’s my little mini-vent just from the trailers and clips I’ve seen, I don’t wanna be too harsh because I haven’t watched the movie yet. But my first impressions were not great. I’ll still prolly prefer Togo (2019) over Call of the Wild (2019) since Togo didn’t wink at me :I

[unsettlingshortstories]

He'll Come Knocking at Your Door

Robert R. McCammon (1986)

In the Deep South, Halloween Day is usually shirtsleeve weather. But when the sun begins to sink, there’s a foretaste of winter in the air. Pools of shadow deepen and lengthen, and the Alabama hills are transformed into moody tapestries of orange and black.

 When Dan Burgess got home from the cement plant in Barrimore Crossing, he found Karen and Jaime working over a tray of homemade candies in the shape of pumpkins. Jaime, three years old and as curious as a chipmunk, was in a hurry to try out the candy. “Those are for the trick-or-treaters, hon,” Karen explained patiently, for the third or fourth time. Both mother and daughter were blond, though Jaime had inherited Dan’s dark brown eyes. Karen’s eyes were as blue as an Alabama lake on a sunny day.

As Dan hugged his wife from behind and peered over her shoulder at the candies, he felt a sense of satisfaction that made life seem deliciously complete. He was a tall man, his face lean and rugged from a life of hard, outdoor labor. He had curly dark brown hair and a beard in need of trimming. “Looks pretty Halloweeny around here, folks!” he drawled, and lifted Jaime into his arms when she reached up for him.

“Punkins!” Jaime said gleefully.

“Hope we get some trick-or-treaters tonight,” Dan said. “Hard to tell if we will or not, this far from town.” Their home, a rented two- bedroom farmhouse set off the main highway on a couple of acres of rolling woodland, was part of a subdivision of Barrimore Crossing called Essex. The business district of Barrimore Crossing was four miles to the east, and the thirty-five or so inhabitants of the Essex community lived in houses similar to Dan’s, comfortable places surrounded by woods where deer, quail, possum, and fox were common sights. At night, Dan could sit on his front porch and see the distant porch lights of other Essex houses up in the hills. It was a quiet, peaceful place. And lucky too, Dan knew. All sorts of good things had happened to them since they’d moved here from Birmingham, after the steel mill shut down in February.

 “Might have a few.” Karen began to make eyes in the pumpkins with little silver dots of candy. “Mrs. Crosley said they always have a group of kids from town. If we didn’t have treats for them, they’d probably egg our house!”

 “Hallo'een!” Jaime pointed excitedly toward the pumpkins, wriggling to be set down.

 “Oh, I almost forgot!” Karen licked a silver dot from her finger and walked across the kitchen to the cork bulletin board next to the telephone. She took off one of the pieces of paper stuck there by a blue plastic pin. “Mr. Hathaway called at four.” She gave him the note, and he set Jaime down. “He wants you to go over to his place for some kind of meeting.”

 “Meeting?” Dan looked at the note. It said Roy Hathaway. His house, 6:30. Hathaway was the real-estate agent who’d rented them this house. He lived across the highway, up where the valley curved into the hills. “On Halloween? Did he say what for?”

 “Nope. He did say it was important, though. He said you were expected, and it was something that couldn’t be explained over the phone.”

 Dan grunted softly. He liked Roy Hathaway, who’d bent over backwards to find them this place. Dan glanced at his new Bulova wristwatch, which he’d won by being the thousandth person to buy a pickup truck from a dealership in Birmingham. It was almost five- thirty. Time enough for a shower and a ham sandwich, and then he’d go see what was so important. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll find out what he wants.”

 “Somebody’ll be a clown by the time you get back,” Karen said, glancing slyly at Jaime.

 “Me! Me’ll be a clown, Daddy!”

 Dan grinned at her and, his heart full, went back to take his shower.

 Darkness was falling fast as Dan drove his white pickup truck along the winding country road that led to Hathaway’s place. His headlights picked out a deer as it bolted in front of the truck. Beyond the ridge of hills to the west, the setting sun tinted the sky a vivid orange.

 Meeting, Dan thought uneasily. What was it that couldn’t wait? He wondered if it might have something to do with the last rent check. No, no; his days of rubber checks and irate landlords were over. There was plenty of money in the bank. In August, Dan had received a letter that said they’d won five thousand dollars in a contest at the Food Giant store in Barrimore Crossing. Karen didn’t even recall filling out an entry slip. Dan had been able to pay off the new truck and buy Karen a color television she’d been wanting. He was making more money than ever before, since his promotion in April from gravel-shoveler to unit supervisor at the cement plant. So money wasn’t the problem. What was, then?

 He loved the Essex community. It was fresh air and bird songs and a low-lying morning mist that clung like lace in the autumn trees. After the smog and harshness of Birmingham, after the trauma of losing his job and being on unemployment, Essex was a gentle, soul- soothing blessing.

 Dan believed in luck. In hindsight, it was even good luck that he’d lost that job at the mill, because if he hadn’t he never would have found Essex. One day in May he’d walked into the hardware and sporting-goods store in Barrimore Crossing and admired a double-barreled Remington shotgun in a display case. The manager had come over, and they’d talked about guns and hunting for the better part of an hour. As Dan had started to leave, the manager unlocked that display case and said: Dan, I want you to try this baby out. Go ahead, take it! It’s a new model, and the Remington people want to know how folks like it. You take it home with you. Bring me back a wild turkey or two, and if you like that gun, tell other folks where they can buy one, hear?

 It was amazing, Dan thought. He and Karen were living some kind of fantastic dream. The promotion at the plant had come right out of the blue. People respected him. Karen and Jaime were happier than he’d ever seen them. Just last month, a woman Karen had met at the Baptist church gave them a rich harvest of garden vegetables that would last them through the autumn. The only remotely bad thing that had happened since they’d moved to Essex, Dan recalled, was when he’d made a fool of himself in Roy Hathaway’s office. He’d sliced his finger on a sliver of plastic in the pen he was using to sign the lease and had bled all over the paper. It was a stupid thing to remember, he knew, but it had stuck in his mind because he’d hoped it wasn’t a bad omen. Now he knew nothing could be further from the truth.

He rounded a corner and saw Roy’s house ahead. The front- porch lights were on, and lights showed through most of the windows. The driveway was packed with cars, most of which Dan recognized as belonging to other Essex residents. What’s going on? he wondered. A community meeting? On Halloween?

 He parked his truck next to Tom Paulsen’s new Cadillac and walked up the front-porch steps to the door. As he knocked, a long keening animal cry came from the woods behind Hathaway’s house. Bobcat, he thought. The woods are full of ‘em.

 Laura Hathaway, an attractive gray-haired woman in her mid- fifties, answered the door with a cheerful, “Happy Halloween, Dan!”

 “Hi! Happy Halloween.” He stepped into the house, and could smell the aromatic cherry pipe tobacco Roy favored. The Hathaways had some nice oil paintings on their walls, and all their furniture looked new. “What’s going on?”

 “The men are down in the rumpus room,” she explained. “They’re having their little yearly get-together.” She started to lead him to another door that would take him downstairs. She limped a bit when she walked. Several years ago, Dan understood, a lawn mower had sliced off a few of the toes on her right foot.

 “Looks like everybody in Essex is here, with all those cars outside.”

 She smiled, her kindly face crinkling. “Everybody is here, now. Go on down and make yourself at home.”

 He descended the stairs. He heard Roy’s husky voice down there: “… Jenny’s gold earrings, the ones with the little pearls. Carl, this year it’s one of Tiger’s new kittens—the one with the black markings on its legs, and that ax you got at the hardware store last week. Phil, he wants one of your piglets and the pickled okra Marcy put in the cupboard… ”

 When Dan reached the bottom of the stairs, Roy stopped talking. The rumpus room, carpeted in bright red because Roy was a Crimson Tide fan, was filled with men from the Essex community. Roy, a hefty man with white hair and friendly, deep-set blue eyes, was sitting in a chair in the midst of them, reading from some kind of list. The others sat around him, listening intently. Roy looked up at Dan, as did the other men, and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “Howdy, Dan. Grab yourself a cup of coffee and sit a spell.”

 “I got your message. What kind of meeting is this?” He glanced around, saw faces he knew: Steve Mallory, Phil Kane, Carl Lansing, Andy McCutcheon, and more. A pot of coffee, cups, and a platter of sandwiches were placed on a table on one side of the room.

 “Be with you in a minute,” Roy said. While Dan, puzzled at what was so important on Halloween, poured himself a cup of coffee, he listened to Roy reading from the list he held. “Okay, where were we? Phil, that’s it for you, I reckon. Next is Tom. This year it’s that ship model you put together, a pair of Ann’s shoes—the gray ones she bought in Birmingham—and Tom Junior’s G.I. Joe doll. Andy, he wants…”

 Huh? Dan thought as he sipped at the hot black coffee. He looked at Tom, who seemed to have released a breath he’d been holding for a long time. Tom’s model of Old Ironsides had taken him months to put together, Dan knew. Dan’s gaze snagged other eyes that quickly looked away. He noted that Mitch Brantley, whose wife had just had their first child in July, looked ill; Mitch’s face was the color of wet cotton. A haze of smoke hung in the air from Roy’s pipe and several other smokers’ cigarettes. Cups rattled against saucers. Dan looked at Aaron Greene, who stared back at him through strange, glassy eyes. Aaron’s wife, Dan had heard, had died of a heart attack last year about this time. Aaron had shown him pictures of her, a robust-looking brunette in her late thirties.

 “… your golf clubs, your silver cufflinks, and Tweetybird,” Roy continued.

 Andy McCutcheon laughed nervously. In his pallid, fleshy face his eyes were dark and troubled. “Roy, my little girl loves that canary. I mean… she’s real attached to it.”

 Roy smiled. It was a tight, false smile, and something about it started a knot of tension growing in Dan’s stomach. “You can buy her another one, Andy,” he said. “Can’t you?”

 “Sure, but she loves—”

 “One canary’s just like another.” He drew at his pipe, and when he lifted a hand to hold the bowl, the overhead light glinted off the large diamond ring he wore.

 “Excuse me, gents.” Dan stepped forward. “I sure would like for somebody to tell me what this is all about. My wife and little girl are getting ready for Halloween.”

 “So are we,” Roy replied, and blew out a plume of smoke. “So are we.” He traced his finger down the list. Dan saw that the paper was mottled and dirty; it looked as if it had been used to wipe out the inside of a garbage can. The writing on it was scrawled and spiky. “Dan,” Roy said, and tapped the paper. “This year he wants two things from you. First is a set of fingernail clippings. Your own fingernails. The second is—”

 “Hold on.” Dan tried to smile, but couldn’t find one. “I don’t get this. How about starting from the beginning.”

Roy stared at him for a long, silent moment. Dan felt other eyes on him, watching him carefully. On the opposite side of the room, Walter Ferguson suddenly began quietly sobbing. “Oh,” Roy said. “Sure. It’s your first Halloween in Essex, isn’t it?”

 “Right. And?”

 “Sit down, Dan.” Roy motioned toward an empty chair near him. “Come on, sit down and I’ll tell you.”

 Dan didn’t like the feeling in this room; there was too much tension and fear in here. Walter’s sobbing was louder. “Tom,” Roy said, “take Walter out for a breath of air, won’t you?” Tom muttered an assent and helped the crying man out of his chair. When they had left the rumpus room, Roy struck a kitchen match to relight his pipe and looked calmly at Dan Burgess.

 “So tell me,” Dan urged as he sat down. He did smile this time, but the smile would not stick.

 “It’s Halloween,” Roy explained, as if speaking to a retarded child. “We’re going over the Halloween list.”

 Dan laughed involuntarily. “Is this a joke, gents? What kind of Halloween list?”

 Roy’s thick white brows came together as he gathered his thoughts. Dan realized the other man was wearing the same dark red sweater he’d worn the day Dan had signed that lease and cut his finger. “Call it… a trick-or-treat list, Dan. You know, we all like you. You’re a good man. We can’t think of a better neighbor to have in Essex.” He glanced around as some of the others nodded. “Essex is a very special place to live, Dan. You must know that by now.”

“Sure. It’s great. Karen and I love it here.”

 “We all do. Some of us have lived here for a long time. We appreciate the good life we have here. And in Essex, Dan, Halloween is a very special night of the year.”

 Dan frowned. “I’m not following you.”

 Roy produced a gold pocket watch, popped it open to look at the time, then closed it again. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes seemed darker and more powerful than Dan had ever seen them. They made him shiver to his soul. “Do you believe in the Devil?” Roy asked.

 Again Dan laughed. “What are we doing, telling spooky stories?” He looked around the room. No one else was laughing.

 “When you came to Essex,” Roy said softly, “you were a loser. Down on your luck. No job. Your money was almost gone. Your credit rating was zero. You had an old car that was ready for the junkyard. Now I want you to think back on all the good things that have happened to you—all the things you might have taken as a run of good luck—since you’ve been part of our community. You’ve gotten everything you’ve wanted, haven’t you? Money’s come to you like never before. You got yourself a brand-new truck. A promotion at the plant. And there’ll be more good things to come in the years ahead—if you cooperate.”

 “Cooperate?” He didn’t like the sound of that word. “Cooperate how?”

 “With the list. Like we all do, every Halloween. Every October thirty-first I find a list just like this one under the welcome mat at the front door. Why I’ve been chosen to handle it, I don’t know. Maybe because I help bring new people in. These items on this list are to be left in front of your door on Halloween. In the morning, they’re gone. He comes during the night, Dan, and he takes them away with him.”

 “This is a Halloween joke, isn’t it!” Dan grinned. “Jesus Christ, you gents had me going! That’s a hell of an act to put on just to scare the crap out of me!”

 But Roy’s face remained impassive. Smoke seeped from a  corner of his wrinkled mouth. “The list,” Roy continued evenly, “has to be collected and left out before midnight, Dan. If you don’t collect the items and leave them for him, he’ll come knocking at your door. And you don’t want that, Dan. You really don’t.”

 A chunk of ice seemed to have jammed itself in Dan’s throat, while the rest of his body felt feverish. The Devil in Essex? Collecting things like golf clubs and cufflinks, ship models and pet canaries? “You’re crazy!” he managed to say. “If this isn’t a damned joke, you’ve dropped both your oars into the water!”

 “It’s no joke, and he ain’t crazy,” Phil Kane said, sitting behind Roy. Phil was a large, humorless man who raised pigs on a farm about a mile away. “It’s just once a year. Just on Halloween. Hell, last year alone I won one of them magazine sweepstakes. It was fifteen thousand dollars at one whack! The year before that, an uncle I didn’t even know had died and left me a hundred acres of land in California. We get free stuff in the mail all the time. It’s just once a year we have to give him what he wants.”

 “Laura and I go to art auctions in Birmingham,” Roy said. “We always get what we want for the lowest bid. And the paintings are always worth five or ten times what we pay. Last Halloween he asked for a lock of Laura’s hair and one of my old shirts with blood on it where I cut myself shaving. You remember that trip to Bermuda the real-estate company gave us last summer? I’ve been given a huge expense account, and no matter what I charge, nobody asks any questions. He gives us everything we want.”

Trick-or-treat! Dan thought crazily. He envisioned some hulking, monstrous form lugging off a set of golf clubs, one of Phil’s piglets, and Tom’s Old Ironsides. God, it was insane! Did these men really believe they were making sacrifices to a satanic trick-or-treater?

 Roy lifted his eyebrows. “You didn’t return the shotgun, did you? Or the money. You didn’t refuse the promotion.”

 “I earned that promotion!” Dan insisted, but his voice was strained and weak, and it shamed him.

 “You signed the agreement in blood,” Roy said, and Dan remembered the drops of blood falling from his cut finger onto the white paper of the lease, right underneath his name. “Whether you knew it or not, you agreed to something that’s been going on in Essex for over a hundred years. You can have anything and everything you want, Dan, if you give him what he wants on one special night of the year.”

 “My God,” Dan whispered. He felt dizzy and sick. If it was true... what had he stumbled into? “You said... he wants two things from me. The fingernail clippings and what else?”

 Roy looked at the list and cleared his throat. “He wants the clippings, and… he wants the first joint of the little finger of your child’s left hand.”

 Dan sat motionless. He stared straight ahead, and feared for an awful moment that he would start laughing and giggle himself all the way to an asylum.

 “It’s really not much,” Roy said. “There won’t be a lot of blood, will there, Carl?”

Carl Lansing, who worked as a butcher at the Food Giant in Barrimore Crossing, raised his left hand to show Dan Burgess. “Not much pain if you do it quick, with a cleaver. One sharp blow’ll snap the bone. She won’t feel a whole lot of pain if you do it fast.”

 Dan swallowed. Carl’s slicked-back black hair gleamed with Vitalis under the light. Dan had always wondered exactly how Carl had lost the thumb of his left hand.

 “If you don’t put what he wants in front of your door,” Andy McCutcheon said, “he’ll come in after them. And then he’ll take more than he asked for in the first place, Dan. God help you if he has to knock at your door.”

 Dan’s eyes felt like frozen stones in his rigid face; he stared across  the room at Mitch Brantley, who appeared to be either about to faint or throw up. Dan thought of Mitch’s new son, and he did not want to think about what might be on the list beside either Mitch’s or Walter Ferguson’s name. He rose unsteadily from his chair. It was not that he believed the Devil was coming to his house tonight for a bizarre trick- or-treat that frightened him so deeply; it was that he knew they believed, and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

 “Dan,” Roy Hathaway said gently, “we’re all in this together. It’s not so bad. Really it isn’t. Usually all he wants are little things. Things that don’t matter very much.” Mitch made a soft, strangled groaning sound. Dan flinched, but Roy paid no attention. Dan had the sudden urge to leap at Roy and grab him by the front of that blood- red sweater and shake him until he split open. “Once in a while he… takes something of value,” Roy said, “but not very often. And he always gives us back so much more than he takes.”

 “You’re crazy. All of you… are crazy.”

 “Give him what he wants.” Steve Mallory spoke in the strong bass voice that was so distinctive in the Baptist church choir on Sunday mornings. “Do it, Dan. Don’t make him knock at your door.”

 “Do it,” Roy told him. “For your own sake, and for your family’s.”

 Dan backed away from them. Then he turned and ran up the stairs, ran out of the house as Laura Hathaway was coming out of the kitchen with a big bowl of pretzels, ran down the front steps and across the lawn to his pickup. Near Steve Mallory’s new silver Chevy, Walter and Tom were standing together. Dan  heard Walter sob, “… not her ear, Tom! Dear God, not her whole ear!”

 Dan got into his truck and left twin streaks of rubber on the pavement as he drove away.

  Dead leaves whirled through the turbulent, chilly air as Dan pulled up into his driveway, got out and ran up the front-porch steps. Karen had taped a cardboard skeleton to the door. His heart was pounding, and he’d decided to take no chances; if this was an elaborate joke, they could laugh their asses off at him, but he was getting Karen and Jaime out of here.

 Halfway home, a thought had occurred to him that had almost made him pull off the road to puke: if the list had demanded a lock of Jaime’s hair, would he have given it without question? How about her fingernail clippings? A whole fingernail? An earlobe? And if he had given any of those things, what would be on the trick-or-treat list next year and the year after that?

 Not much blood, if you do it quick.

 “Karen!” he shouted as he unlocked the door and went in. The house was too quiet. “Karen!”

“Lord, Dan! What are you yelling about?” She came into the front room from the hallway, followed by Jaime in clown makeup, an oversize red blouse, patched little blue jeans, and sneakers covered with round yellow happy-face stickers. Dan knew he must look like walking death, because Karen stopped as if she’d run into a wall when she saw him. “What’s happened?” she asked fearfully.

 “Listen to me. Don’t ask any questions.” He wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand. Jaime’s soft brown eyes reflected the terror he’d brought into the house with him. “We’re leaving right now. We’re going to drive to Birmingham and check into a motel.”

 “It’s Halloween!” Karen said. “We might have some trick-or-treaters!”

 “Please… don’t argue with me! We’ve got to get out of here right now!” Dan jerked his gaze away from his child’s left hand; he’d been looking at the little finger and thinking terrible thoughts. “Right now,” he repeated.

 Jaime was stunned, about to cry. On a table beside her was a plate with the Halloween candies on it—grinning pumpkins with silver eyes and licorice mouths. “We have to go,” Dan said hoarsely. “I can’t tell you why, but we have to.” Before Karen could say anything else, Dan told her to gather whatever she wanted— toothpaste, a jacket, underwear—while he went out and started the truck. But hurry! he urged her. For God’s sake, hurry!

 Outside, dead leaves snapped at his cheeks and sailed past his head. He slid behind the pickup’s wheel, put the key into the ignition, and turned it.

 The engine made one long groaning noise, rattled, and died.

Christ! Dan thought, close to panic. He’d never had any problem with the truck before! He pumped the accelerator and tried again. The engine was stone-cold dead, and all the warning lights—brake fluid, engine oil, battery, even gasoline—flashed red on the instrument panel.

 Of course, he realized. Of course. He had paid off the truck with the money he’d won. The truck had been given to him while he was a resident of Essex—and now whatever was coming to their house tonight didn’t want him driving that truck away from Essex.

 They could run for it. Run along the road. But what if they ran into the Halloween visitor, there in the lonely darkness? What if it came up behind them on the road, demanding its trick-or-treat like a particularly nasty child?

 He tried the truck again. Dead.

 Inside the house, Dan slammed the door and locked it. He went to the kitchen door and locked that too, his wife and daughter watching him as if he’d lost his mind. Dan shouted, “Karen, check all the windows! Make sure they’re shut tight! Hurry, damn it!” He went to the closet and took out his shotgun, got a box of shells off the shelf; he opened the box, put it on the table next to the pumpkin candies, broke open the gun’s breech, and stuffed two shells into the chambers. Then he closed the breech and looked up as Karen and Jaime returned, clinging to each other.

 “All… the windows are shut,” Karen whispered, her scared blue eyes flickering back and forth from Dan’s face to the shotgun. “Dan, what’s wrong with you?”

 “Something’s coming to our door tonight,” he replied. “Something terrible. We’re going to have to hold it off. I don’t know if we can, but we have to try. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 “It’s… Halloween,” she said, and he saw she thought he was totally cracked.

 The telephone! he thought suddenly, and ran for it. He picked up the receiver and dialed for the operator in Barrimore Crossing to call for a police car. Officer, the Devil’s on his way to our house tonight and we don’t have his favorite kind of candy.

 But on the other end of the line was a piercing crackle of static that sounded like a peal of eerie laughter. Through the static Dan heard things that made him believe he’d truly hurtled over the edge: the crazy theme music from a Porky Pig cartoon, a crash of cymbals, the military drumming of a marching band, assorted gurgles and gasps and moans as if he’d been plugged into a graveyard party line. Dan dropped the receiver, and it dangled from its cord like a lynched corpse. Have to think, he told himself. Figure things out. Hold the bastard off. Got to hold him off. He looked at the fireplace and felt a new hammerblow of horror. “Dear God!” he shouted. “We’ve got to block up the chimney!”

 Dan got on his knees, reached up the chimney, and closed the flue. There were already pine logs, kindling, and newspapers in the fireplace, ready for the first cold night of the year. He went into the kitchen, got a box of Red Top matches, and put them into the breast pocket of his shirt; when he came back into the room, Jaime was crying and Karen was holding her tightly, whispering, “Shhh, darling. Shhhh.” She watched her husband like one would watch a dog with foam on its mouth.

 Dan pulled a chair about ten feet from the front door and sat down with the shotgun across his knees. His eyes were sunken into his head and ringed with purple. He looked at his new Bulova watch; somehow, the crystal had shattered. The hands had snapped off.

“Dan,” Karen said—and then she too started to cry.

 “I love you, honey,” he told her. “You know I love both of you, don’t you? I swear I do. I won’t let him in. I won’t give him what he wants. Because if I do that, what will he take next year? I love you both, and I want you to remember that.”

 “Oh, God… Dan…”

 “They think I’m going to do it and leave it outside the door for him,” Dan said. His hands were gripped tightly around the shotgun, his knuckles white. “They think I could take a cleaver and—”

 The lights flickered, and Karen screamed. Jaime’s wail joined hers.

 Dan felt his face contorting with fear. The lights flickered, flickered—and went out.

 “He’s coming,” Dan rasped. “He’s coming soon.” He stood up, walked to the fireplace, bent down, and struck a match. It took four matches to get the fire going right; its orange light turned the room into a Halloween chamber of horrors, and smoke repelled from the blocked flue swept around the walls like searching spirits. Karen was pressed against the wall, and Jaime’s clown makeup was streaming down her cheeks.

 Dan returned to the chair, his eyes stinging with smoke, and watched the door.

 He didn’t know how much longer it was when he sensed something on the front porch. Smoke was filling the house, but the room had suddenly become bone-achingly cold. He thought he heard something scratching out there on the porch, searching around the door for the items that weren’t there.

 He’ll come knocking at your door. And you don’t want that. You really don’t.

 “Dan—”

 “Shhhh,” he warned her. “Listen! He’s out there.” “Him? Who? I don’t hear—”

There was a knock at the door like a sledgehammer striking the wood. Dan saw the door tremble through the smoke-haze. The knock was followed by a second, with more force. Then a third that made the door bend inward like cardboard.

 “Go away!” Dan shouted. “There’s nothing for you here!” Silence.

It’s all a trick! he thought. Roy and Tom and Carl and Steve and all the rest are out there in the dark, laughing fit to bust a gut!

 But the room was getting viciously cold. Dan shivered, saw his breath float away past his face.

 Something scraped on the roof above their heads, like claws seeking a weak chink in the shingles.

 “GO AWAY!” Dan’s voice cracked. “GO AWAY, YOU BASTARD!”

 The scraping stopped. After a long moment of silence, something smashed against the roof like an anvil being dropped. The entire house groaned. Jaime screamed, and Karen shouted, “What is it, Dan, what is it out there?”

 Immediately following was a chorus of laughter from beyond the front door. Someone said, “Okay, I guess that’s enough!” A different voice called, “Hey, Dan! You can open up now! Just kiddin'!” A third voice said, “Trick-or-treat, Danny boy!”

 He recognized Carl Lansing’s voice. There was more laughter, more whooping cries of “Trick-or-treat!”

 My God! Dan rose to his feet. It’s a joke. A brutal, ridiculous joke!

 “Open the door!” Carl called. “We can’t wait to see your face!”

 Dan almost cried, but there was rage building in him and he thought he might just aim the shotgun at them and threaten to shoot their balls off. Were they all crazy? How had they managed the phone and the lights? Was this some kind of insane initiation to Essex? He went to the door on shaky legs, unlocked it— Behind him, Karen said suddenly, “Dan, don’t!”

 —and opened the door.

 Carl Lansing stood on the porch. His black hair was slicked back, his eyes as bright as new pennies. He looked like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

 “You damned fools!” Dan raged. “Do you know what kind of scare you people put into me and my family? I ought to shoot your damned—”

 And then he stopped, because he realized Carl was standing alone on the porch.

Carl grinned. His teeth were black. “Trick-or-treat,” he whispered, and raised the ax that he’d been holding behind his back.

 With a cry of terror, Dan stumbled backward and lifted the shotgun. The thing that had assumed Carl’s shape oozed across the threshold; orange firelight glinted off the upraised ax blade.

 Dan squeezed the shotgun’s trigger, but the gun didn’t go off. Neither barrel would fire. Jammed! he thought wildly, and broke open the breech to clear it.

 There were no shells in the shotgun. Jammed into the chambers were Karen’s pumpkin candies.

 “TRICK-OR-TREAT, DAN!” the thing wailed. “TRICK-OR-TREAT!”

 Dan struck into the Carl-thing’s stomach with the butt of the shotgun. From its mouth sprayed a mess of yellow canary feathers, pieces of a kitten, and what might have been a piglet. Dan hit it again, and the entire body collapsed like an exploding gasbag. Then he grabbed Karen’s hand in a frantic blur of motion and was pulling her with him out the door. She held on to Jaime, and they ran down the porch steps and across the grass, along the driveway and the road and toward the main highway with the Halloween wind clutching around them.

 Dan looked back, saw nothing but darkness. Jaime shrieked in tune with the wind. The distant lights of other Essex houses glinted in the hills like cold stars.

 They reached the highway. Dan shouldered Jaime, and still they ran into the night, along the roadside where the high weeds caught at their ankles.

“Look!” Karen cried. “Somebody’s coming, Dan! Look!”

 He did. Headlights were approaching. Dan stood in the middle of the road, frantically waving. The vehicle—a gray Volkswagen van—began to slow down. At the wheel was a woman in a witch costume, and two children dressed like ghosts peered out the window. People from Barrimore Crossing! Dan realized. Thank God! “Help us!” he begged. “Please! We’ve got to get out of here!”

 “You in trouble?” the woman asked. “You have an accident or something?”

 “Yes! An accident! Please, get us to the police station in Barrimore Crossing! I’ll pay you! Just please get us there!”

 The woman paused. Then she said, “Okay. Climb in.” Dan pulled open the van's side door.

 They started off, the engine backfiring, toward Barrimore Crossing.

 “I don't see no accident,” the woman said. “You have a car wreck or what?”

 Dan shook his head. The two ghost-children were watching him over the front seat. In his arms, Jaime was dazed and shaking. “We're okay,” he managed to say to Karen, and took her hand. “We're safe now, honey.”

 And something wet dripped onto his cheek. He looked up at the van's ceiling.

The van had teeth.

Long rows of triangular, serrated teeth.

 As his mind cracked and he began to laugh, he saw the sticky fluid dripping down off the teeth, saw in the green glow of the instrument panel more teeth pushing up from the van's soft, wet gray sides and floorboard.

 His last coherent thought, as Karen's scream filled his head, was that the Devil sure could come up with one hell of a costume.

 “Trick-or-treat, Dan,” the shape at the wheel said.

 And the entire van smashed shut like a huge mouth, the teeth grinding down until bone and flesh were pulverized and unrecognizable.

 Then the van, looking more like a large shiny roach, scuttled off the road toward the Essex woods. It changed shape into something that would drive a man mad to behold—and then it was gone into the hills, with its bellyful of Halloween treats.

[nazariolahela]

Best Beloved: Chapter 3

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a PM AU I’ve been working on. It’s a bit different than my previous fic series and I’m really excited to try something new. I hope y’all enjoy it. This story is told in dual first-person narrative, from Kaia (F!MC) and Damien’s POV. The first half of this story takes place during Kaia’s freshman year and Damien’s senior year of college. The second half is two years after Kaia graduates. There will be sprinklings of canon in this fic, but we’ll try to step out of the box for the most part. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow​ @lady-calypso​ @irishwhiskys-blog​

This chapter contains scenes of underage drinking. Please read at your own risk.

Synopsis: What happens when you find yourself crushing on your best friend? For years, Damien and Kaia have been best friends, while secretly harboring feelings for one another. Everything changes one night after a little too much alcohol and years of pent up feelings. Can they control their emotions and salvage their friendship, or will the feelings they hold for one another destroy everything they have?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: The gang attends their first college football game and frat party.

Kaia

I laid back on my bed and threw my arm over my head, my phone pressed to my ear. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear to a college football game, Nadia. Can you please come over and help me?”

She laughed. “Just wear something with the school logo on it. You’re telling me you don’t have anything Bobcats in your closet?”

I sighed. “No, I forgot to run over to the bookstore and pick up a shirt. Do you think they’re still open?”

“You can grab one at the team store on the way to the game. They’re always open before kickoff. Just throw a cute tank top on and slip the shirt over it. Or change in the bathroom.”

I huffed and shoved a Twizzler in my mouth. “Fine. I gotta let you go so I can jump in the shower. Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Will do,” she singsonged and hung up the phone. I dropped mine on the mattress next to me and tried to work up the courage to get up. The mattress wasn’t the most comfortable, but after the crazy first week of classes I had, it was more tempting than getting up to go to a football game. Or a frat party. My roommate Victoria marched in, holding a bag under her arm.

“Just call me your fairy godmother,” she said, tossing the bag on my bed. I sat up and looked inside, seeing a Hartfeld Bobcats t-shirt inside.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

“Bought one last weekend, but it was the wrong size. I’ve been meaning to take it back, but I never got around to it. Try it on. If it fits, you can have it.”

I jumped off the bed and pulled the shirt from the bag, slipping it on over my black cami. I gasped when it fit like a glove. I stood in front of the floor-length mirror in our dorm room, checking myself out. Daaaamn, I looked fine!  I engulfed her in a hug. “You’re the best!”

“It was nothing really. Go have a great time at the game. And tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“You’re not going?” I asked.

“Nah. I met this guy the other night and we have our first date tonight. He’s taking me to this Italian restaurant the next town over. Apparently, the plates are bigger than your head.”

“Ooh! New guy? Dish,” I probed. I didn’t know much about my roommate’s love life. Mainly because she kept things like that to herself. Although, I did find out that first night we hung out that she lost her virginity to some guy named Spike. She told me he roared like a motorcycle when he came. We laughed about it for a good twenty minutes.

She turned crimson, hiding her face behind her long black locks. “Well...his name is Drake. He moved here for school from some foreign country named Cordonia, but he doesn’t have an accent. I think he said his family is from Texas, but he grew up overseas. He’s kind of brooding. Wears a lot of denim. I really like him.”

I squealed and pinched her cheeks. “Well, good luck. And if you bring him back to the dorm, put a sock over the doorknob so I know not to interrupt anything.” She blushed and I winked at her. “Okay, I gotta hit the shower. My cousin will be here shortly.” I grabbed my clothes, a towel, and my shower caddy and made my way down the hall to the shared bathroom in our dorm. Thankfully there wasn’t a line, so I took the first open stall.

After my shower, I slipped on my favorite pair of Levi’s jeans and the Bobcats shirt Victoria gave me. I applied neutral eyeshadow, false lashes, a light sweep of blush, and a swipe of nude lipstick on my lips, checked my reflection one last time, and headed back to my dorm. My phone chimed with a text from Nadia announcing that she was on her way, so I grabbed my crossbody and a hoodie in case it got chilly and headed downstairs. I saw Nadia and Sloane sitting in the cab of a royal blue 1990s Chevy Silverado pickup.

“What is this?” I asked, holding my hands out.

Nadia jumped out of the driver’s seat and rounded the vehicle, swinging her arms out like she was Vanna effing White and this truck was the grand prize. “You like? It’s Steve’s. He’s letting us borrow it to go to the game.”

I scrunched up my nose, examining the beat-up body of the pickup. Is...is that a racing stripe? 

Sloane remained in the truck, fiddling with the dials on the in-dash radio. “Come on, you two! We’re going to be late,” she shouted from the front seat. My eyes darted to Nadia, then back to Sloane. I sighed and moved over to the passenger’s side, crawling up onto the bench seat next to Sloane.

We drove the five minutes it took to get from the dorms to the Robert Q. Harris Memorial Stadium, going over our game plan for the night. As we pulled up in the parking lot, we noticed a tailgate in progress. 

“Ooh! This is going to be exciting! Your first tailgate, Sloane!” Nadia squealed. She pulled into a spot and put the truck in park. “Okay, girls. Here are your pom-poms,” she said, handing Sloane and I each a pom wand. We exited the truck and walked over to where some other students were playing beer pong.

“Oh, my gods! I’ve heard of this game, but I’ve never seen it played up-close,” Sloane said, clutching her hands to her chest. She moved toward the table and watched the two guys in Bobcats jerseys line up their shots. The first guy’s ball bounced off the rim of the red Solo cup, and his companions all groaned in frustration.

“I’m usually way better than this,” the guy protested as his friends laughed at him. We watched a few more rounds of the game before moving on to another group. Three girls in cut-off Bobcats t-shirts were holding a funnel and a tube above another girl’s head and pouring beer into the funnel.

“Why are those girls drinking beer out of a funnel?” Sloane asked.

“That’s a beer bong. They do this so they can get drunk faster,” I explained to her. She nodded her head, watching the girls in concentration as they assisted their friend in “funneling” her beer, then cheering when she finished it.

“Fascinating,” Sloane said, observing the girls as they lined up for another hit. We made our way through the parking lot, stopping occasionally at different groups to check out their tailgating activities. After several minutes, we made it to the stadium gates. Nadia fished our tickets out of her purse and handed them to the attendant. He scanned our tickets and let us through. We walked through the concourse, checking out the different food and drinks offered at the concession stands. We found our gate and made our way to our seats.

We took our seats and settled in, squeezing into the front row of the bleachers, right behind the home bench. A guy in a BU Wolves jersey sitting at the end of our row slid across the bench and wrapped his arm around Sloane’s shoulder.

“Hey, cutie! You here to check out a little sports ball? Greg here will tell you all you need to know. So, the guys in burgundy are the home team. They’re who you need to root for. That weird spherical object in the middle of the field is called a football. That’s the name of the sport.”

Nadia leaned over and gave the guy a death glare. “Excuse me! Are you actually trying to mansplain football to my friend?”

He raised his hands in defense. “Calm down, babe. I’m just trying to help her out. She doesn’t look like she’s ever watched a game in her life.”

“Who are you to assume she’s never watched football because of how she looks? Get lost, creep,” I spat out.

Sloane cleared her throat. “I’ve got this, girls.” She straightened her glasses and turned to the guy. “For your information, I’ve watched plenty of organized sports. Did you know that the main physical actions of American football, such as blocking, running, and tackling illustrate several fundamental concepts in physics, biomechanics, and math? It’s quite interesting to calculate how many pounds of water a player loses on the field or how much energy it takes to stop a running back in a full-on sprint.” She crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at the guy. He hung his head sheepishly and got up from his seat, scurrying away embarrassed. Nadia and I sat there in awe, then dogpiled her in a group hug.

“Have I told you you’re my hero?” I asked her.

“I’m dating the first-string wide receiver and I didn’t even know that,” Nadia chimed. Sloane laughed and returned our hug before turning her attention back to the field. Both teams were announced and we leaped from our seats and cheered as Steve jogged past us to the bench. He spotted us in the crowd and shot Nadia a wink.

The game kicked off and the Bobcats received the ball first. The quarterback threw a 20-yard pass to Steve on the first play, and he took it to the house an additional 60-yards to put the first points on board. I thought Nadia was going to pass out with how hard she was screaming and jumping up and down.

The opposing team got the ball next and their running back broke through the line on the first snap for a 45-yard play before he was tackled by the Bobcats defense. They drove down the field on the next play and tied it up. Both teams went score for score throughout the game, and it came down to a tied score of 35-35 during the final two minutes of the fourth quarter.

The Bobcats had the ball at their own 45-yard line. It was 3rd and 2. The running back lined up in the backfield while Steve lined up off the line of scrimmage to block and wait for the center to snap the ball. The QB called an audible at the line and when the ball was snapped, he slung it to a wide-open Steve, who danced down the sideline 50-yards as time expired to give the Bobcats a 42-35 win. Nadia tossed her popcorn and her pom in the air as the stadium erupted in cheers. Steve’s teammates engulfed him as they celebrated on the field.

We filed out of the stadium and waited by the team entrance for Steve to arrive. When he emerged a few minutes later, Nadia took off in a dead sprint and leaped into his arms, nearly tackling him to the ground.

“YOU DID IT, BABY! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU,” she shouted as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, peppering his face with kisses. Sloane and I watched in amusement as Nadia and Steve mauled each other in the parking lot.

“Okay, lovebirds. Let’s save some of this for the afterparty,” I said, rolling my eyes. Steve set Nadia down and we made our way to where his truck was parked. We climbed in and set off for the Delta Mu Kappa house.

When we pulled up to the curb, the party was spilling out onto the front lawn of the frat house. We exited the pickup and weaved through the throngs of partygoers to enter the house. The bass thumped through the room and dancers moved erratically to the beat on the makeshift dance floor. 

Steve held Nadia’s hand and guided us through the living room to the keg set up in the kitchen. The guy operating the tap extended his hand to Steve for a high-five, which he returned, then poured beer in cups for him and Nadia. He then offered Sloane and I a drink. I declined, but Sloane accepted. The guy poured her a beer and she took a sip, a dollop of foam coating the tip of her nose. Her face turned up in disgust.

“This tastes awful,” she said, wiping the foam off her nose and upper lip and handing the cup back to him.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Steve laughed, taking a sip of his own. Nadia pulled on Steve’s arm, urging him to the dance floor. He nodded at Sloane and I, then followed her to the living room. Keg Guy pointed to a red cooler and offered us a couple of Smirnoff Ice Wild Grapes. Sloane and I took the drinks, clinking the bottles together in cheers, then each took a swig.

“Oh my gods, this is delicious,” she shouted over the loud music. We leaned against the kitchen counter, scanning the crowd. After a few minutes, she noticed someone from her Spanish Comp class and excused herself to say hi. I continued to crowd watch, sipping on my Smirnoff, when I noticed Damien striding toward the keg. His eyes met mine and a grin spread across his face.

“This doesn’t look like your scene,” I said to him.

“Yours either,” he retorted.

I laughed. “Touché. Nadia’s boyfriend invited us. At least the refreshments are top-notch.” I tipped my drink up to him. He chuckled and moved over to the keg, grabbing a fresh beer from Keg Guy. He nodded thanks and walked back over to where I was standing. 

“Nadia’s here? I’m going to have to say hi to her sometime tonight.”

“Yeah, she and Steve are out dry-humping on the dance floor.”

He threw back his head in laughter. Gods, I missed that laugh. “So, what do you think of your first college party so far?” 

“Who said this was my first college party?”

“Just a guess. If it was, I’m sure we would have run into each other by now,” he said, taking a drink. “Nice shirt by the way. It looks good on you. Did you go to the game?”

I looked down at my shirt, noticing the way it hugged my curves. My cheeks flushed as I avoided his gaze. “Yeah, Nadia’s boyfriend is the star wide receiver so we went to watch him,” I said, brushing a piece of lint from my shirt.

“Mhmm, Tennyson. Yeah, he had a hell of a game. That 50-yard TD at the end was nuts. No one could cover him. The kid’s a machine.”

What a weird thing to say. I took another sip of my Smirnoff and scanned the crowd. “So, where’s your girlfriend tonight?”

He sputtered and started choking on his beer. I leaned over and slapped his back a few times until he regained his composure. He wiped the beads of beer dribbling down his chin with the back of his hand. “She’s around here somewhere. What about you?”

“My girlfriend is at home waiting for me. Parties aren’t really her thing.”

His eyes widened, which caused me to burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, I don't have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend for that matter. I’m just here with my friends. Who have all conveniently disappeared. But that means I can scout the local talent for my next boo.”

He cleared his throat and hid a smile with his cup. “Well, good luck with that. You have your pick of the litter with this new crop of freshmen. What about him over there?” He pointed his cup to the dance floor.

I squinted, trying to follow his line of sight, but with it being so dimly lit, I was having trouble making out most of the faces in the crowd. “Who?”

He leaned in to guide me to where he was looking and I got a whiff of his scent. Masculine. Earthy with hints of leather and sandalwood. I closed my eyes and inhaled, trying not to make it obvious. The smell caused the butterflies in my stomach to flutter wildly. Memories of our last night together flooded my mind and I took a step back and chugged the rest of my drink, trying to tamp down my urges. I spotted the guy he was pointing at — a shorter guy with curly brown hair and glasses — nursing his beer as he made eyes with different girls on the dance floor. “Wait...I-is that Brad?”

He burst out laughing and I leaned over to slap his arm. My palm touched his bicep and the firmness of his muscles against my hand caused my breath to catch. I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. “Not funny, dude.”

“It was worth a shot. Hey, I’ll be right back. I gotta hit the head,” he set his empty cup on the counter behind me and winked as he moved through the crowd toward the bathrooms. I watched him until he disappeared from sight and clutched the empty bottle in my hand, willing my nerves to calm. You can do this, Kaia. It’s just Damien.

But could I?

***

Damien

I made my way through the packed fraternity house, trying not to bump into anyone as I headed for the bathroom. When I reached my destination, the door was shut and only one person was waiting. I leaned against the wall and tapped my fingers against my thigh. The door swung open and a drunk guy stumbled out, allowing the girl in front of me to enter.

I looked back toward the kitchen and could still see Kaia leaning against the kitchen counter. The strobe lights danced off her features as she was leaning over talking to the kid manning the keg. Whatever he said made her throw her head back in laughter. A tinge of jealousy coursed through me. Why was I jealous? She wasn’t mine. And besides, I had a girlfriend. Somewhere in this house. Speaking of. I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent her a text, asking her where she was. 

The girl in the bathroom came out, and I entered. I shut the door and leaned forward, resting my hands on the sink. Staring at my reflection, I sucked in a deep breath and tried to get my emotions in check. Having Kaia back in my life after four years was fucking with my head. When she laughed, I wanted to do everything possible to keep hearing that sound. When I leaned in to point Brad out to her on the dance floor, her hair brushed against my nose and I inhaled the scent of her shampoo. It smelled like lavender and rosemary. When she smacked my bicep, I wanted to grab her wrist and pull her to me, to feel her body pressed against mine.

My phone chimed with a text from Alana, breaking me from my Kaia spell. She said she was in the backyard and asked where I was. I gave her my location, then set my phone back down on the sink and turned on the cold water faucet. I cupped my hands and splashed water on my face. A few moments later, someone knocked and I heard Alana’s voice on the other side. I swung the door open and she strutted inside, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it.

“Well, looks like we’re all alone in here, huh?” she said, sashaying across the bathroom to where I was standing. “Why don’t we pick up where we left off since we were so rudely interrupted the other day?” She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled my head down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss.

“Alana, baby. We can’t. Not in here.”

“Why not? We’ve never done it in the bathroom of a frat house before. It could be fun.” She said, pulling the shell of my ear between her teeth.

“What if someone comes in?”

She backed away from me and locked the door, never breaking eye contact. “Better?” she said, arching her eyebrow. I sighed and moved in, kissing and sucking the curve of her neck. She brought her hands up to my hair, raking her fingers through the thick strands. “See, this isn’t so bad, is it?”

I growled into her neck and dragged my hands down her hips, catching the hem of her shirt and pulling it up. When my fingers skimmed the strip of skin, she inhaled sharply. Our lips crashed together and she scraped her nails across my scalp. My fingers trailed lightly up her ribcage and brushed against the lace trim of her bra, causing her grip on my hair to tighten. A loud pounding on the other side of the door startled us.

“Yo, you about done in there, bro? Some of us gotta take a piss,” A guy’s voice called out.

Alana growled, “Motherfucker!” She huffed and pushed herself off of me. Fuming, she straightened her clothes, checked herself in the mirror and yanked the bathroom door open. The drunk frat bro on the other side jumped when she appeared.

“Whoa! I didn’t know it was this kind of party! Hey, baby! If you’re done with this dude, I believe it’s my turn,” he said, reaching out to stroke her arm.

She rolled her eyes and brought her knee to the frat bro’s groin, dropping him like a hot potato. The people in line behind him all groaned as Alana stomped away. I leaned down and rested my hand on the drunk guy’s shoulder. “You should probably learn how to talk to girls, bro,” I said, patting him a few times before walking off. I scanned the party for Alana, but when I couldn’t find her, I pulled out my phone and texted her to ask her where she went. Several minutes passed with no response, so I made my way back to the kitchen. I saw Kaia still standing in the same spot, talking to a girl with curly brown hair and glasses.

“Took you long enough. Did you fall in?” she said, raking her eyes up and down my body.

“Long line. It happens.” I turned to her friend, “Hi! I’m Damien. And who might you be?”

The girl extended her hand. “Sloane. Sloane Washington. So, you’re Kaia’s mysterious hot older friend. Wow, I can see why she’s so enamored by you,” she said, winking. My eyes darted to Kaia and her cheeks instantly turned pink.

“Sloane! What the hells?”

“Oh, whoops! Was I not supposed to say that out loud?” she giggled, slapping her hand over her mouth. “I probably should stop drinking these.”

I chuckled and turned back to Kaia. “Hot older friend, huh?”

Kaia looked down at the floor, her silky strands falling in her face. I resisted the urge to reach out and brush them away. “Don’t let it go to your head, Dames. You know how good you look.”

I cocked an eyebrow and Sloane giggled. “Well, thank you. I’m glad that my looks haven’t gone to shit yet. I figure I’ve got about five more years before Father Time superkicks me in the face.”  My comment drew laughs from both of them.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Sloane asked.

“We grew up together,” Kaia answered quickly before taking a long pull of her drink.

“What she means is that she lived next door to me and always hung out at my house because all the kids her age were losers, so she wanted a ‘cool friend.’”

Kaia rolled her eyes, trying to hide a smile. I turned back to Sloane. “How was your first week of classes?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose. “Pretty good, but my Calc class is going to be tough. The professor is a nightmare.” 

��Dr. Carson? Yeah, he’s a real ball-bust...err...I mean, he’s strict. When I had him freshman year, he made a girl cry the first week of class. He also grades on a curve.”

Sloane’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me that! I have to take Calc II with him next semester too.”

I laughed and turned to Kaia. “What about you? Any classes or professors you want to run screaming from yet?”

She shook her head. “Thankfully, no. Although there’s this super creepy guy in my Interpersonal Comm class that keeps hitting on me, even after I’ve rejected his advances.”

I hummed. “You should probably punch the guy. I’ve heard that gets your point across pretty effectively.”

She laughed and I felt my chest tighten. Gods, I loved that sound. I asked the girls if they both wanted another drink, and they nodded yes, so I made my way over to the cooler and retrieved three Smirnoff Ices. I handed them to the girls, and when Kaia took hers, our fingers brushed. Her breath hitched and a smile tugged at my lips. She twisted the bottle cap off, not meeting my eyes. I popped the top of mine and took a long swig, my face turning up in disgust. Holy shit, this stuff is awful. How do chicks drink this garbage? I looked over at Kaia and saw her watching me. She noticed my facial expression and burst out laughing.

“You gonna finish that?”

“Fuck, no. This is all you,” I replied, handing her the bottle. I moved over to the kid manning the keg and asked him if they had any rum.

“I think there’s some in the liquor cabinet, bro. Right over there,” he replied, pointing to a China Hutch on the other side of the fridge. I walked over and opened the cabinet, examining the contents inside. A few bottles remained. A thin layer of dust coated the shelves where liquor bottles once sat. I spotted the bottle of spiced rum toward the back. Thanking the liquor gods, I grabbed it and dusted it off. I grabbed a red Solo cup off the counter and poured two fingers of the golden liquid into the glass, taking a sip. Damn, this shit is smooth. I made my way back over to where Kaia and Sloane were still talking and held the bottle up to them.

“You girls wanna play a drinking game?”

Sloane shook her head. “I’ll pass. But thanks for offering. I’m going to go use the bathroom.”

My eyes darted to Kaia. She shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Let’s do this.”

I smirked and moved over to Keg Guy, asking if he had a deck of cards. He pointed me to a drawer next to the sink. I opened it and found a deck of adult-themed novelty playing cards. The box had pictures of women in various states of undress. I rolled my eyes. Classy.  Kaia and I moved over to the kitchen table and I poured more rum into my glass. “Okay, so this game is called the Nazario Chug…”

“Wait...you have a card game named after yourself?” Kaia asked suspiciously.

I chuckled and began shuffling the cards. “Long story. We came up with it my freshman year. So here are the rules. You take the top card. Black card means dare, red means truth. If you fail or want to dodge your task, you drink according to the number on your card.”

“Ooh, a new twist on truth or dare. This should be interesting,” she said, taking a sip of one of the bottles of Smirnoff.

I smiled and cut the deck then placed it between us on the table. “Hey, save your drinks for the game. Okay, since this is your first time playing, you go first.”

She leaned over and grabbed the first card and flipped it towards me. “Five of diamonds. So, red.”

I nodded. “Truth. So, what do you think about Hartfeld so far?”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Softball questions right off the bat? I thought this game would be more of a challenge.”

I laughed. “I don’t want to be too hard on you your first time. Answer the question or drink.”

She pressed her lips together and hummed. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay? Come on. You can do better than that.”

“Well, the classes are good. The professors seem cool. And I’ve already made a few friends.”

“But…” I probed.

“I don’t know. It’s only been a week. I feel like I can’t give a more detailed answer just yet.”

I nodded. “Fair enough.” I reached over and pulled the next card from the deck. Three of Clubs and black. I shook my head and Kaia’s eyes lit up when I turned the card to face her. She laughed maniacally and rubbed her hands together. “You’re going to make me embarrass myself in front of the whole party, aren’t you?” I groaned.

She tapped her finger against her bottom lip, the motion drawing my eyes to her mouth. Her lips were so plump, I wanted to lean in and taste them. She caught me staring and snapped her fingers in my face. “Hey, space case. Pay attention. Here’s your dare. See that blonde doing a keg stand over there?” she pointed to the keg where a freshman girl — being held up by two frat bros — sucked the beer from the lever while a small crowd cheered her on. After several moments, she gagged and beer shot from her nostrils, causing her to start coughing.

“You want me to do that?” I asked. She giggled and nodded. I shook my head and moved over to the keg. One of the frat bros noticed me.

“Hey, man. You wanna get in on this?”

I sighed. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.” I braced my hands on either side of the keg’s rim and lifted my body weight. The two frat bros grabbed each of my legs and held me up as I grabbed the tap and opened the lever, allowing the foamy liquid to pour in my mouth. I chugged the beer as Kaia and the crowd around us started chanting, “Chug, chug, chug.” Thirty seconds in, the beer must have gone down the wrong tube, because I started choking and spat up beer. The crowd moaned and the two frat bros helped me down. I moved back over to the table, where Kaia was crouched over laughing, holding her stomach.

“Holy shit. That was awesome!”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, freshman. Draw your damn card.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and retrieved the next card. A frown formed on her face and she turned the card to face me. The King of Clubs, black.

“Payback,” I smirked. She groaned and threw her head back. My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for someone to recruit for Kaia’s dare. I spotted a kid with frosted tips and a denim jacket that screamed late ‘90s, leaning against the wall. He looked completely out of his element. Bingo. I pointed to him. “See that guy over there? I dare you to go over to him and pretend you’re his biggest fan.”

“Wh-what?”

“Then, you have to get a selfie with him.” 

She gnawed on her bottom lip for a few beats, then nodded and took a deep breath. My eyes stayed glued to her as she rose from her seat and straightened her clothing. “I’ve got this,” she said with a cocky tone. She smirked and marched over to where the guy was standing. I watched in amusement as she gripped his arm with both of her hands and shouted, “Oh wow! Are...are you Niall Horan?” The guy gave her a confused expression as several people turned around to look at them.

She released his arm and pretended to fumble with her phone. She then tapped the screen and handed it to a random girl standing nearby. Jealousy coursed through my veins again as the guy snaked his arm around Kaia’s waist and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The girl held the phone up to snap the photos and I watched them, trying to tamp down the feelings. I pushed back from the table and started walking toward them when a pair of arms caught me from behind.  

“There you are! I’m ready to go when you are,” Alana slurred, clutching my midsection as she swayed on her feet. 

I watched Kaia as she chatted with the guy. A smile spread wide across her face as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear. As much as I wanted to go over there and claim her, I knew I couldn’t. I sighed and turned around, wrapping an arm around my intoxicated girlfriend’s shoulder. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” 

She slipped her hand in my back pocket and guided me through the crowd toward the door. I looked back and caught Kaia’s eye as we retreated from the kitchen. She stared at me, her face void of emotion. I gave her a weak smile and led Alana out of the house to our car.

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected! Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Twelve of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @loveandprose​ a/k/a liviafan1 And stayed tuned next week for Ch.13 from @scandalpantsstuff​​  -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER TWELVE by @loveandprose​ a/k/a liviafan1

“Jesus Christ, Dick. What the hell is wrong with you?” Gia seethed, stomping to her feet to land a swift kick to Dick’s stomach. Her face was wet, the edges of her hair plastered to her cheeks.

The blonde doubled over on a pained groan, dropping to his knees. “Fuck,” he cursed, wincing. “I was just having a little fun! God, don’t be so uptight.”

“I should’ve known Dick would be behind this,” Veronica muttered under her breath, sharing a knowing look with Logan. “What happened?”

Gia crossed her arms over her chest, indignant. “I was asleep on the floor, soundly thank you very much,” she huffed out, throwing daggers at Dick with her steely gaze, “when this asshole poured a glass of freezing cold water on my face.”

Forget the murderer, Veronica was going to strangle the entire room herself first.

“Hold on,” Veronica lifted her hand, “That’s why you let out a blood-curdling scream? Because he poured some water on your face?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Veronica Mars. Did my scream startle you?” Gia sneered. “Next time I’ll be sure to wait for a more appropriate time before some dickhead tries to practically drown me.”

God, was this girl dramatic.

“Yeah, could you?” Veronica asked, her voice dripping in faux sweetness. “That’d be real swell, thanks.”

“Look, Goodman,” Dick said, rising to his feet as slow and steady as the color returning to his face, “Someone had to interrupt the freight train that was coming out of your mouth. And since you were all cuddled up next to me—“

“I was not—” Gia interrupted, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“It seemed like I should be the one to take one for the team.” He rubbed his stomach, wincing. “Though I did not mean literally.”

Gia stomped her foot. “I do not snore.”

Dick patted her shoulder in a manner that was so patronizing even Veronica had to give him mental snaps. “Sure.”

“Remove your hand or I swear to God - ”

“Okay!” Veronica interrupted, clapping her hands together with a bright smile pasted on her face. “Enough with the flirting for the insane. Is everyone here and accounted for?” She surveyed the room.

“Wallace is gone,” Logan observed, lifting an eyebrow.

Shit. Veronica bit her lip, worry gnawing at the edges of her stomach. Her gaze flitted around each of the mattresses and sure enough, Logan was right. Even Alexis was still there, zonked out on a mattress in the corner. Though she seemed to find a new buddy, Veronica thought grimly. One of Casey’s arms was loosely wrapped around her waist and —

Yep, that was a pair of spoons if Veronica ever saw one.

Wait. “Wallace and Mac are gone?”

“Maybe they ran into each other and are off sleuthing?” Logan offered helpfully. “Never know when that Veronica Mars influence will kick in with a vengeance.”

Veronica shot him a playful glare and he booped her on the nose in return.

“Hold up, Ghost World is here?” Dick looked confused. “Has she been with us the whole time?” He scratched his head.

Logan shook his head, patting his friend on the back. “Dude, you have got to lay off the booze,”

“And you have got to stop calling her that,” Veronica spat. “And no, we just ran into her last night.”

“And what, decided to keep it from the rest of us? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a killer on the loose.” Gia gasped. “What if it’s Mac?”

“Hokay, I think it’s time I get away from this.” Veronica waved a hand toward Dick and Gia. She turned to Logan. “I hope you’re right, Echolls. Got any ideas floating around in that pretty little head of yours?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask, Bobcat.”

[xmenimagine]

Imagine: Don’t Hide.

Requested by atadofrad. Includes: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Request: * Can I get a fem!reader x Logan where the reader is a mutant who is a new teacher at the school. She can transform into a bobcat as her mutation but her ears and tail stays when she turns back human. She is very insecure about her ears and tail but Logan starts to flirt with her and tells her that she is beautiful with them and they end up dating and its just super cute?? Ability: Shapeshifting-Ability to transform and reshape the form of one's body

Note: written from Logan's perspective, I think I've done this kind of perspective before in a different imagine, maybe on my other account, but I just wanted to switch it up a bit

I CAN'T END THESE IMAGINES TO SAVE MY LIFE AHHHHH

Also, hello, I'm momentarily back from my hiatus (?), I'm not sure if that is what it is called, but I'm back for a little while. University and my anxiety just got the better of me, hope you can understand :)

    Even from across the room, Logan could see that you were trying your best to hide it. The pink flush across your cheeks and the tip of your nose was a dead giveaway that you were hyper-aware that people could see you stand out like a sore thumb, even in a room full of other mutants, and that there was nothing you could do about it. He had been, previously, in a conversation between Hank and someone else who worked as a teacher at the school—but Logan never made the effort to remember who, exactly. He couldn't help but watch you. There was a faint tug at the corner of his lips as he noted how your ears would twitch or turn sharply when there was a sudden loudness in another area of the room, or when your tail would swish sharply and your hand would quickly move to grab it, stopping it from moving and catching anyone's attention—because, of course, you didn't want any attention on yourself at any possible moment. Logan couldn't help but wonder if you had thought that perhaps invisibility would have been a better mutation than the one you had, but, he, of course, thought that your mutation couldn't have been any better.

    There was a short opening given to him to approach you when the person you had been talking to had gone off to get themselves a drink. Without saying anything to Hank or the other teacher, his feet started to move towards you, like the two of you were magnets, attracting one another. He made a beeline towards you, not making an effort to apologise to others when his shoulders or elbows knocked into them. As he walked towards you, he could see that your eyes quickly darted to one of the doors that could be used as an exit, so, he picked up his pace to get to you before you could have the chance to leave and get away. Your hand let go of your tail and you placed your own drink cup on the table behind yourself, your body had turned, getting ready to take the first steps towards freedom, but Logan managed to get to you on time, preventing that from happening.

    "So," Logan spoke up, catching your attention away from the exit, "you're the new teacher." It wasn't a question.

    "Mhmm," you replied with a quiet hum, nodding your head faintly as you looked over at him.

    "You look like you want to get out of here."

    You blinked at his bluntness and cleared your throat. "I, um—"

    "I'll walk you out. That way, no one will try to stop you to have a chat."

    With a short nod from yourself, Logan began to make his way through the crowd of teachers, with you following closely behind. No one really paid much attention to the two of you as he pushed open the door to the hallway and stepped out, holding it open just long enough for you to slip out and move over to the other side of the hallway. He watched as your tail flicked quickly and your hand moved to grab it again, keeping your gaze down to the ground, rather than making eye contact with him, as you turned your body slightly towards him, but still not enough to seem like you really wanted to talk to him.

    "So—"

    "I-I have to go, excuse me," you sputtered out nervously before quickly making your way down the hallway and turning a sharp corner. Logan knew that you were most likely going to your office or your room, which was somewhere in the large mansion, but he made no effort to stop you. Instead, he made a mental note to find you sometime later to continue the slightly one-sided conversation with you, even if it took him weeks to find you again in such a crowded building.

-

    The second time Logan saw you; he had caught a glimpse of your smiling face as you showed a student out of your office, waving them off before you closed your office door. A smirk rose to his lips, knowing that he had found you and your office all at once. After straightening his back and rolling his shoulders, and hearing them crack as he psyched himself up, he breathed in and made his way to your office door, knocking three times without hesitation. From inside, he could hear you call out, asking for whoever was at the door to wait a moment, before papers were shuffled and placed on your desk and the fabric of your shirt was smoothed down—which, of course, wouldn't have been audible to anyone else, but Logan was straining his ears to hear you. When you opened the door, a soft, warm, and welcoming smile had already tugged at the corners of your lips, as if you were expecting a student. He saw a slight flash of shock and confusion on your face before your cheeks grew warmer and your 'confident' demeanour shrunk back in on itself, leaving you to slightly cave in on yourself, once you saw that it was him.

    "Mr. Howlett," you spoke softly, shaking your head lightly as you tried to form your sentence, "I wasn't—"

    "Expecting me? Yeah, I know," he cleared his voice quickly, hearing how rough he sounded when that wasn't what he wanted, especially if he was trying to make a good impression on you. "And you can call me Logan, I prefer it."

    "Oh, right, of course." You nodded in response, noticing a few of the students who hung around in the hallway turned and looked at the two of you, trying to be discrete as they tried listening in and figuring out what Logan was doing, talking to their favourite counsellor. "Oh, um, w-would you like to come in?" You looked up at Logan, watching as he raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the students—who looked away almost immediately—before turning back to you, nodding.

    "Sure."

    The door wasn't opened that much more before he slipped in and took initiative to close it behind himself. He heard you quickly inhale, despite trying to hide it from him, and his gaze followed you as you made your way around your desk, fixing your papers again, ears slightly twitching. "Was there something I could do for you?"

    There was something about your voice that made Logan relax, and despite knowing that you wouldn't talk much to him, or anyone that wasn't a student in need, he knew he would try to do anything to hear you talk for longer. "Just wanted to say hello," he replied, internally swearing at himself for that response.

    "Oh, really?" He noted that you sounded surprised.

    With a nod, he pointed to the door, "Are you going to be expecting anyone?"

    "Um, not until three," you replied after quickly checking your notebook.

    "Perfect, we've got a few hours to get to know each other."

    "Oh, I'm… I'm sure you have better things to do, Mr. How—Logan," you quickly corrected yourself and Logan watched your cheeks darken and your tail swish before you grabbed it. "Sorry about that," you apologised quietly.

    "You have nothing to be sorry for, and you don't have to try and hide anything like that from me," he reassured you.

    "It's just—" Logan watched as you quickly shook your head, stopping yourself from opening up to him.

    "Just what?" He urged, hoping to hear you talk again. Glancing up at him, he saw your hesitation before he pulled the chair out to sit down on the other side of your desk. "You can tell me," he said with a shrug.

    "I don't want to be a bother."

    "You never could be," he was quick to respond and quick to notice the pace of your—not quite steady, but once steadier—heartbeat thump faster.

    With a soft smile and a deep breath in, you sat down, smoothing your shirt once more, and fixing things on your desk before you forced yourself to stop, and place your, lightly, shaking hands on your lap, hidden from his sight. "I'm a little nervous," you admitted, not making eye contact with him.

    "That's okay."

    At the sound of his words, you glanced up. "I get embarrassed by it all still, I guess."

    "'It all'?"

    "The ears that twitch and move when I don't want them to, this tail that just has a mind of its own, and the mess that comes along with shifting into a bobcat. Have you ever seen a bobcat, Logan?"

    "Can't say that I have."

    "Well, they aren't cute."

    "I'm sure you're the exception," he was quick to respond once more, taking in the even darker blush across your face. "Besides, have you seen me?" He pointed to his face, more specifically, his facial hair. "I'm no prize either," he answered his own question without warning, causing you to laugh.

    "We aren't small either, we're bigger than the average 'cute', domestic cat," you continued to inform him, and he swore he could hear the disappointment and disgust that you felt towards yourself in your quiet words.

    "That's not a problem."

    "It's not?"

    He shook his head. "Nah, more to love, you know." The smile that had grown on your face had faulted ever so slightly, and Logan picked up on it, shifting in his seat. "Did I say something wrong?"

    You quickly shook your head. "No, no. It's—My last boyfriend, who, I guess, pushed me over the edge and made me pack up and leave everything to come here… he told me that I should try to hide my mutation. Suggested that I wear hats, or long coats, or something along those lines. Not once did I hear him tell me that it was okay, that being a mutant was okay, that he'd love me no matter how I looked, so, I guess—" You cleared your throat. "I mean, I know you aren't saying it in that way, I mean, you hardly know me… but I've never heard anyone say that there was anything about me worth loving. You just caught me off guard, that's all. I'm sorry, I know I'm rambling, and you didn't mean it in that way, and—"

    "Don't apologise," he interrupted you in a quiet voice. "Don't—" Logan shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with you, and there never will be. There's nothing wrong with being a mutant, there's nothing wrong with you being a mutant. God, you've got a whole school—an entirely new family—of other mutants who would say the exact same thing. You haven't been here long but those kids love you. I'm pretty sure I saw a group of kids sort out an argument about who got to see you first by doing 'rock, paper, scissors'. They don't care how you look, they never will, and they love you." Logan leaned closer to your desk. "You should also never hide how you look, don't hide behind hats or long coats, wear whatever the hell you damn well please. Screw him. No, no." He held his finger up. "Fuck him. Fuck him and whoever else made you feel like that. Fuck him—"

    "Logan—"

    "—And what if I was?"

    "'Was' what?"

    "Saying it in that way."

    "You hardly know me, I—"

    "Then let me get to know you."

    "You don't mean that." You shook your head.

    "I do. I know what it's like to have your heart broken by someone you loved, even if they didn't love you. You don't have to say yes, in fact, you can ask me to leave and forget any of this ever happened, because, after all, we hardly know each other, but… would you like to have dinner with me? Would you like me to show you that everything about you worth loving?"

    He wasn't expecting an answer, especially not from someone who barely knew him. But, when he saw the look in your eyes and the gentle nod that you gave him in response, he couldn't help but smile.

[berniesrevolution]

In Dilley, Texas, there is only one grocery store, and that grocery store is Lowes. (It is not a Lowes, like the home improvement center. It is a totally different and legally distinct store that also happens to be called Lowes.) Lowes is a place of many mysteries. I once went there to buy vegetable broth for a sick coworker, and combed the soup aisle for nearly 20 minutes before being forced to admit that no, Lowes does not carry vegetable broth. The closest thing they had was a can of something called “vegetable beef.” Lowes does, however, carry bacon-flavored pancake syrup, quite a lot of animal pheromones in spray cans (including such choice selections as “raccoon urine” and “sow in heat,” which I assume are for agricultural rather than cosmetic purposes), and a large selection of devotional candles in glass cylinders.

I had never paid much attention to the candles, but a friend of mine was in town, volunteering at the child internment camp where I work as an immigration lawyer, and he wanted to bring back a candle for some eclectic ofrenda-type situation he had set up in his D.C. apartment. He is a meticulous and thoughtful sort of person, and took a long time debating between various candidates. I had come to Lowes primarily to buy Cheez-Its, and was getting impatient. I picked up a candle at random. “How about this one?” I said.

The candle had a picture of a Little Lord Fauntleroy-type in a plumed hat and a white ruff, with a pink seashell pinned to his cloak. I glanced at the label on the back. Glorioso Santo Niño de Atocha, it said, patrón de las que están injustamente en prisión, protector de viajeros y que das la mano al que se encuentra en peligro…

I didn’t know anything about this saint at all, despite having grown up Catholic, so I looked him up on my phone. I soon discovered that he was not really a saint, per se, but a special Limited Edition version of baby Jesus. Wikpedia offered up the following backstory:

In the 13th century, Spain was under Muslim rule. The town of Atocha, now part of Madrid’s Arganzuela district, was lost to the Muslims, and many Christians there were taken prisoners as spoils of war. The Christian prisoners were not fed by the jailers, but by family members who brought them food. According to pious legend, the caliph ordered that only children under the age of 12 were permitted to bring food. Conditions became increasingly difficult for those men without small children. … Reports soon began among the people of Atocha that an unknown child under the age of twelve and dressed in pilgrim’s clothing, had begun to bring food to childless prisoners at night. The women of the town returned to Our Lady of Atocha to thank the Virgin for her intercession, and noticed that the shoes worn by the Infant Jesus were tattered and dusty. They replaced the shoes of the Infant Jesus, but these became worn again. The people of Atocha took this as a sign that it was the Infant Jesus who went out every night to help those in need.

This all got me rather excited, because I am very fond of medieval history, and regularly drive around rural Texas blasting 13th-century Spanish pilgrimage music. Who would’ve thought that a little vestige of the medieval world would turn up in my local grocery store? Secondly, what better patron for someone who works at a jail for child refugees than a child-saint who defends both travelers in peril and the unjustly imprisoned?

And that was how I first ended up buying a Holy Infant of Atocha candle for my kitchen table.

Later, when I researched the matter further, I found out that the Wikipedian history of the Holy Infant was—shockingly—likely incorrect. The medieval origin story was a post hoc invention, an attempt to give an older European pedigree to a wholly Mexican tradition. The Holy Infant’s mother, as it turns out, was an authentically medieval character: Holy Mary of Atocha appears in several of the 13th century Cantigas de Santa Maria (a.k.a. the sick beats currently blaring from my Kia Forte), mostly as a patroness of field workers. When her shrine at Atocha was selected for special favor by the Spanish monarchy in the 17th century, she was transformed from a saint of the people into an emblem of Spanish governance. It was in this capacity—as a defender of Spanish colonial might—that Mary of Atocha found her way to Mexico. Sanctuaries in her name were built in the state of Zacatecas, in Fresnillo and Plateros.

But through some obscure evolution of local devotion, it was the image of her child, the Holy Infant, that became the primary locus of worship. The Holy Infant of Atocha eventually came to be revered as a protector of ordinary people, especially of miners, travelers, and prisoners. An 1848 novena written by one Calixto Aguirre was instrumental in popularizing the cult of the Holy Infant, and the cover illustration of the printed pamphlet version was the first to show him as a pilgrim rather than a prince. Instead of a crown, a globe, and a scepter—the traditional iconography of power—he had a big hat, a food basket, and a traveler’s staff with a gourd hanging from it. The first episode of the novena tells of a legal miracle.  It begins with the tale of a poor woman by the name of Maximiana Esparza, who wanders to four different cities, seeking succor. In each city, she is imprisoned for her malas costumbres—some unspecified bad manners—and, having no family or other advocate to speak on her behalf, she languishes for years in prison in each place. At last, after being in prison a year in Durango, she prays to the Holy Infant of Atocha:

…who listened to her kindly and took her out of her captivity; for in all the time that she had lived there, there was nobody who would defend her, until the Holy Child of Atocha, dressed as a handsome youth, visited her in that prison and gave her some bread in the name of his mother, saying to her that same afternoon she would see the judge and he would take up her case, which caused no little amazement among the rector and the other inmates; and when the time arrived that the Child had named, she was set free.

Mary of Atocha, the former people’s saint, may regrettably have become more conservative in her waning years, but she nonetheless succeeded in giving the world an even more radical son. We should all be so lucky!

It’s actually pretty absurd that I knew nothing about the Holy Infant of Atocha until a few months ago. Once he was on my radar, I soon realized that he’s a pretty standard figure in Mexican and Chicanx Catholicism. But I stumbled into immigration advocacy three years ago knowing next to nothing about Latin American cultures, and even now there are huge gaps in my understanding. My Spanish, too, is still pretty atrocious. I have been working at it for three years, but it’s like speaking through a mouthful of broken glass. I muster my words with pain, and my meaning comes out all mangled. I now feel a strong affinity for all those immigrant grandparents who understand English perfectly and never learn to speak it; I am sure I would be just the same if I were ever to immigrate to a non-English-speaking country. I often feel that any bilingual person, with or without a law degree, could do most of my work a lot better than me. But I am here, so I do my best.

Sometimes I wake up in the mornings very anxious, usually when I have to draft a big court filing or an important request to the asylum office, to try and stop a detained family’s deportation. I come up with soothing little rituals to ease my transition from fretful sleep to focused work. I put on some music. I make a big pot of coffee. I light my Holy Infant of Atocha candle. It’s really because I like the way the candlelight makes me feel, not for superstitious reasons. I’m really not one for good luck charms, astrology, or premonitions. I remember that shortly after Trump first announced the family separation policy this summer—this was when I was still in Massachusetts, getting ready for my move to Texas—I was walking down a familiar street near my home, feeling very disturbed and heartsick. All of a sudden I saw a rabbit on the sidewalk a few feet ahead. It was standing quite still, and it let me walk up close. For a moment the encounter felt almost magical. Then the rabbit loped off, and where it had been, I saw two small baby bunnies lying dead on the pavement. When I bent to look, a little cloud of flies dispersed, then settled again. As omens go, that was some Roman-level bullshit. But I don’t think it was anything but coincidence.

The area of south Texas where I live now is teeming with strange sights, and sometimes everything I see feels pregnant with meaning. The drive from my apartment to the internment camp is only four minutes, but the road is always strewn with strange corpses. A dead dog or house cat is an everyday casualty; but I have also seen bodies of armadillos, bobcats, and javelinas, all mowed down by a speeding truck, or a passenger-bus of incoming detainees, or one of the heavy tankers that barrel continually to and from the nearby oilfields. No waste collection service ever disposes of the animals, so I watch their corpses bloat and distend and then disintegrate over a period of weeks. I have heard a rumor too that there are zebra on one of the ranches around here, flown in and kept in captivity so that deer-weary hunters can have something exotic to shoot. I’ve yet to see an escaped zebra lying dead by the side of the road, but give it time.

Also on the same road as the child internment camp, if you can believe it, there is a Texas state prison. It lies alongside a large ranch, and in front of the jail there’s a field of watermelons. Sometimes in the early morning, on my way into work, I see a group of prisoners in white jumpsuits and white caps, working the watermelon field. Ringed around them are three or four heavily-armed officers on horseback, in case anyone tries anything. The thing is so ludicrous it’s hard to know whether to laugh or cry. It’s as if this tiny town has been selected as a kind of roadside showcase of human cruelty.

(Continue Reading)

[raspberryblasphemy]

9/18/19

I had a bizarre and terrifying experience yesterday.

I went to work on the farm as usual, arrived around 7:30am. I’m going to refer to the couple who owns the farm as M and V. M was awake, V was not yet. We started out the morning milking the goats. It was my first day doing it by myself, so while I did that, M went to the lower garden and started the drip system. The lower garden has a system of valves that separates three sections of the gardens, and then a secondary system of valves that separates the different beds in each of those three gardens. M had completed the dripping of one bed and handed off the timer to me during the second bed.

I went down to the garden to change the drip to the third bed when the timer went off. First I opened the valve on the third bed. Then I went to turn off the valve on the bed that had just finished. I turned it off, checked the valve on the first bed just to make sure it was closed. It was. The first and second bed valves were both closed, the third bed valve was open.

I can’t remember what it was I did while I waited for the third bed to finish dripping, which in hindsight is worrying. I think I may have been harvesting in the lower garden.

Anyway, the timer went off, I opened the valve to the fourth bed and turned off the valve to the third bed. I went to the end of the third bed to make sure the drip had reached all the way to the end, as we are currently having both water and water pump problems. It hadn’t. I went to the beginning of the bed to check. No sign of any water having come through the drip system.

I figured I’d let the fourth bed finish on the timer and if water still wasn’t coming through I’d go tell M. The timer went off, I went to check the bed. No water. I went back to the first and second beds that M had dripped to see if those had been watered. They had. I was confused as to why the water would stop right when I took over, so I started to walk up to the house to get M.

As I walked past one the main valves (the ones that separate the garden into three sections) I stopped for a moment, considering to make sure the right one was open. I decided not to, M would not have turned it off in the middle of dripping a bed, and I certainly hadn’t turned it off.

M came down with me, he checked the beds I had tried to drip. Eventually he made his way over to the main valves. “Here’s your problem, you don’t have any valves open.”

All i could manage was a shocked, “what?!” I hadn’t touched the main valves. There was literally no reason for it to have been closed. He walked over to the section of the garden that we were currently working on, and checked the first and second beds that he had watered. “These are both open,”

No way. No fucking way. I actually got really anxious at this point. I closed one valve. I checked to make sure the other was closed. I remember doing this. This made no sense whatsoever. I didn’t even know what to say. I said “I must be losing my mind,” a few times. My feeling of dread rose the more I thought about it. “Are you sure you didn’t close that valve?” I asked M, referring to the main valve that had somehow gotten closed. He nodded. “Neither did I. I’m actually really creeped out about this.”

We went back up to the house. V was awake now, M had finished making breakfast. I told V what had happened that morning. Either I blacked out and did not one, but THREE very illogical things that I have no memory of doing ... or there are ghosts in the garden. I felt pretty validated that she believed me about the garden shenanigans. I was feeling pretty crazy.

The timer went off. I went down to change the drip to the next bed. Everything was working fine now. I felt eerie. Like I was being watched on my way down the hill. The path goes through some tall reeds that added to my anxiety. The quiet whispering noise they made as they swayed in the autumn-like wind made me feel like something was behind me, or in front of me, or all around me. I checked every drip as I walked past them; half expecting them to be turned off or turned on without my doing. I felt something watching me. Changed the drip, went back up to the house to finish breakfast.

Timer went off, went back down to change the drip again. Same experience. Anxiety. Dread. The feeling of not being alone. I changed the drip and hurried back to the house. The autumn-like weather that had just begun this week, while beautiful and welcome, only added to the creepy atmosphere.

After sitting at the the table for awhile and listening to M and V talking about something unrelated, V paused and said, “is anyone else feeling really creeped out about the garden ghosts?”

“YES. It’s been really freaky walking down there,” I told her.

“It sounds like Coyote is messing with us. Do you want to take a smudge stick down with you?”

I thought this was a great idea, the next time I went down I took the smudge stick with me. I put the shell with the sage down by the garden gate and went to change the drip to the next bed. While bending over to open to valve, something caught my eye. I looked up. Just outside the garden fence I saw something creeping along. It looked like a canine; a coyote.

“Oh fuck no,” I thought and kept watching. (I’m not afraid of coyotes, but after V’s comment it would have been too much.) It wasn’t a coyote, it was a bobcat. A really big bobcat. He was slinking away from the garden, up the hill away from the farm. I pulled out my phone and got a short (and shitty) Live Photo of him slinking away. He was the biggest bobcat I’ve ever seen, easily a good 40 lbs. I’ve never tried to post a Live Photo so I’m not sure it will be animated, but:

I know he had been in the willows, watching my every move all morning. I know that his gaze set off a primative instinct in me that caused that feeling of dread and of being watched. I felt a little better knowing who was watching me, but that still doesn’t explain the valves. I did some smoke cleansing with the sage. After work I hurried home to tell my mom about everything that had happened. I felt foggy headed the rest of the day. Almost in a daze.

Last night I decided to consult the cards for the first time in months. I felt inclined to use the small animal cards deck my mom had gifted my sister a long time ago that my sister had recently given to me, as I was feeling very inspired (albeit creeped out) by the bobcat.

I just wanted to do something quick. My first card was pulled in response to my inquiry of the valves. Possum. My second card was pulled in response to me asking about the bobcat. Lynx. I wish I was making this up. I almost shat myself. I was done for the night.

Apologies if my explaination of the valves was confusing or if I just sound like a crazy person. I consider myself a skeptic and I’m not easily convinced of things that can’t be proven by science, but this really shook me. It’s freaky either way you look at it: me blacking out and doing something weird, or something paranormal happening. And the bobcat watching me all morning? Why this day?

Anyway, I am feeling better today. No garden shenanigans.

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Meet Me at the Chalet || day six.

Eventual pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Jenessee Borosi)

Word count: ~3.3k

Summary (I suck at these): Jenessee goes on a solo vacation after the release of her first novel. She got a little more than she bargained for when she gets snowed in with her biggest celebrity crush.

Warnings: So much freaking fluff, swearing but blink and you’ll miss it, Tom being Tom

This includes the very first scene I planned for this fic. The song inspired me to write this. Because of that, I made it their song- here it is, if anyone wants to listen to it.

night one. || day one. || day two. || day three. || day four. || day five. || day six. || last day. ||

My room phone woke me up the next morning. My hand flailed around the table, trying to find it without opening my eyes. When it found something that felt like a phone, I yanked it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Miss Borosi!” Even in the fog of sleep, I still recognized the voice to be the man that greeted me on the first day. “I wanted to call to let you know the plows will be by tonight to clear the road up here and I will be down with the bobcat to clear the parking lot so you and Mr. Hiddleston can be on your way tomorrow morning. I want to thank you for your patience and hope you have a wonderful last night.” He hung up after that, leaving me to process what he just said.

The plows are coming tonight. We can leave tomorrow. This dream of a vacation will be over. Tom and I will go our separate ways, possibly never seeing each other again… 

I knew this day was coming, but I didn’t think it would come this quickly. And we haven’t even talked about if we want to stay in contact after this. I know I would. After what happened last night, he might want to too.

But the nagging question I have now is how much could we even be in each other’s lives? He will be busy nonstop with all of his projects coming up, having no personal time in between. He will be traveling around the world for months on end, going to event after event, promoting. How would he even have time to do anything but that? And if my book takes off, I’ll need to get started on my next idea and focus solely on that for as long as it takes… How could we make anything work?

When I left my room shortly after wallowing, I couldn’t find Tom anywhere. I knocked on his door, nothing. He wasn’t in the kitchen, the living room, or the gym. It wasn’t until I was about to go back to my room when I heard some ruckus outside. I wrapped one of the blankets from the living room around my shoulders before I cracked open the front entrance.

There he was, with his back to me, shoveling the sidewalk in front of the chalet. What stood out against all of the white were two cars that had previously been buried under a mountain of snow. He had also cleared a perimeter around each of the cars so they could get out easier.

He must have gotten the same call I did this morning. So being the gentleman he is, he decided to clear off both of our cars and clear most of the snow out for us. God this guy… I seriously can’t even believe he’s real.

I closed the door back up and returned to the kitchen. I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. He’ll be frozen by the time he comes in so the least I could do is make him some hot tea to warm him up again. I also started the coffee machine so he would also have a choice of warm beverage.

In the meantime, I heat up some of the leftover egg bake from yesterday and find a spot at the table. My mind is preoccupied with ideas of my next book concept, jotting down a few down in a small notebook I like to carry around until I hear the door open.

“Darling?” He calls out having smelled the coffee being made.

“Dining room.” I answer back, finishing my point before I felt two frozen hands press into my neck. A very unattractive noise came out of my mouth as I cringed. “Not cool!” I cry when he withdrew.

“Sorry love. I saw an opportunity and I had to take it.” He disappeared into the kitchen with a huge grin on his gorgeous red face. Oh how much I’m going to miss seeing that face right away in the morning…

He joined me a short time later after making himself some soft boiled eggs and toast. I gagged when he dipped the toast in the runny yolk. The smile that came on his face showed just how much he enjoyed it.

“So, you got the call?” He asked after he’d finished. I nodded unable to think of what to say. He nodded back, seeming like he didn’t really know what to say either. He got up, coming behind me. He kissed my cheek. “I’m going to take a shower. Thank you for the tea and coffee.”

“Thank you for clearing off my buried car.”

The rest of the day was very solemn. We didn’t do or talk much. We just laid on the couch, enjoying the others company while we still can. I’ve noticed throughout the week that we don’t need to do much to have a good time. The simple things bring the most peace and joy. It’s nice to find someone who is the same as I am.

I excused myself to take a shower after he told me to go put on the nicest clothes I’d packed. He also instructed me not to come out until he came to get me. I reluctantly did as he said, although I was curious to know what he had planned. I laid out my favorite forest green long sleeve, leggings, and a pair of brown boots before jumping in the shower. 

As I waited for him to knock on my door, I sat reading over everything I wrote over this vacation. It was honestly the best work I had ever done. Maybe it’s because this short story feels more personal than anything I’ve ever written. I put more of myself in this than I do with anything else. I based her reaction off of what mine would be if I were in that situation. My feelings of love towards him and that loss I would feel if I ever lost it…

Damn it.

I fell back onto my bed. Did I really feel that way? I mean, I knew I was extremely attracted to him and had a great admiration towards him before this, and slowly after getting to spend time with him and getting to know the real him, they turned into real feelings… but there’s no way they progressed that much within a week… no. No way.

Then why does my stomach feel like a giant knot when I think about leaving without him?

Ugh. Stop.

I tried to busy my mind with doing my make-up and blasting music in my bathroom while doing so. It helped for a while. You know until I heard the three knocks on the door.

My heart both dropped and wanted to explode when I opened the door. He stood there with his hands behind his back dressed in a simple navy suit with a white shirt, and dress shoes. Well I sure feel underdressed… 

He took a moment to take in my appearance. I shifted nervously as he did so. “Evening, love.” He greeted. “You look absolutely stunning.” He held out his hand for me. When I placed it in his, he brought it to his lips. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

I couldn’t hold back a nervous laugh. “What, what is going on?”

“Close your eyes.” He instructed.

I hesitated before doing so. He kept his hand on mine that was on his arm and told me when to take the steps. We walked into the dining room before he stopped me. “Okay, you can open them now.”

What I opened my eyes to was probably the most romantic sight I’ve ever seen. All of the other tables and chairs were moved out of the room, leaving only one set up in the middle. The whole room was lit up with candles that were scattered around the room. A bottle of champagne and two flutes were sitting on the table as well as two place settings. The only things missing were rose petals but I’m actually glad there aren’t any. It would have been too much.

“What is all of this for?” I ask amazed he went through all of this trouble.

His hand intertwined with mine, bringing it to his lips again. “I think it’s about time I treated you to a proper date.”

A… date?

I couldn’t find the words to express how shocked I am. He worked all day to create this for me. He wants our last night together in this chalet to be special. How in the world did I deserve this?

“Now if you could please take your seat, I will go get the first course.” He whispered in my ear before pushing my chair in.

“First course?!” I exclaimed. I turned to protest, but he had already disappeared into the kitchen.

After a simple Caesar salad course and a delicious breaded Chicken Cordon Bleu with a Dijon cream sauce, roasted potatoes, and steamed broccoli, I was stuffed. I thanked the Lord I was wearing leggings instead of anything more restricting. I felt a stuffed at the chicken was. I would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t already seen me scarf down many, many meals already.

“Don’t get too comfortable, darling. We still have dessert.” He grabbed our clean plates to bring them to the kitchen.

“Dessert? You’re kidding me right? I don’t think I could eat anymore!” I lean against the table as I usually do when I’m literally too full to support myself.

“Oh but sweetheart, you will want this dessert.” He disappeared again into the kitchen. I heard some preparations being done but I glued my butt to the chair, so full I couldn’t move.

“Could you close your eyes for me again, love?” He yelled from the other room.

“Ugh, fine. So mysterious.” Using my hands to cover my eyes, I eagerly anticipate what he had in mind. I hear something be placed in front of me, feeling his presence behind me, his warm hands finding my shoulders, and his lips to my ear. “Open.”

I gasped as I took in what was in front of me. The most beautiful brownie was sitting in a bowl, topped with vanilla ice cream that was slowly melting. I told him days ago that my favorite dessert ever was a warm brownie with vanilla ice cream. And since then, I have been craving it. How is that he knows what I want without me actually having to say it?

“I think I just found room in my hollow leg.” I retracted my earlier statement. He chuckled before returning to his seat to enjoy his dessert as well. The brownie was perfectly warm with so many chocolate chunks and the chilled vanilla ice cream… oh God, it was heavenly. I was disappointed when I’d finished, but completely satisfied.

“This has been the best way to end the most amazing vacation I’ve ever taken.” I stated as I leaned back on the table.

“It’s not over yet.” He proclaimed, getting up once again. He took our dishes into the kitchen before returning with a glass in his hand. He set it in the middle of the table before slipping his phone out of his pocket. He fiddled with it before setting it into the glass. “On the first day we met, I heard you singing along to this in the kitchen. From that point on, you mesmerized me. I knew I had to dance with you to this song at least once while we were here in order to come full circle.”

Familiar piano notes filled the room, flooring me. I gaped at him incredulously. This was one of my favorite songs at the moment.

“May I have this dance?” He asked, holding his hand out to me. Even though he knows my dancing skills are atrocious, I’d be an idiot to decline.

We slow-danced around the room like we had created our own world; circling around the room completely entranced in the other. He pulled me to him, I held onto his shoulder and his hand for dear life. I felt his large hand caressing my back, holding me to him as we moved. He’d spin me and dip me at the perfect moments of the song, always bringing me back as close as possible. Our eyes never left the others.

During a break in the song, it was like the world paused. He had spun me out again, holding on to my hand as a lifeline. We gazed at each other and suddenly the world shifted… Something in him shifted.

His lips crashed into mine just as the music continued. The best way I could describe it would be through the lyrics of the song we’re currently listening to. My body felt like it was on fire like a thousand suns and I couldn’t burn it out even if I wanted to. His soft lips moved against mine with so much passion, my knees gave out. His arms wrapped around my body, keeping it locked against his. Mine found his neck, gripping him so tightly, I was afraid if I did this would all be a dream.

All too soon we pulled apart, but not before giving me one final lingering kiss. The kind of kiss I found it hard to open my eyes again. I felt his lips at my ear, whispering in my ear the last line of the song, “I’ve got a Hunger in me.”

He cradled my face again, bringing our eyes back together. “If I told you, you held my heart in your hands, would you believe it to be true?” He looked into my soul, conveying every sense of the truth.

My hands found his lapels, tugging his chest closer. I rested my forehead against it and took a few deep breaths. My heart was racing at his words. There is no way he would say that if he didn’t mean it. He’s not the type of person who just says things to say them. I know I believe him. He holds mine, too. He has since before I met him…

But I honestly don’t know how we would make anything work. All of last night, I tried to think of every option we would have after tomorrow. Would we even make it in the real world? It’s been just us for a week. We haven’t had to worry about anything but spending time together.

When would we ever be able to see each other? He’s got a million things to do in the next year and it’s bound to be more as time goes on. He’ll be traveling the world and I’ll still be in the Midwest. I’ll have to be focused on my next book or else I could be in deep trouble with my publisher.

But even I know I could write from anywhere. It’s not like I have to stay in one place to write…

Even if I did go with him to everything, what would I be doing all day if I’m not writing? Sitting in a hotel room while he’s off doing his job? Literally waiting for him to come back and having him exhausted from working, he more than likely won’t want to even do anything after that. I’ll be alone. What kind of life would that be?

I’m not saying it wouldn’t be fun to travel with him. Traveling with him would be a dream come true. He could show me a whole new world that I’d never be able to see otherwise. But he’ll be working. He won’t have much downtime, therefore, not a lot of time we could spend together.

I don’t see a solution to this where we come out of this unscathed.

I look back up at him; I look into the eyes of the man of my dreams. The man that has made me feel more loved than I have in a very long time, even when I thought I didn’t deserve it. He has changed my life… 

The words that come out of my mouth I never thought I would say. “What are we doing?” I croak out, my voice cracking.

The look on his face broke my heart. His eyes lose hope, his smile fades, and his shoulders lose some of their sturdiness… God I feel horrible.

“I don’t understand.” He shook his head slightly.

“I believe every word you’ve ever said to me. You’ve made me feel things I never thought I would feel again. You’ve let me be myself without any judgment and I could never thank you enough for that.” I sighed, looking down at my fidgeting hands, wanting nothing more than to thread them through his. “But out there, I just don’t see how we could work.” I tried to walk him through everything that had been on my mind. With every word I could feel my heart break more and more.

“But darling, I-”

My hand flew up to his lips so quickly, I didn’t think I could move that fast. “Please, don’t.” I beg. If he says what I think he was going to say, it would 100% change my mind. I’ve already thought of a plan though... “I have a proposition.”

“I’m all ears.” He eagerly answered when I removed my hand. He immediately took it in his and held it close to his chest. I could feel his heavily beating heart through the back of my hand. He was just as scared as I was about this, but I knew this was the right thing to do.

“Hear me out,” I start. “I think we should go back to our lives. You go back to being the amazing actor and the even better human being that I know you to be and I’ll go back to being an anonymous writer.”

“So far, I’m not liking this plan of yours.” He interrupted, gently squeezing my hand.

“Please let me finish.” He nods before I continue, “We go back. We have no contact. No following on social media, no exchange of numbers- nothing.” I could see him beginning to protest so I quickly kept going, “And then after a year, if we still feel the same way we do today, we meet back here.” This seemed to spark something in him. I could see the hope slowly returning to his eyes.

“Obviously the ideal situation would be that we both come back. If that happens then we’ll figure it out. Because if we can go a year without speaking and still feel the same as we did after only knowing each other for a week, then we can get through just about anything.” I would love to say I’m an optimist and say I know we would both come back. Thinking about how remarkable it would feel to finally be back together after a year of yearning… but I’m not a positive thinker. It’s better than thinking of the alternative. I couldn’t imagine coming here again thinking he would show up only for him to not… “If only one of us comes back or no one shows up at all, then we have an answer and we move on.” As I say this out loud, my heart drops. 

He looks away from me, down at our hands, his thumb running up and down mine. I see the wheels turning in his head as he’s thinking about it. He enfolded me in his arms, his hand held my head gently massaging the spot. He takes a few deep breaths as I hear his heartbeat slow a little. He kisses my temple before speaking, “I still don’t like it…” He trails off, “but I think that’s fair.”

I sincerely hope I don’t regret that decision...

last day...

Permanent taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @hiddlephile @naniky