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kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years

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Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

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browniefox · 3 years

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The One with the Motorcycle

@wrightfamilyweek day 4 - Free day! Which I took to mean 'shove my headcanon here'. At first I wanted to do something with Ryuunosuke, but I still haven't finished tgaa so uhhhh sorry my boy. Also, you can find this on AO3 here.

In which Trucy and Phoenix decide they need to find a more reliable method of getting around. Luckily, Phoenix already has a vehicle registered under his name.

oOo

“Does this mean that when I turn sixteen, I’ll get a motorcycle license?”

Trucy skips alongside her Daddy as they walk through the aisles of the storage facility. They pass locked garage after garage. Trucy has always known that her Daddy had somewhere he stores a bunch of stuff that doesn’t fit in the office, the stuff he used to keep in his apartment back when he had one, but this is her first time coming along with him.

There’s been a lot leading up to this. Now that Trucy’s getting a little older, there’s more things she wants to do, or go to, and Daddy seems to be getting a little busier too. He’s started going down to the library more often, and having some kind of meetings for lunch, and getting calls by people Trucy doesn’t know. They’re both getting busy, and buses and taxis only get them so far. Daddy had declared, in an almost resigned-sounding voice after they missed a bus and had to wait underneath the bus stop in the pouring rain for another thirty minutes, that perhaps it was time to find a more reliable method to get around.

“Dessie says she’s running a little late, but she’ll be here soon.” Trucy is in charge of the phone while Daddy frets over the pieces of paper in his hands, crinkling the edges up in his nervous hands.

Daddy doesn’t reply to this either, just keeps walking forward. Trucy frowns to herself. Daddy’s been kind of weird about this whole thing. From getting the Learner’s Permit, to the practice drives and lessons with Desiree, to his final test, but now if anything he seems at his most awkward and strange as they approach the storage unit.

They final come to a stop, and Daddy pulls up the metal door.

If old case files in the office were little glimpses into who Daddy was before Trucy knew him, this place was an in-color photograph.

There’s cardboard boxes with ‘sketchbooks’ scrawled on the front. There’s a dead plant in the corner. There’s a stack of picture frames, an old couch shoved into a corner, and a small wood table with rings from the ghosts of old drinks, a few splashes of paint marring the surface. There’s some art supplies shoved off in a corner that Trucy immediately goes over to, and piles of books Trucy hasn’t read before, and Trucy wants nothing more than to stay here all day and look through everything and anything in sight.

In the middle of the storage unit, however, is what they’ve come here for.

It’s a lilac-colored motorcycle. There’s an unhealthy-layer of dust on it - there’s a layer of dust on everything in the room - and Daddy brushes his hand over the seat and handles, sending a plume of the dust into the air. He starts sneezing and coughing over it and Trucy laughs a little at that. She stops in a moment, though, because of the almost-grim look on Daddy’s face as he stares at the bike.

They’ve been building up to this for months, in reality. Trucy realizes this now, that everything up to this point has been to get this motorcycle out of the garage and back onto the streets, because it was a vehicle Daddy already owns, and he wouldn’t have to go through the hassle nor money involved in getting a new one. But it’s also all conflicted with Daddy’s attempts to distance himself from the past.

Daddy wants to move forward in life, she gets that, but it makes Trucy sad anyway to see how nervous and resigned he’d looked about so much as calling the Delites for help. Like doing that much is losing something.

“So this is Aunt Mia’s bike?” Trucy asks, going over to it as well. She doesn’t know anything about things like this, but it looks like it’s in okay condition. It’s certainly not as shiny as Desiree’s, but it’s not bad.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t by.” He says, and she can tell he’s not talking to her. His eyes are fixed on the bike like sometimes he’ll stare at Charley for what seems like hours on end; it’s never for that long, but it feels like it might be at times. He tilts her head to Trucy and explains, “I used to come by and try to keep it clean and stuff, but things have gotten… complicated. I’m sure Mia’s upset I haven’t done more to maintain this since she’s been gone.”

Ah, it’s one of the days where he’s talking about Aunt Mia in the present tense. It’s hard to tell if that’s ever a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it’s just A Thing he does sometimes. Even after four years, there’s still so much Trucy hasn’t figured out about her daddy. Sometimes, he talks about Aunt Mia as the dead person she is, gone and out of this world, a deceased but loved person, just like Trucy’s mommy was talked about. Other days, though, it’s like he expects Aunt Mia to walk through the door any minute.

“Alright, well, let’s see what we can do before Desiree gets here.”

Daddy’s temporary license, the edges of which are almost torn up by his worrying hands, is set aside on top of the sketchbook box and he grabs a towel from one of the other boxes, setting to work on a more thorough dusting. Trucy searches through Daddy’s phone for the list of what to check for that Desiree had texted him and passes it over to Daddy.

Trucy picks a stool out from the mess of things and rifles through the sketchbook box, finding one and flipping through it. There’s mostly little doodles and the like on the pages, or realistic portraits of faces Trucy doesn’t recognize. She wonders if, were Daddy not so determined to distance himself from the past, she’d know any of them. There is a picture of Miles, and she knows him, so she smiles at that picture and lightly brushes her hand over the pencil markings. Miles looks really angry in the picture, and scribbled right next to him is ‘I’ll save you’.

And Daddy did.

“Alright, let’s see what we have to work with today!”

Desiree announces herself, carrying her own box of tools

“Thought you might not show up for a moment.” Daddy jokes, but it’s one of his hollow-sounding jokes. Desiree laughs anyway.

“Oh please, I’ve been waiting to get a look at this beast for myself ever since you told me about it!” Desiree says and starts going over the bike. She talks about oil and gas and spark plugs and batteries, looking over everything and digging through her stuff and checking things. She says they’re going to need a new battery, and definitely replace just about all of the fluids. Luckily, Desiree is well-capable of doing all of that, she assures them, and they’d be able to get it up and moving enough to get it to her shop where she could do some of the rougher things to do.

“How much do I owe you?” Daddy asks, and Desiree waves her hand.

“We can discuss that later, let’s focus on getting this beauty out of this dusty-old place and back here she belongs, huh?”

Desiree has said that every time, so far, that Daddy asks about price. Trucy can see that it means Desiree doesn’t really want to make Daddy pay for any of it, but it seems to put Daddy more and more on edge every time Desiree says it. He’s waiting for something bad to happen, and his tension over it bleeds into Trucy, even though she’s not worried. Desiree is a nice lady who likes to chat to Trucy and can talk a mile a minute about motorcycles. When she’s not talking about them, she’s talking about her husband, Ron

They walk the bike out of the storage facility, Desiree filling the space with chatter about what the make and model of Aunt Mia’s motorcycle is, and the pluses and minuses of it, and how it’s lucky that it already has a backseat for Trucy. Daddy says that he used to ride with Aunt Mia sometimes, eyes trained on the bike still, as if he expected it to fall apart at a moment’s notice.

Desiree’s red-hot bike is parked out front and she tells them to meet her at her shop. She’ll be able to finish up there, where the rest of her supplies is.

“Don’t worry, she should be able to get you there just fine. And anyway, you can tell me if anything starts sounding worrying!” Desiree says as she climbs onto her bike. It’s been what Daddy has been practicing on, what Daddy even passed his driving test on just yesterday, and the rumble of it had just started to become familiar. Trucy feels like she’s going to miss it, but she’s excited to see how Aunt Mia’s bike works out.

Desiree peels out and leaves Daddy and Trucy standing on the side of the road, Daddy regarding Aunt Mia’s bike like it’s a python that’s going to bite them.

“... maybe this was a bad idea.” Daddy says five months too late.

“You worry too much! C’mon, Dessie’s waiting for us!” Trucy hops next to him, excited to get on the bike. Daddy sighs, turning his helmet over and over in his hands. Trucy has her own, bought a couple months ago, but she hasn’t been allowed on a bike yet. ‘Not until I get my official license’, Daddy had insisted. Now is the time, though.

“But what if something happens? What if I crash, and you get hurt?” He says. Trucy feels a ripple of shock run through her and she looks at Daddy’s face. His expression is grim and an open wound of his emotion. Of worry and fear, “What if I crash and I ruin her bike? What if-”

“Daddy, you’re being dumb” Trucy informs him. Daddy looks at her, and she can already see him starting to close off again, but she steals the last few moments of honesty she can, desperately, “Daddy you can do this, okay? We’re going to be okay. Even if we have to go five miles an hour to get there.”

“I think I’m actually worse at driving slow.” Daddy grumbles. Trucy grabs his hands.

“Then we’ll go really fast. We aren’t giving up on this just because you’re scared.”

Daddy sighs and then ruffles her hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’d be stupid to give up right now. It doesn’t matter how long it’s going to take.”

They put their helmets on and climb onto the bike. They both hold their breaths when the engine first starts, and then it roars to life. It’s different than Desiree’s although exactly how, Trucy isn’t sure. She wraps her arms around her daddy’s stomach as they get going, keeping her eyes open. She isn’t scared, she can’t be. She needs to seem sure and trusting over this, for his sake, for their sake, so that they can make it through here together.

Things don’t change a lot with Daddy. They’ve lived in the same place for all this time, and Daddy’s worked at the same bar, and Trucy’s worked at the same bar, and they have the same routines day to week to month to year. This is new, this is change, but it’s a good thing.

They roar down the streets for the first time, Daddy is shaking, Trucy can feel it with how tightly she’s holding onto him. The air roars past them, chillingly-cold.

He did this for me, Trucy thinks, and then, no, he did this for us. For family, so that we can keep moving forwards .

If they had stood still, they would’ve been alright with buses and taxis and rides from friends. But they are moving forward in life, they need the ability to do more, be more independent, further their own things.

And help, here they had help, from Desiree, and from the thoughtfulness of Aunt Mia to leave Phoenix to her bike, and Ron had told Trucy before that Phoenix had helped them (Trucy had already known this, she’s read that case and every other case what feels like a thousand times over, her illicit self-read bedtime stories) and that they’d been wanting to do something for the man ever since they heard about The Disbarment.

It’s sort of funny, how independence and getting help seemed to go hand-in-hand.

Trucy and her Daddy roar down the streets, and her grip loosens as she gets more comfortable, and Daddy stops shaking so badly as he gets into his groove, because he’s done this before and has been training and practicing, and he knows how to ride a bike now, and Desiree has taught him how to maintain it, and now, now they are going towards a new normal, a new schedule, a second half of the darkest time of their lives (of course, Trucy doesn’t know this, and neither does her daddy, and now it seems like the shadows is simply where they will always be living) and they prepare to meet it together.

#wrightweek21 #ace attorney #trucy wright #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes

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katehuntington · 3 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part 23) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 23: The Flagstaff Horsefair has turned out to be a huge success, but before they go home, an unexpected visitor changes everything. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Dean’s ride: Time Has No Mercy - The Common Linnets Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

The final day of the Flagstaff Horsefair 2008 is well on its way, the sun beating down on the market stalls and food trucks. Spectators mix with riders and trainers, some having drinks on the terras, others shopping at the tack and clothing stores. Giggling kids are chasing each other on the grass, the younger ones riding stick horses. Dean smiles at the children when they cross in front of him as he walks up towards the picture stand, slowing his step for a moment in order not to collide with the squealing youthful bunch.

By a van with ‘Equestrian Photo’ on the side, he pauses, then moves under the awning. The saleswoman gives out a printed photo to waiting clients on the side, wishing them a good day before she directs her attention to Dean. She greets him with a kind smile which the cowboy returns. Linda knows he doesn’t need help finding the images taken during this event, it’s not the first time the horse trainer has visited the photo stand over the years. Quite a few of the photos hanging on the walls in the Singer’s home and the cafeteria were made by Linda’s boss, the photographer who regularly works horse shows in the region. Ellen usually buys at least one when either he or Jo got on the podium. Dean isn’t interested in purchasing a photo of one of his own rides, though.

He looks up when the red-haired photographer stumbles into the van from the back entrance, one Nikon hanging from a sling, dangling on her hip, and another one on a monopod with a huge zoom lens attached to it resting against her shoulder. Her curls are wild and it’s clear she’s in a hurry, the next class about to start already. “Hi, Dean,” she greets, recognizing the familiar horseman instantly. “Hey.” He nods at her with a smile, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “How’s it going?” “Good. Busy,” she returns, taking out the battery of the cameras skillfully and swapping them for fully charged ones. “But busy is good these days, ain’t it? You had a few good runs, didn’t ya?” “Can’t complain,” he admits, grinning as he thinks about how successful this event has been so far. “Your student gave quite the performance last night,” the photographer smirks, handing Linda the memory card and taking back empty Sandisks to replace them with.

Dean looks up at her over the screen, noticing the mischief in her eyes. The way she just emphasized the word ‘student’ tells him that she knows exactly what’s up. He raises his eyebrows and chuckles, flustered. Looks like just about everyone in the business is up to speed at this point.

“Check out the ones at the bottom of the folder. You can thank me later,” the redhead advises, grabbing a chocolate bar and a bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter before she heads for the back door again. “Gotta run!”

Somewhat confused, Dean watches her head off to the main arena, before he redirects his attention to the display in front of him again. Stills of last night’s highlights pass by, allowing him to relive the amazing moments. The shots of the actual run are great, although he can imagine that Y/N and Meadow aren’t the most difficult pair to shoot. The Quarter mare is very photogenic with her copper coat and broad white blaze. She’s elegant, much like her rider, who has a fantastic seat, which shows, even on a still image.

Curious what the capturer of these images means, the cowboy goes down further, reaching a series of photos that show the seconds right after Y/N finished her freestyle, her arms wrapped around her horse’s neck, hugging her tight. He makes a mental note to pick that one.

There are more of her coming towards the entrance, waving at the crowd, but it’s the next couple of shots that has his jaw fall slack. The photographer must have sprinted to the other side of the tunnel before the horse and rider left the ring, because she managed to document the exact moment when he and his girlfriend embraced, Y/N still in the saddle, his arm around her, the emotional release evident. Jo is holding on to Meadow’s reins on the other side, smiling as she watches her friend and her cousin.

The next photo shows just the two of them, standing in the gateway facing the arena while waiting for the score, followed by a shot of him lifting her off the ground when the realization of the new PR settled in. The final picture has to be his favorite. It’s one of the kiss they shared. The composition of the portrait is astonishing, the spotlights on the showground illuminating the figures in the center, silhouettes against the vibrant arena. His heart grows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never thought he would be able to experience what he felt at that moment again, the great magnitude of pride, joy, and love. But this photo brings it all back, and he has to have it.

Still smiling at the warm feeling that has settled in his entire body, Dean scribbles down the file numbers on the order form and hands it to the blonde saleswoman, together with a fifty-dollar-bill. The wrangler bought six in total, one to frame and decorate the wall in the cafeteria, four for his girlfriend. The chosen photos are shots of horse and rider in a sliding stop, of the second right after finishing the test when Y/N threw her arms around Meadow’s neck, and of the precious embrace between him and his girl. He got a double print of the kiss they shared, one for her, one for him.

It’s a picture that he will cherish, come whatever. A picture he wants to be able to look at when he needs to, to remind himself of what he has got going for him. He knows challenging times are coming, with the ranch, with their relationship. Dean is well aware he’s approaching that inevitable turning point when he has to open up further than the lost boy with a dark past is comfortable with. But this photo, a moment forever frozen in time, will be the beacon he needs to find his way home.

Dean takes the envelope with the printed pictures from Linda and heads towards the ring. Jo is due to enter the arena in ten minutes and he wouldn’t want to miss it, for one, because she is going to bust his ass if he’s not there. It sometimes baffles him how his little cousin acts like she can’t stand being around him and yet searches for his approval so often.

He takes out the photo he wants to save for himself together with the one he will add to the cafeteria’s Wall of Fame, and slips them in the inner pocket of his denim jacket before he reaches the foot of the bleachers. With big strides, he conquers the steps, looking left and right in search of his friends once he has made it to the top. He spots Benny and Y/N on one of the higher rows when the farrier lifts his hat off his head and whistles. This barrel race is one of the highlights of the event and the arena is almost filled to full capacity, only a few seats left. Thankfully, his girlfriend saved him a spot.

His smile grows wider when he sees the cowgirl, and deep inside he’s excited to give her the present he just purchased. He can’t wait to witness her reaction. “I got you somethin’,” Dean announces. Intrigued, Y/N pulls her focus away from the competitor currently in the ring and looks at her boyfriend, awaiting. He offers her the envelope, placing his now empty hands on his knees, somewhat nervously. “What’s this?” she wonders, her curiosity peaked. “Open it,” the cowboy urges. She does, carefully folding back the seal flap and taking out the prints. When she turns them over, she lets out a stunned gasp, much to her boyfriend’s delight. “These are amazing!” she says, elated, going through the pictures of her and Meadow slowly.

The last two photos silence her, however, much like they did Dean when he first saw them on the screen. Moved, she takes in the portraits of the strong bond between her and the man that’s sitting next to her. After a few long seconds, she glances aside, meeting his warm eyes. This cowboy with a John Wayne reputation - as Jo so poetically put it - sure has his ways. He might not be very vocal when it comes to his feelings, but that’s alright, because he is able to communicate through different languages. A kiss, a dance, his trust, his support. And now these photos. It’s proof of his adoration for her, and it’s more valid than a signature.

She closes the small gap between them, moving under his hat, and grazes her soft lips over his. Ignoring his Southern friend, who lets out a low chuckle when he notices the lovebirds next to him, the head wrangler closes his eyes and kisses her back. His hand travels into her hair and holds her, making sure she doesn’t go anywhere. He can feel every connection; her featherlight fingertips on his stubble, her cute nose against his, her lashes dusting the freckles from his cheeks. Dean doesn’t need words, but neither does she.

When he slowly pulls away from her, he looks at her lovingly, forgetting time for a moment. It’s only when the commentator announces Jo’s name over the speakers, that they return their attention to the arena. The gate opens and his cousin and her horse Bullet shoot towards the first barrel, the animal doing his name justice. The three wranglers of the Gold Canyon ranch get on their feet, cheering on the blonde cowgirl, who goes through the course in record time. When she clocks a new PR, Y/N bounces on her feet, hugging Dean tight and letting out that laugh that he loves so much.

They don’t notice Benny’s gaze wandering off to the car park behind the bleaches. He has spotted a beige pickup pulling in. Like a hawk, the farrier follows the GMC truck. “We’re going over to Jo to celebrate. Are you coming?” The enthusiastic intern calls for Benny’s attention, and he turns his head to face his best pal’s girlfriend. “In a minute, darlin’,” he says, giving her a smile. “Gonna watch a few more runs.” “Alright, see you in a bit, brother,” Dean chuckles happily, before his girlfriend drags him towards the exit by his hand.

The Southerner watches them leave, then redirects his attention to the beat-up car on the field. A man gets out, his face shielded by a black cowboy hat. His posture seems familiar, he’s not even sure why. Benny narrows his eyes, but the figure is too far away to recognize. Then the frown evens out, his jaw falling slack. Suddenly, it clicks. “No fuckin’ way in hell…” he mumbles to himself.

But there ain’t no way, right? He can’t be here. Before Benny can decide otherwise, he bolts towards the steps to get down from the bleachers, hoping to not lose sight of the guy. He better make sure who just set foot on the showgrounds is exactly who he suspects he is, before he breaks the news to his best friend.

Dean swings the heavy saddle onto Aerosmith’s back, his last horse to compete at this tournament. After this run, all that’s left for him to do is coach Y/N and Joplin for their competition debut, and then they can all pack their gear and go home. Despite that he enjoys horse shows like these, he’s looking forward to his own room, his own bed. He’s looking forward to pulling up the driveway that leads to the place that is his home.

It has been a successful couple of days. With five horses sold and Joplin likely to add to that number, the Flagstaff Horsefair has proven to be very fruitful. Bobby made good money, and the ranch owner will be able to pay his crew, plus pay off some bills. Then there’s the business deal they landed with Fergus MacLeod. The cowboy might not like the Englishman in the slightest, but if they decide to take on Cain’s training, it will provide a much needed steady income. Dean isn’t delusional; he knows the ranch isn't out of the woods just yet, but it’s a start.

Humming and relaxed like he always is before competing, he tightens the cinch of the chestnut Quarter, petting him on the shoulder before he takes him out of the stable. “Good luck, cowboy.” The man who the words are meant for smiles, peeking into the stable next to him and noticing Y/N through the steel bars. She’s preparing Joplin, brushing her tail. Their starting time is only forty-five minutes after Dean’s, since both are competing in the same class. Sadly, she will not be able to see him ride. The mare next to his girlfriend pins her ears back and gives Aero a dirty look when the gelding comes too close for her liking. Both snigger at Joplin’s bitchy behavior.

“You’ll make it back in time to help me warm up, right?” she checks. “I’m kinda nervous, this being my first cutting competition and all.” “Yeah, of course,” he promises, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be there.”

Dean takes his horse outside, the Arizona sun welcoming him with bright light. A force of habit has him check his spurs and the tack before he positions himself on the left side of his horse in order to mount.

“Chief?” Looking over his shoulder, he sees Benny approaching. His strides are hasty, his jaw tensed. He checks if anyone is around before he halts and faces the head wrangler, who can read from the body language alone that something is off. “What is it?” he asks, his brows knitted together. The Southerner’s piercing blue eyes meet his gaze before he continues whispering. “I hate to do this now right before your run, brother, but--” “But what?” Dean urges when the farrier hesitates.

Benny draws in a deep breath and rubs his beard, needing a second to collect himself. He knows that what he is about to tell his best friend will have him shake on his foundations, but he needs to be prepared. He deserves to know who he might run into. The broad-shouldered ranch hand sighs, then delivers the unsettling message. “Your father is here.”

As if he just got struck by lightning, Dean stares at Benny, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The announcement rings in his ears, sounding more surreal every time the four words bounce off the walls inside his head. Reality hits him like a raging bull, however. His father is here. His father is here.

The head wrangler drops his gaze, his eyes flicking over little rocks and lumps of dirt by his feet. Speechless, he takes his hat off and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, realizing he’s sweating. His heart is hammering in his chest, so forceful that it hurts. Panic starts to win terrain, but he pushes it down and nods rigidly, acknowledging Benny’s words.

“Okay,” he returns after a few long seconds. “Thanks for telling me.” “If there’s anythin’--” Benny offers, but is interrupted by the man in front of him, who shoves his left foot into the stirrup and swiftly gets on his horse. “I’m good,” he assures, doing his best to come across as calm and collected.

Benny dips his chin, half accepting Dean’s choice to put this on hold for now. The rider has one last horse to compete, so the Southerner understands why he’s trying to keep his head in the game. He wishes he didn’t have to drop this bomb now, but there’s a chance his friend might run into John on these showgrounds. Benny might not know the entire story of what happened all those years ago, but he knows enough to recognize the impact the presence of Dean’s biological father will have. He watches quietly how the horseman pushes his legs into Aerosmith’s flanks and steers the horse towards the warmup arena without another word.

Suddenly nervous, Dean is highly aware of all the people who cross his path. He briefly studies them, even though recognizing the man who has been absent for over half of his life scares the hell out of him. Why the fuck is he here?

Dean isn’t just afraid of running into his old man; he’s angry. Angry about all the wrong choices that were made, angry about those memories rushing back to him. He stored them in a box and nailed the latch shut. He buried them, dug a hole deep enough to fit all those dark thoughts. He covered the surface with a thick layer of concrete, convinced that all those measures would be enough to lock away what he hoped to never feel again. Hopelessness, frustration, torment, aggression, guilt. But those emotions are now working their way through the cracks, like a weed that just won’t die, working up to the surface and showing its ugly head again.

But what has him exasperated the most, is the timing. Why now? His father hasn’t given a damn for fifteen years, fifteen fucking years, and now that Dean is finally getting to the point of allowing himself to be happy, he decides to show up? His fist clenches on the horn of the saddle, his nails digging into his palm. This isn’t fair!

His insides churn and twist even more when his mind snaps to Y/N. A sudden and heavy uneasiness settles in his chest, almost suffocating him. Shit, what if she runs into him? What if she learns the truth? Dean breathes out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a second while tipping his hat down. The panic that has his fingers shaky while he guides his horse into the warmup ring only grows with that thought. No no no, he thinks to himself. He can’t have his father ruin what is supposed to be his love story. He can’t lose this, he can’t lose her.

Preparing for his final ride goes anything but smoothly. The rider is so lost in thought that he accidentally cuts off another competitor and has to hit the brakes, apologizing to the cowgirl for the misstep. It’s a wake-up call, though; he really needs to focus and get his head straight. Aerosmith is one of the horses he and Bobby decided to hold on to a little longer, hoping the economy will be on its way to recovery somewhere next year so that they can make a better profit. Dean brought the younger stallion along to gain experience in the ring, yet he wants this ride to be solid, knowing a potential buyer could be watching.

But when he enters the arena, he can’t help but scan the crowd, suddenly aware that one of those pair of eyes is his father. He thinks of Y/N and how nervous she was last night, and suddenly it makes so much more sense what experiencing that kind of anxiety is like. The rider doesn’t even hear the announcement of his name over the amplifiers, he doesn’t hear Jo and Bobby shouting words of encouragement at him from the sideline. What he does hear is his rapidly beating heart, like a thundering echo of an oncoming storm.

He glances over his horse’s ears at the cattle in front of them. C’mon, Dean, this isn’t difficult. Separate a cow and let Aero do the work. Two and a half minutes and he will be out of the limelight. Who knows, maybe if they pack fast after Y/N’s ride, he won’t even run into his father.

The two herdholders that are in the ring to assist all contestants keep the group of young steers together. Unsettled, Dean swallows thickly and licks his dry lips, his eyes on the clock. When it starts ticking, he moves his hands forward and pushes Aerosmith towards the herd. The game is simple. In two and a half minutes, he has to separate two different heifers from the group and keep the selected cow in the middle of the arena, he and his Quarter the only boundary between the animal and his flock. He and Aero will be judged on degree of difficulty, confidence, and agility, but right now, all Dean is thinking about is surviving.

Deciding to not make it too complicated for his horse and himself, the horseman doesn’t pick a heifer too far into the herd on the first cut. Without disrupting the gathered bunch, the chestnut calmly makes his way through until Dean has decided on a cow, which he then carefully begins to push to the edge. When he has driven the brindle heifer out, Dean drops the reins and allows his Quarter to take the lead. Aerosmith locks on the lonely animal and crouches, skillfully keeping it in the center of the arena.

The crowd cheers, because the talented Quarter shows to be quick on his feet, darting from left and right and accelerating fast when his target tries to get around him. The cowboy keeps his balance, allowing his horse to move under him freely. After a few attempts to get past them, the cow yields and the rider signals Aero to back down. He blows out a breath. One down, one more to go.

The second cut goes according to plan as well. This time he does pick a heifer in the middle of the herd. The Quarterhorse tries not to disturb the rest of the cattle as he separates the one, but splitting the animals is not as clean as the first time. Once the cow is driven to the middle of the ring again, Aerosmith is back in his element and shows off his moves. Dean only has to sit back and let his partner under the saddle do the work, which he’s grateful for, because he feels like he wouldn’t be able to guide his horse in a simple circle if he had to.

The buzzer sounds; his two and a half minutes are up. Relieved, Dean exhales; at least he didn’t completely screw up their run. The young gelding really pulled through despite a nervous wreck of a rider on top of him, which just shows what a fantastic horse he is. “Thanks, bud,” Dean says softly, petting the chestnut on the shoulder.

The applause barely registers and it’s only when his eyes roam over the audience, that he notices the numbers on the board. 72.5 points; not bad. Normally, he would have been elated with a score like that, but now he just wants to get out of the ring as fast as possible, away from possible prying eyes. He feels like he’s being watched, well aware that his father is quite possibly amongst the people in the crowd. Call him a coward, but he needs to get out of here.

“Solid ride, Dean,” Bobby compliments when the rider comes through the gate, walking with him. When his nephew fails to respond, he looks up, narrowing eyes taking him in from under his baseball cap. “You okay, son?”

The troubled rider snaps his head at his uncle. Son. Bobby calls him that all the time and has done so ever since he took the lost boy under his wing all those years ago. Dean has grown accustomed to the title, even found comfort in it, glad to hear that word coming from his surrogate dad. But now the term confuses him. Suddenly, the man who has failed to step up to take care of his children and yet is his only living parent is here, and it is messing with his head in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, quickly averting his gaze and walking on.

Bobby lets him go, but Dean can sense the ranch owner watching him carefully. Unable to stop himself from scanning the people around the warm-up area, he briefly acknowledges the congratulations wishes from a few of his opponents with a nod and a ‘thanks’. Normally he’s up for a chat after a good run, but not now. He feels like he’s about to lose his mind, and he wants to be alone when it happens. He needs space, he needs air.

After a few minutes of hacking, Dean reaches the stables, grateful to find them mostly empty. With the last competition currently taking place in the arena, a lot of competitors already packed their trucks and trailers and left throughout the morning and afternoon. At the other end of the tent two people are tacking up, but they are far out of earshot.

In front of Aerosmith’s stable, the rider dismounts and leads the Quarter into his box, making quick work of removing the tack and rinsing the chestnut down. With the saddle on his hip and the bridle in hand, he steps into the storage room. “How did it go?”

Dean startles and almost drops the heavy load he was carrying, spinning around to find Y/N in the doorway. Somehow, it completely slipped his mind that she would still be here. The cowgirl is wearing her show outfit again, but traded her black blouse for a denim one this time. Long chaps hang down from her waist, strapped around her legs, her brass spurs barely showing. Her boots are shining and her hair is braided, her lucky hat only just allowing him to behold the playfulness in her eyes. She looks absolutely perfect.

Clueless and carefree, she waits for an answer, but her happy expression falls slightly when she notices his reaction. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she chuckles, somewhat self-conscious. “What has you on your toes?” The cowboy blinks at her a few times before he kicks into gear again, storing away the saddle in one of the tack boxes. “Nothin’. Yeah, it uh - it went alright. 72.5 points,” he says, smiling at her faintly, quick to dodge her unraveling gaze.

Silence follows and he knows that she’s studying him, but Dean can’t even look at her, not sure how to deal with the worry that he knows is evident on her beautiful face. The second he gets lost in the vision of his girl, he will fall apart, and that’s something the unsettled wrangler can’t allow to happen. He can’t let her see it, she can’t know. So instead, he moves past her through the doorway to fill a feeding net with hay, desperately searching for a way to keep himself busy as he tries to get a hold of himself.

“Dean? Hey…” Her voice sounds so warm and kind, that he can’t ignore her any longer. When he has strung up the net, he turns to his girlfriend, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. Concerned eyes take him in when he looks up. “You’re shaking,” she notices, gently wrapping her delicate fingers around his forearms. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Before she finishes her sentence completely, he’s already shaking his head. It’s more denial than an actual answer, refusing to give in to all the contradicting feelings that are pulling the rug from under his boots. She knows him well enough to see that he’s a total mess right now. His mask is faltering and he’s breaking character, unable to deliver the standard ‘I’m fine’. Can he tell her about the disturbing message Benny delivered earlier? She will have more questions, questions he is nowhere near ready to answer. But then again, he can’t lie to her either, not anymore.

Dean takes a deep breath in order to collect himself and looks at her as heavy footfalls draw his attention. Expecting Benny, he glances over his shoulder, ready to request if his friend can grant them some privacy, when he catches a glimpse of the person standing in the alley between the stables. Every muscle in his body tenses, an invisible fist squeezing his throat shut. His heart - which has been beating unhealthily fast since the alarming news was delivered to him about an hour ago - now seems to come to a full stop for a few solid seconds.

They might be in Arizona, but Dean just froze to the ground, unable to move or speak. All he can do is stare at the man that is his own spitting image, only three decades older. The familiar stranger is wearing a smile on his lips, emotion swimming in weary eyes. After fifteen years of silence, John Winchester stands before his oldest child, a broken voice delivering the words Dean never wished to hear again, and yet missed so dearly.

“Hello, son.”

Well, shit... Enough with the fluff. Angst is here!

Also, did you spot my little Stan Lee moment? Does a certain red-haired photographer seem familiar? Yep, that’s me!

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-four here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Dean x Y/N #Cowboy!Dean #Dean AU #Cowboy!Dean AU #cowboy!dean x reader #cowboy dean #cowboy dean au #Supernatural AU #Dean Winchester AU #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN #SPN fanfiction #Kate Huntington

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lovely-necromancy · 3 years

Text

A Cure for Insomnia CH.6

You wake up sometime around one. Not too late in the day given your morning. With a decent amount of sleep under your belt you roll over and start striping your bed of its sheets. Then you make your way across your room, picking up stray clothes as you go to your hamper and dump your collection of dirty linens and clothes into it. You carry the hamper to the bathroom where you load half into the washer. There's no real point in separating the clothes from colored items and pastels or whites. You're only twenty-four and don't have your life totally figured out yet. You can be a little lazy with laundry.

Once your first load of laundry is being washed you go to do your weekly tidy of your home. The one good thing that came from the paranoia of your car's break in was you rearranged all the furniture of the home, thus cleaning as you went. So that means it's more of a quick wipe down of counters and sweeping today. Maybe you'd organize your art supplies while doing your laundry. It's an activity that wouldn't distract you too much and make you forget you had laundry in the wash.

You finish washing the dishes from this morning you begin wiping the counters and tabletop when you notice your fidget cube is still on the table where Toby left it earlier.

'Don't want to lose this. Back to the bookshelf where you belong.' When you get to the living room's bookshelf you notice one of your book's is missing. Ironically it's The Book Thief.

'Tobias probably picked it up and put it down somewhere.' you'd keep your eyes peeled for the book while you cleaned.

After wiping down bookshelves, tables, counters, even the mantel over the fire place you still hadn't found your missing book. You probably picked it right up and placed it right back down without even realizing. You'll just keep an eye out until you find it. You don't even reread books, you really just kept a copy to lend out to people when they ask what your favorite books are. It isn't a real big deal if you can't find it, plus there's bound to be a copy floating somewhere in a thrift shop or yard sale.

The washer chimes right as you grab the broom to sweep. Pausing this task to go retrieve your laundry and do the rest. You empty the dirty clothes left in the basket onto the floor and place the clean wet ones inside the basket. After starting the final load you carry the basket out back. As nice as this home is its still small and doesn't have a dryer, which early summer is fine but come fall and winter might be more cumbersome. Seeing as you have to hang the laundry out to dry outside. Maybe when it gets cold you'll just do smaller loads and hang them up in the bathroom or over the fire place. But that's a thought for future you. Right now current you is struggling yet again to get a fitted sheet to sit on the line. Fitted sheets are probably Satan himself in disguise.

When you finish stringing all the laundry up you take a moment to just enjoy the quiet and the peace that comes with the outside. It's nice out here, maybe after you finish the last few chores today you can come out and just draw, it'd be a good way to also keep an eye on this weather in case it turns. While it hasn't happened yet you're very aware of the risks you take by ignoring the existence of meteorologists. And by that you mean just not bothering to look up the weather for the day.

Heading back inside you restart your task of sweeping. Like you thought you've finished before the washer has even completed it's first cycle. The house isn't too big so it's easy to clean it from top to bottom within a day normally, but today you had even less to do thanks to this week's rearranging. So you move on to organizing your art supplies and separating all materials by medium.

Of course arranging materials is never easy, after all you end up staring at all your horded empty sketch books and note how your thumbnail notebooks are just covered in doodles and random scribbles but no real art or ideas. Maybe it's time to start kicking yourself into gear. You ran into a major period of burnout before moving and now with this fresh start you might be able to focus on progressing with art, even if you don't pursue it as a career. You've always loved the ability to draw and create images that make others happy. But right in this moment you just want to make yourself happy. Maybe you could start small just a few still lifes and see how you feel after that.

Hearing the chime of the washer you hurry to finish putting away the supplies in their newly assigned places. Just as before you transfer the wet and clean clothes into the awaiting basket and take them out to be hung to dry. You don't have another fitted sheet this go round so it goes by much faster than it previously had. Now with all of your washing for today hung you head back inside to grab a fresh sketchbook.

Having never been one for scenery, more of a portrait artist, you start off with small things. A few stills of a flower under the window, the old tire swing on the tree, and even the blue jay that dove for dinner right in front of you. Of course all of these were warm ups done in a few minutes, though you really wish you had more time on the blue jay one. You really need practice with things that aren't people.

The warm ups of course don't look very good, but you can still see what you'd been going for. The hatching and smudging you'd done, to increase depth and give the quick drawing more life, did help a little but it was clear this was an area where you weren't skilled. But that didn't deter you, after all you needed more practice and wouldn't be getting better without it.

Deciding to draw the scene before you, a small open meadow surrounded by trees, in other words your backyard with your drying laundry. You start off slow and make sure to actually look and take in the yard in front of you, doing your best to not just make up the trees and their shapes as you go. Soon you are lost in the meditative muscle memory of drawing. The scratching of pencil scrapping across paper further lulling you into a trance like state as you etch out the scenery.

A harsh breeze blows through and the loud flapping of sheet hitting sheet knocks you loose from your trance. Checking to make sure none of your laundry was flying off, it hadn't the laundry was still secured to the line. Smiling you glance down to actually see what you've sketched out so far. It isn't too bad, though you aren't sure how long you've been working on it, the trees all have a distinct shape rather than your typical cartoon one size fits all attempts. Scanning the page your eyes catch onto something off, out in the tree line it looks like you'd drawn a figure hiding behind a tree.

Hearing the beating of your heart that's currently hammering against your chest you look around. Did your mind do that as a joke or had someone genuinely been watching you draw? Your mouth is dry as your eyes scan the tree line for any sign of what could've been mistaken for a person, but you saw nothing. No one was there. Had anyone ever really been there? Why would you draw that? Why wouldn't you remember doing it? You don't feel safe out here anymore. There are eyes watching you you can feel it. They may not physically be there but the phantom eyes that surround you and cause your skin to crawl make sure you know of their presence. You take that as a sign to head inside for the evening, one that doesn't need to be repeated.

You lock the door immediately behind you and check your phone. It's seven, and you have an email notification. Thanking whatever power for the distraction you slide down your back door and open the notification. It's from Hollis!

YN r u coming to SND? It's that teen beach zombie movie u love. Y;know the awful D list one Blk and wht with the 50yos playing teenagers

Lemme know I'll save your seat.

Sent 6:47 P.M.

They're so sweet to remember you loved this awful D list zombie movie. Horrible subplots and main plot and all. But you're a little spooked right now and watching even that joke of a horror movie is probably too much for you. You doubt you'd feel better by the time ten rolls around to watch it. Not to mention your battery's still drained from Toby this morning. And knowing for a fact you'd probably stay late to talk till morning with Hollis, Jake, and Kirby you decide it's best to skip this week. Just not having the energy to handle Saturday Night Dead.

Nah, sorry man. Battery's dead from being social earlier. Thanks tho, I do appreciate you! ….....,.... lemme know what next week's movie is!

Sent 7:10 P.M.

It'd probably be a good time to make something for dinner, there's a box of mac n cheese in the pantry. Simple but always beloved. As you wait for Hollis to respond you start on boiling water. But you didn't have to wait too long since they'd answered near instantly.

Chill, don worry we'll catch ya next week

…..oooop

ot not...Kirb's said it's the start of watching the entire warren file collection

starting from the beginning

...well the first movie released, Insidious. LOL we probs won't ever see you again.

Sent 7:12 P.M.

How dare Kirby betray you like this. First off those movies are awful, and like not cheesy awful just awful awful. Not to mention he knows how you feel about the Warrens and their cases. You have a power point presentation ready for that dick the next time you see him. ...well not literally but you'd make one to prove a point!

Where's Kirby now? I just wanna talk, I just wanna talk is all.

Sent 7:18 P.M.

Already ran off toy vermont probably

will we get blessed with a ted talk nxt week?

Sent 7:20 P.M.

I can't tell if you're joking or not. If you aren't then yea I can make a power point and we'll play that instead of the movies. Every week until this town understands the severity of this.

Sent 7:21 P.M.

Ya just jkin.

Your passionate hate is funny tho, so could be good to do something mid warren marathon.

Sent 7:23 P.M.

Guess the dissertation on how horrendous the “exorcisms” were will have to wait. They'd just been joking. This is probably a good ending of the conversation anyway, it's hard to tell sometimes but you feel you'll just run in circles with the current topic or worse fall into a rant that they won't read all the way through because they'll have left with the rest of the stunt gang to get dinner before heading over to the Cryptonomica for Saturday Night Dead. Hollis is typically a real good sport about this kinda thing but you'd rather not bog down their night with your hate boner for the Warrens.

'I'll let them know later that I'll still come to Saturday Night Dead next week.' you think as you dump the pasta into the water that finally came to a boil. It's quiet as you cook your macaroni dinner. You'd normally not notice the lack of sound or life in your home before, but maybe having Connor and Toby over put things into perspective. Guests aren't really a thing you've ever had, you always feel rude if your social battery runs out before someone's stay is over. But maybe you're lonely, and it's put you on edge.

Though this week would've put anyone on edge, you have still been alone in this house for two months. That can't be healthy for your mental well being, humans are social creatures by nature after all. Maybe you could get a pet, something that'd make it's fair share of noise and give the home a bit more life than your normally hollow shell wondering the halls. Are you even sure you want a pet? Do you have time for one? You have the standard nine to five, but what about when you're off on a nightly trip because of your sleeplessness? What if you forgot about them? Hell your brain's been so foggy these last few months, it wouldn't be surprising.

Like a sign from the divine themselves, the pot of water boils over. Steam is rising as the sizzling is heard. Your head snaps twice to the right as you scramble to lower the heat and raise the pot off the eye. Putting it down on an unused eye you give it a quick stir and thankfully no pasta got burned to the bottom of the pan....this time. The pasta seems a little crunchy but a texture you'll eat so you kill the hot eye and start on the cheese portion of your mac n cheese.

As you eat you continue your original debate about getting a pet. Ultimately deciding that you just aren't ready for that kind of responsibility right now. Sure you'd had tons of pets in your parents' home but that was with a financial safety net and back when your mental health wasn't all over the place. Not to mention the pets were family pets and responsibility was split three ways.

There isn't much room in your home for you to have a roommate, and that presents a whole nother set of challenges. You could try to make friends through online forums again! It's hard to talk to people in general but you always get scared off before replying to a comment or post. Or overshare to the point people infantize you. Even better trying therapy out could help with your loneliness. Hah ok good one, even if you had money for it consistently you don't think you could trust someone knowing all your secrets but not knowing any of theirs. And while that in and of it self is an example of why you need it, you're rational enough to realize you aren't ready for that either.

After finishing your meal you put away the left overs and clean the dishes. You'll be happier tomorrow knowing they aren't your problem to deal with. You start to make your way to your bedroom but freeze just before the hall.

'You shouldn't stay here...you need to leave.'

A glance at the time tells you it's eight thirty-nine, if you left right now you could make it to Saturday Night Dead with time to spare. You don't need to fill the loneliness with new friends, just spend time with the ones you already have. Duh. Turning you grab your keys off the bookshelf and take one of the masks hanging from a hook by the door.

Checking your door was locked and locking your car once you were in, you're ready to drive. Knowing you're still overstimulated you forgo the music on this drive, hoping it will calm you down enough to enjoy the movie and some down time with friends. And that would help put a pin in your self isolating habits. It'd really be nice if you brought movie snacks over to surprise the gang. You're pretty sure the mini mart carries everything you need. Jake likes swedish fish, Hollis is addicted to those extreme sour airhead ropes, and Kirby's a weirdo with his love of red vines and surge. Hahaha that man will die before he's thirty-eight.

Still having the extra time you deiced to stop by the mini mart and grab the candy. What's the worse that can happen you have another panic attack in front of strangers. Plus you hadn't seen Magnolia the last few times and you'd hate for her to think you'd been ignoring her. Pulling into the empty mini mart parking lot you take a breath to steel your resolve before leaving your car.

Tim looks at the door when he hears the chime and stiffens when he sees you. Fuck you did have a panic attack in front of this guy last night, plus you really haven't formally met. But didn't Toby say his roommate was named Tim? And he and Brian were both here talking with Tim last night before you came in. That can't be coincidence.

“uh...hi?” you say awkwardly standing in the doorway, door closed behind you.

“um, hi?” perfect he's just as awkward in this situation as you are. You can work with this.

Moving through the first two isles you keep your eyes peeled for Magnolia, even though you can make this an in and out trip for candy, you do miss the little bodega cat.

“Wh- hey are you, are you even ok to be here?” Tim calls as he rounds the counter and makes his way to you.

“Huh? Oh...oh yea. I'm chill now.” you hear the bell before you see her. The little ting tin ting of her bell that comes with the grace only fluffy cats have.

“You literally collapsed on the floor last night after blacking out while driving.” his tone is very stern. He and Nate would probably get on like a house on fire. The grumpy old men who secretly care a lot duo.

“I don't remember collapsing...but I know I didn't drive.” well you don't know that but you do firmly believe that.

The man is just turning into the isle when you spot the floof sauntering just behind him. Magnolia didn't spare either of you a glance as she made her way to the counter. Probably going to her bed, an old shipping box for apples, you'd just meet her over there then. With no warning to the man you squeeze past him and and follow the cat. Agitated footsteps following after you in your quest to pet the cat.

Magnolia perks up upon seeing you, the flicking of her tail letting you know she's anticipating her pets. The huffing Tim hovering behind you isn't as pleased with your actions as the cat is. The man is radiating negativity, annoyance maybe or is it concern that breeds frustrated anger? The second he starts to clear his throat, as if to remind you of his hovering, you roll your eyes.

Looking back at him over your shoulder you see him in all his grumpy man glory. His brow was furrowed so hard his thick eyebrows nearly covered his eyes. But with the way his lips emoted the man before you looked more like a pouting muppet. It would be funny if it weren't for the foreboding feeling of the moments before being reprimanded by a teacher.

When you straighten up you take note that your eyes meet perfectly. He's the same height as you that's surprising, you thought he'd be taller than 5'7. His eyes widen slightly at seeing your full height, it must've thrown him off since the first time he saw you, you'd actively been trying, and had succeeded at looking smaller.

“What are you doing here?” well he doesn't get thrown off for long.

Running a hand through Magnolia's fur a few more times as you respond, “Petting Magnolia.” you really are a little shit sometimes.

“No...no, why are you out? Toby had to take you home last night, you shouldn't just be waltzing around town after that.” maybe it was frustrated concern.

“Oh I'm fine now.”

Magnolia at this point has jumped up on the counter and is headbutting you for more attention. Chuckling you turn your attention back to her. Meanwhile Tim behind you is at a loss for words.

“Fine?? You don't just...bounce back from a panic attack.”there's personal experience behind those words.

“I just rationalize things fast.” Hearing the trill of the clock on the wall reminds you that you need to grab those snacks and head over to the Cryptonomica for movie night.

Going to the candy isle you grab one of each of the gang's favorites, you snag a bag of white cheddar popcorn on the way to the counter and place your items there. Tim doesn't get a word out before you rush off to the cooler near the back that is in all honesty pretty sketch. Like who even makes Fruitopia anymore? That stuff got discontinued in the early 2000s. The cooler even has Hi-C Ecto Coolers...you might actually check if they're in date and grab a few.

Rummaging around the cooler you finally spot the weird tech green and black splattered can proudly stating SURGE. It has no date...questionable at best. But hey it's only Kirby drinking it, and it's been well established that man will die well before middle age. Grabbing a can to check the Ecto Coolers, luck is on your side! These cans are from the re-release that happened as a promotion for the Ghostbusters revival a few years back, they'll be good for another two years! For now you'll just take one so you won't have to worry about lugging cans around for the movie.

Once your new items are placed on the counter the expression on Tim's face cannot even be described. The questions of the surge are probably the ones easiest to read...or they're just the most predictable.

“Kirby likes red vines and surge, sickening right?” Maybe a little joke will break the ice.

“...Like that little round pink...thing?” What?

The laughter is coming out before you can stop it, the image of said pink Kirby consuming red vines and surge only to accessorize as your friend comes to mind. It's adorable and cursed at the same time. Adorably cursed. You'll have to draw that and print a few copies to hang around the Cryptonomica.

“No,” you're choking on giggles at this point, “Kirby, the owner of the Cryptonomica.” catching your breath and regaining your composure, “It's that tourist trap just across from the RV park.”

“Oh.” normally such a short cold reply would make you shut down the conversation. But This is Toby's roommate, and if you want to be friends with Toby, you'll probably run into him a lot more. Plus if he's a new night shift cashier it wouldn't hurt to be on good terms with him for when you're out on adventures.

“Yea, hey Toby mentioned you three just came to town, so you might not have known but the Cryptonomica does a weekly movie night on Saturdays. Saturday Night Dead. Normally it's awful old horror movies but next week they're starting a Warren Case files “arch”.” Tim doesn't take the conversation bait at the pause.

“It's a great way to meet other locals, you guys should check it out if you get the chance. It starts at ten and runs till one or so on most weeks.” Olive branch has been extended.

Tim relaxes for the first time since you got here tonight. The sheepish look on his face and twitchy pupils give the impression he's thinking it over. He sighs and nods before saying, “Yea, that sounds...nice.”

Olive branch skeptically taken! You'll count this one as a win in your book. With the mood lightened Tim breaks the ice a bit further.

“Surge and red vines can not be good for you.”

“Right! If living off mountain dew and pizza rolls doesn't kill him, this for sure will.” you both have a small laugh at that. It's nice to finally have cleared up the mix up from the beginning of the week. Which reminds you.

“Oh...um...I'm YN by the way. It's nice to meet you...sorry for the two,” your neck tics to the side, “previous nights.” you finish.

“Tim...and it,uh happens sometimes...'s fine.” Score awkward acknowledgment of previous meetings and you can now erase those from your nightly anxieties.

Tim finishes ringing and bagging your items and you pay. Giving another pet to the curled up kitty on the counter you nod farewell to Tim.

A trill rings out from the clock on the wall. It's ten.

Two heads snap to look at the wall. You take a second glance at your phone while Tim checks his watch. Both say the clock on the wall is correct. But it just turned nine not even ten minutes ago. Right? You can brush off yourself loosing track of time but when you involve another person that just doesn't make sense. Tim looks just as concerned as you. Only Magnolia lays unaffected by the lost fifty minutes.

“I should go.” Tim nods numbly to you as you exit the store.

You won't be able to make it to the movie, well you could but you'd disturb someone if you walked in mid movie. Choosing to go home instead you drive, once again without music. Entering your home you hang your mask back on the hook. Putting away the drinks and snacks for next weekend, you make your way to your bedroom. Once again freezing just before the hallway. Turning to your living room you can see a book in the middle of your coffee table. You definitely don't remember the book being there, and doubt you'd miss it out in the open. But as you got closer you could confirm, even in the dark, that it was The Book Thief.

#ticci tobyx reader #ticci toby #ticcitoby #reader insert #timothy wright x reader #timothy wright #timothy wright x brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian thomas #masky x reader #masky x hoodie #creepypasta fanfic #A cure for insomnia

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Brother Dearest Pt 67

English Composition broke off the animated chatter of the latest slew of papers that mentioned the President’s words and then delved to new directions while you settled into the new desk off the side of the front row without an attached desk. A few days back in the former week the evident inch to the side you made to avoid squishing your belly with the L shaped attached desk that brought out one of the desks set aside for the occasional expecting mothers to begin the start of the difference of your place in classes. Beginnings of more changes that were to come while eyes could now gauge just how long you might have left and every loop of your arms around the protruding belly that occasionally you amusingly rested things on top of to find comfortable positions or angles to work with as much ease as possible.

Trig and Calculus held more room in their desks for the men usually in use of them. The latest stories on new discoveries from the new large telescopes were brought out for Astronomy and books were consulted to enforce what facts and details were necessary to understand the news fully. A sudden glance to the clock on the wall by one student when the class felt a bit long had you all scramble for gathering your things to free seats for the incoming students while you made for the next class. The empty seat for you seemed to put a lock on your Sociology class that all looked your way when you came in a few minutes late. One hushed apology and an explanation and in relief the Professor began the lesson when you took your seat after a chuckle at the distraction from the latest news from space.

Hot and humid random bouts of breezes from open windows and turning fans to the final class after having spent a good part of the last class with a spare bit of folded paper in hand to keep cool. Quick and sharp mid paragraph on an argument to answer the prompt given a shriek left your lips at the feathery body that collapsed onto your desk. Over your lips to the shiver of feathers and fix of wings your hand settled for a wide eyed stare at the now upright Barred Owl that sat atop your desk that blinked at you to the open of the classroom door revealing the twins who wide eyed found you and the reason for your shriek that called them there.

The soft squeak heard in the silent room had its head turn and named the reason why it had flown in, a small mouse was snatched up and carried back out the open window. Quietly the twins eased back out of the classroom while your Professor came over to help pick up your things that had been scattered to the floor uncertain of what to say other than to remind of how much longer he was to give the class to finish filling out the sheet. To a pat of your free hand on your belly you got back to the assignment that afterwards two people were chosen to share their answers with the rest of the lesson to follow. Another note however once class was called found you on the way back to the fake courtroom again where you flashed a grin to the students gathered there.

The TA came over at the side of the lead Professor who grinned and greeted you, “Welcome, welcome. Heard you had a mishap with an owl.”

“Oh, ya, flew in a window to chase a mouse and landed on my desk. No harm done. These cases better than the last two?”

The Ta said, “Well, Divorce Hearing and an Art Heist Trial. Hard to have as many difficulties as before, these two Lawyers do try to make difficult cases with new plot lines compared to the first two.”

You nodded and glanced to the preteen near to one of the students who was accepting a packet of his own and asked, “That kid is part of the cases too?”

The Professor nodded, “Yes, Billy’s brother to stand in as his son for the case. Usually hangs around after his class gets out so they can head home together and in a couple weeks will be out of class and have plenty of time to come and help with the Divorce Hearing if we did need a testimony from the child involved.”

“How is there the same amount of evidence for these cases as the first two? I take it there’s one for the divorce and the rest are for the heist?”

“Half and half actually,” that had you huff.

“Let me guess, I get to read another diary of the loosest men and women legally tethered together.”

The TA as you accepted the clipboard to sign the form to accept the file boxes now loaded onto a dolly by him smirked saying, “I wish we had more to offer case wise than attacks on character and morals. You must be exhausted of it after having to read the first set of evidence.”

In passing back the clipboard to the 2nd Professor who approached you replied, “We can barely go a mass without hearing the word whore, I’m not exhausted the word has lost its sting and I’m just disappointed honestly at the lack of imagination. I know children who can reduce grown men to tears if they need help on that front they could even consult Officer Browen’s boy, he could blow these cases out of the water for what they could be.”

Making the men chuckle and grin to the TA who said, “True, very true. Hopefully next year we could add in a line of teens to run these cases by. You know I can’t remember going through a week of high school without crying.” He said playfully on your joint step to the door and he asked, “You?”

“Well, I was an orphan in a Catholic School, practically disowned and I can’t remember speaking without my voice cracking until I got into the school in Canada that got us girls enrolled in Nursing courses to help the efforts.”

“They really got you in high school?” He paused and said, “I know you’re young, but how young were you?”

“Fifteen, for the Nursing courses, then um, I was sixteen when me and Eddie got sent to that base hospital. I’m 22 now, got my GED a couple years after I’d have graduated high school. So my odd timeline is a bit jumbled compared to normal education markers.”

“Wow, 22, and that’s with a Bachelor’s Degree of Medicine?”

“Science, but, same horse different hat.”

“And with babies on the way in the middle of more degree hunting. And I thought my working nights while at school was rough.”

“My dad worked in a factory to fund his try for a degree here and to save money for my schooling and my other brother Steve’s. Neither of them got to their degree but I am determined to get to the finish line.”

“Well save for more owl attacks you should get there in no time,” he joked and you chuckled to yourself and slowly took the few steps between wings he eased the dolly down the steps. Excited chatter picked up to the soft sway of the fan in your hand to try and bring up any details that could let on how much fun or how long these two cases might last.

James outside of the car smiled in opening the trunk for him and helped to load up the six cases then watched the TA hurry back while you lowered into the car to sit down out of the sun. Behind you the boxes were levitated to the library where you settled the Art Heist Evidence that your family gladly listened to the case that had one twin out of a pair that could both likely be culpable for the crime. And yet the one on trial had a sound seeming alibi merely for the hint that the lead in charge of the investigation had a grudge with him. The twin spurned his daughter years prior and contrasting the ridiculous crime itself.

With little proof they arrested him for the robbery on Mr Barnham’s mansion, one of several he owns, while he threw a costume party at another. Several priceless gold statues along with gem accented decorations were taken along with a solid ruby/ivory/ebony piano and a variety of black market paintings and marbles. Almost all of the black market pieces were returned to the museums and exhibits they were stolen from. The gem based goods are still missing. All the portraits and statues were replaced by ones modeled around cats.

Every testimony was read through before you closed the box after finishing on the alibi for the twin on trial that had you hope they pulled that up quick to have you throw the case out. Although for your luck you knew they would want to stretch it out to use as much of the information given as possible.

Emil Schmidt – Age 32, Job – Advertising, Parents well off, Met in high school. Has had several affairs then he filed for separation. Already in new relationship with latest mistress who is a co-worker. That was the Husband in the mix before you delved into the Wife and child.

Wife – Sylvia Schmidt – Age 31. Daughter of a painter, painter herself, mother is a concert pianist. Tried to file for separation before then she found out she was pregnant and had to stay with him for son’s sake. Their nine year old son was in several clubs with great grades.

The witnesses for the Husband sprawled out from bad to worse and almost had you in a fight against tears for what these pretend people were saying about this nonexistent woman. Friend who tries to say wife could be a better mom and wasn’t a good wife. Former Boss of hers in gallery to say she couldn’t keep up with employment to hint she would be unable to provide for son. A shrink he had consulted about her who hasn’t seen or spoken to her who diagnosed her as unstable. Assistant who says she demands gifts and is bad with and is after money.

Fully contrasting her witnesses that weren’t as venomous against him as his had been at her. Ex Mistress, bad breakup with hubby for younger woman, not the only one. Former Driver who says husband drinks heavily and has seen him degrade her over the years. Current Mistress of the Hubby. Tutor for son who says he’s been to both places and seen conditions son has to study in. Mom helps him but dad’s has more space for him to spread out his work.

Assets came next with little mention of anything concrete for the future of the family that furrowed your brows and had Eddie ask, “Problem with the case?”

“He has no will, no investments, doesn’t even own the house they’re fighting over,” you flipped the page, “Or the car.”

James rumbled, “That’s a terrible plan. Nine year old, what happens if he kicks it?”

Victor, “Even for the new Wife, no matter how young she is, I take it she’s younger than the current Mrs Schmidt?”

“Eleven years younger.” That had the brothers chortle and you said, “And eleven years older than their son.”

Eddie, “Now that’s shameful. One for the Mrs and two above all for the kid.” He pointed to James, “I mean you’re 117 years older than Bunny but even if there was an adult kid involved her and them wouldn’t be almost on even scales maturity wise. 9 is a short skip to teens when feelings and hormones start to rage and that Mistress just out of her teens relates more to the kid than the dad who grew up pre-Depression while she grew up after. I mean he’s old enough to have been drafted with a kid left behind and the Mistress was still in school probably running bond raises.”

Unable to help it you giggled and in Eddie’s rise to go help Teddy lift his bucket of colors that got stuck you caught James’ eye and made him ask you, “What’s funny?”

“What was your fake birth year again?”

That had him chuckle and Victor said, “You’re still half his age with the fake numbers. Bumped our years up a century.”

Norma giggled and leaned in to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek, “And you look phenomenal for your age.”

“Oh, Jeanie, I have that screenplay, or the first half of it, if you’ll check what I have for it?” She nodded and when you were helped up she joined you in the living room where you left your bag to offer her the notebook you had been writing the new draft inside to be typed up later on when it was finished properly up to par. Onto the chairs you settled and in her move to your side with use of a red pen you made note of the changes she mentioned on the pages for small things that could be expanded upon later in the new draft you would have completed by the days off.

Two more Photography Clubs and a meet up of the Paper came between you and your free Friday evening that had you with a second notebook to hold the draft for now the whole screenplay that you made note could possibly stretch the film to three hours if they cut nothing out. At your side with equally as furrowed brows Eddie typed up the second half of the screenplay while you typed up the first half on matching typewriters to get the task completed quicker. And by the time you were on the final page the doorbell sounded and with news of more casting news Stark came in and boasted to you all before with a smile he took hold of the first chunk of the screenplay he chose a chair to dig in to the more detailed layout.

“Bunny this is brilliant,” he said while Eddie took the final page he shook and laid on top of the upside down stack he stood to ease underneath your stack you added your own final page to moments prior to complete the hefty screenplay.

“I thought it might be a bit too thick actually.”

“No,” he said, “I love the extra bits, any that you’ve added. And it gives us some cushion for later to work with.”

“Well I think that’s all of it, so you won’t be held up by it.”

“I am not held up. But I can get this to the printer today and by tomorrow for the new copies of scripts to hand out. I’ll make sure you get a couple copies yourself on top of Norma’s.”

“Okay, hopefully I didn’t miss a typo in there.”

Eddie smirked and said, “There’s an x’ed out R in mine.”

Howard chuckled and said, “Doesn’t matter, the printer will skip that.”

“If anything I think Jeanie will have it memorized by the time you are filming, she’s given the drafts a few reads and given me some notes on how to fix it up.”

Jarvis beside him asked, “How do you plan to spend your day off?”

“Well Ambrose and her Husband are expecting us at the birthing class tonight. There’s only four moms in town due soon and the Nuns like even numbers, so even though they know the ins and outs they’re up for support.”

Howard said, “Didn’t you help with the three munchkins around here?”

“Ya, but still, it’s sort of expected and since I see another Doctor and not the Maternity Home here weekly they still invited me to participate in their classes. I mean three babies at once, could use all the tips I can get. And I think it’d be worth the giggle to have James mothering a doll. Him and Vic melt just tucking in Teddy’s bear in with him at nap time.”

Howard chuckled and said, “Well I hope it helps. Heard they even have meditation now for moms.”

“Just hope they don’t try to get me to lay down on the floor like they did with Gina in her last baby, I need a nest to lay down on my side and on my back is out of the question.”

Lunch was next in the absence of your guests and afterwards signaled Gina and her Husband’s arrival to escort you and James through town to the same Maternity Home where you saw the elated Nurses and Nuns there in the clinic you passed through. Beyond the mothers not so far along and those who had already given birth you felt eyes on your wide belly that was visible in the dips of your dark grey overall shorts that rested over the peach polka dot coated sleeveless blouse. Right beside you with hand on your back James strolled with a grin on his face for this next step that would hopefully help to warm you up to the change coming. Nervous slightly himself to see what the lessons were on since the last time he was expecting a child there were no prenatal classes to be had. As if Eddie and Victor’s sharing of classes had simply been wiped from his mind now that you were here. And the sight of Dr Roan who smiled widely had you smile back on the way to the side room where a quartet of mats were laid out on the floor.

“Ambrose, and Bunny,” the glasses wearing nurse with a Scottish accent said with a smile and said, “You two can get ready to settle onto your mats with daddy behind you.”

With a small grin you hushedly spoke with Ambrose and James to choose between the final two open mats where James lowered with hold of your hips to help you down to your knees. Gently to your right side you lowered to your hip after releasing the hands of the most experienced Nun who came to check on you herself after not having seen you since Teddy’s rough birth. “There you are Bunny.” Her smile spread to the sight of your tucking your legs underneath you in a slight lean forward that aided in James’ gentle stroke of your back as he settled his legs on either side of yours. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, made sure to eat first so the girls are in a good mood.”

“That is very good,” she said and moved to check on the other mothers making sure to recall to check on you later when the class was over.

The second soft speaking Nun who to the record that the Nurse with glasses turned on to set a calming mood for the beginnings of recommendations on positions, “And if you can stretch out your legs and lean back into Daddy’s chest.”

Her eyes landed on you that had you giggle and say, “I can’t stretch my legs straight out or my feet go numb when I’m upright.”

And softly she chuckled, “Best we don’t have that. Cross legged is just fine, and will help to stretch your pelvis and thighs for your babies.” Moving to stroll around the other couples while you smiled at Ambrose in her relax into her husband’s chest as James eased you back into his to take your weight and let you relax.

Talks and a few sparse jokes mingled through the guided show on breathing and close eyed guided meditation to help relax through birth until the talks of how baby shifts that a fellow young mom to be in the back was being guided through this by her mom. “This is where your down bellows sneeze on you.”

That had you giggle along with James to the Nun saying, “The mucus plug is next to arrive on you, yes.”

That had Ambrose look your way and she giggled to your point her way as you said, “I remember for your second you let out this shriek in the toilets at the market, frightened that girl Bridget to almost wet herself thinking someone had broken in.”

James hummed, “Must have been a fun story to share with you,” to her Husband who smiled and shook his head.

You giggled again as Ambrose said, “Only thing more terrifying to him than a baby coming out was knowing there’s more to it than that.”

The Nun chuckled and guided you through the next set of steps and got into a few positions to help labor along until she asked each of you how you planned to have the babies you were carrying. Ending with you of course that had you giggle and say, “Bit hard to plan mine. My Doctor has been talking about either a push birth or a possible c-section. Planning for both I suppose.”

“Are you frightened about that?”

With a shrug you said, “They’re going to have to come out one way or another. And I seem to be following the plan superbly, and that’s a quote from my Doctor who would know the best way to go after having helped my mom have me.”

The other two mothers in more in depth conversations delved into that with the arrived Nurses from the now closed clinic with Dr Roan in their group who came to lower at your side and sit on the ground with a kind smile. “We are all glad to see you here today. Are you in the third trimester mark already?”

With a nod you answered, “28 weeks tomorrow, so just on the cusp of it.”

“And your next appointment is?”

“Tomorrow,” you said and to the shift of your belly his smile widened and you said, “They love to kick and wrestle around.”

“May I?” he asked in a lift of his hands and you nodded and guided his hands to rest a palm on each baby and the third the Nun felt.

“There’s a butt here, and this one’s a head, and a back here. At least for now until they swim around on me.”

The Nun asked, “Is your tummy always this stiff?”

“Only a few hours after I eat, then I get these weird gurgling noises and it all relaxes. My Doctor said it’s just my system adjusting to the new weight and moving gasses.”

That had her grin ease out as he said, “Well you seem to be growing very well with little signs of discomfort.”

A tape measure was produced with impressed grins at the size and shared presumed weight of four and a half pounds each so far by what you had gained taken as guesses by your Doctor. All promising of good signs you could make it to the final few weeks if possible. And all seemed to be in high spirits when your sister and brother in law led you and James back home to relax again and share about the first class.

Eisenhower broke the silence of the upright courtroom, “Good Afternoon, be seated.”

He sat next in the ripple of replied, “Good Afternoon, Your Honor.” and eyed the crowd who took their seats again to the approach of Officer McTavish who passed you a sheet of paper for the open file on the desk after he read, “Good Afternoon Judge. This is case number #. The State of New York vs Lewis Patzer.”

“Thank you Officer McTavish.” Your eyes shifted over the eager students in their assigned seats on Council and the trio on trial who simply were waiting for you to ask, “Are all parties and Council present?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” both sides stated and then the Prosecution stood for the one in the paler suit to speak, “District Attorney Antonio Speltzer for the Prosecution and this is Thomas Wnters for Assistant District Attorney.”

They sat down and while the judges took note of the progress to far or procedure being followed the Defense got their turn to stand to name their three male pretend client on his feet beside him, “Vernon Dorman, Your Honor, on behalf of Lewis Patzer.”

You asked when they sat down to the General’s own check mark on his procedure notes at your right, “Are all parties ready to continue?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” the four Lawyers stated and from your notes you eyed the charges to be read off for each.

“Lewis Patzer,” you said and the student for her and for Vernon Dorman stood for the read of charges, “You are charged with Robbery and Possession of Stolen Goods, how do you plead?”

To the charges Stark’s mouth quirked up into a grin just barely in shock for what sort of trial this was and he heard his lawyer state, “Not Guilty, Your Honor.”

You nodded and made your own note of that on your notepad and stated, “The Court is ready to hear recommendations on bail now.”

For that the DA Antonio Speltzer stood and with notes in hand stated, “Your Honor the State recommends bail be withheld on each of the Defendants. Mr Peltzer is in possession of ample funds from this crime and is able to fund an escape out of the country.”

Lawyer for Mr Peltzer, Vernon Dorman stood and said, “Your Honor, my client is innocent in all of this. And was merely arrested on counts of bias on behalf of the Lead Investigator. He has no criminal history. Your Honor my client is willing to surrender his passport to remain at home through this baseless trial.”

The curious author who watched his trial come to life and wet his lips as you said, “Agreed, bail is set at $. Officer Browen please escort Mr Peltzer out to see to that.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” he said accepting the signed bail sheet you handed over to him while the Defendant and his attorney thanked you to the scoffs of the DA in mock irritation to his being freed.

Smirks spread through the audience as the trio stood and were escorted out to the nearest room in the hall outside while notes were taken of this part of the trial being covered and both sides of Council readied as one by one from the final group of 24 students the Jury questioning was carried out. Just a couple questions were asked to speed up the process out of the pre-selected groups from each side with some removed and traded for more acceptable options.

Jury – 12 people

7 male/ 5 female

3 Late 30’s and up / 9 Low 30’s -18

8 rich/ 4 blue collar

To the assignment of those Jurors those students were relieved to fill up the only Juror Pool of these final set of trials and were excused from the courtroom to be given proper instruction while you closed the case for the day and stated the date that the case would be resumed. Pleased with the first step concluded the Council all filed out to take seats and allow the Council for the second case to file in for their own turn.

Schmidt vs Schmidt

“Are both parties present and ready?”

Both on their feet the Husband’s Lawyer Samuel Felton and the Wife’s Lawyer Lee Hogue spoke together, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Samuel Felton here today for Emil Schmidt.” And the other Lawyer spoke, “Lee Hogue on behalf of Sylvia Schmidt.”

You nodded and asked, “Have you two at least come to the agreement on who opens the case?”

Lee Hogue smirked and said, “We have, Your Honor.” While the other students sat he continued to share the background of the relationship of the duo. “Almost out of a storybook these two met, Mr Schmidt from white collar roots while my client came from a daughter of a painter and a concert pianist who over the dividing lines of an artistic family and one of a more pragmatic family bent on successful business ledgers began to date in High School. And over the years Mrs Schmidt has faithfully stood beside Mr Schmidt through numerous infidelities and social set backs while he found his footing in the Advertising world. A trial separation by my client was approached nearly a decade ago until it was confirmed she was pregnant with their child, Daniel, who is nine now. We are here today because Mr Schmidt again is in another relationship outside of the marriage and wishes to marry his mistress whom he met at his place of employment.”

“Very well,” General Eisenhower stated in the sip of water you took from the glass at your seat to wash down the scratch you felt at the back of your throat to a speck of dust in the air that wafted down from the fans above now in use after months of sitting stationary.

To the lower of the glass mention of the offered prenuptial agreement was detailed and then the points of deal breakers ended the day on a term of complete shambles to negotiations and work ahead to add in new assets gained since the date of the wedding. And the hushed murmurs and stolen glances were silenced with a welcomed gavel slam to free you all into cooler halls with notice of Friday as the next day to meet up.

Divorce outside of your case found itself in the headlines and above the picture of the moment where you and James stole a kiss after the trial. Your hand on his belly and his on yours in the toe top pose had speculation that a divorce and custody battle was underway with a wait until the baby was born for him to drop the bomb on you. Giggles and chuckled comments was the response when the headline was brought up with your grin being split wider to the jokes your favored Professors had come up with for this new development on yet another story in poor taste.

All false but it sold papers and for the addition to the piles of headlines like tear away calendars that got you closer to another week closer to Canada. Closer to the film that Norma was so eager to get started on that you had written and the home repairs that could keep the guys from hovering around you like concerned chickens ready to cuddle with the incoming babies. Dawn as well looked forward to be back near to her family who was aching to see how big Teddy and Marigold had grown and shower their grandbabies with as much love as possible to help grant ample time for you to relax and focus on your nesting phase.

Small steps would get you home again and your lives ready for this next step. Small steps like the next day where you completed another yearbook event you photographed while Portia took notes on the event for the paper. And while Victor printed the photographs for you up in the new Nursery where James found and smiled joining you in arranging small things around the trio of cribs the Brocks had lovingly made quilts and cushioned covers for the inside of them. Careful tucks and adjustments of items around the built in units the guys made for you while you were at school covering a full wall to the changing table opposite the mural coated wall the supply of diaper cloths with snaps to avoid delirious accidental stabs on pins was given their weekly refold.

Up around your back James molded and covered your belly with his hands to a press of his lips on your temple and murmured lovingly, “We’ll be ready for the girls.”

“We need gates for the steps,” that had him smirk and he hummed approvingly as you said, “Teddy nearly flipped over the pop up ones last month. Frightened Dawn half to death and Goldie and Petal will be up and around soon.”

“Okay, let’s sketch some stair gates. Me and Vic will make them while you’re at school and Dawn takes the munchkins to Mamma Brock’s.”

You nodded and to the sitting area in your room he helped you to come up with a simple solid door on a hinge with horizontal planks anchored by two vertical boards on either side with a board diagonally cut between them. Like small barn doors they would be anchored on hinges that would lock in place on the opposite banister to keep the babies from being able to clamber down the stairs without an adult to guide them. Grey and white were the chosen colors and everyone loved the designs that after supper James and Victor got to measuring the staircases for each at the tops and bottoms while you and Dawn soaked your feet.

Pt 68

All –

@sherala007, @mariannetora, @jesgisborne, @knitastically, @catthefearless, @theincaprincess, ggbbhehe4455, @lilith15000, @alishlieb,

Not nsfw(smut) - @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore

X Marvel-Cast - @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @changlingkhat

Brother Dearest - @thorinanddwalinsdwarrowdam, @swoopswishsward

#James Howlett x OC #Victor Creed x Norma Jeane #Eddie Brock x OC #Venom #Howard Stark #Edwin Jarvis #Mock Trials Begin #Baby Gates #Nesting Worries #maternity class

10 notes · View notes

hunflowers · 4 years

Text

Mythology (II)

Word Count: 6.5k

Requested? Not exactly, but you always can here :)

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! I’ve decided I’m going to extend the series into another part so I split up this chapter a little bit so it wouldn’t be too long, and so I wouldn’t have to cram so much into one chapter. There’s more Harry in this one so I hope you enjoy! Also, if you like what you read (or if you didn’t) send me some feedback, it really helps me out :) *nose boops*

tag list: @thicksniall @meetmeinfleetwood @afire-hes @pradaxstyles @c-h-e-r-r-y-y @gotmyhandonmyheart @burberryharold @harrymoncheri

Waking up in a foreign bed the next day, solidified this new reality for Calista.

One trait about her is that she finds it very difficult to sleep in a bed that isn’t her own, so it was actually a miracle she could fall asleep so easily the night before. Because she bounced around a lot as a child from home to home, not having one single bed to call her own was a reason for her exhausting insomnia. More proof that her move away from the states had been good on her, is that her illness had lessened its severity when she finally could call a place home. Most of the times when it occurs nowadays is when she’s over stressed about something. Yet, the previous night had been one of her most peaceful slumbers.

Her and Trinity had stayed in the cafeteria for a while after their encounter with Wren, the thin ice they had been walking on dissipating into a more comfortable area where they didn’t feel this unbearable tension surrounding them. Niall and Harry had helped with this easy atmosphere, all of them informing Calista the best they could before she would talk to Mr. Cirillo the next day.

Harry didn’t stick around too long though, hopping around between tables and people before disappearing completely for the night. Something about him was so intriguing, and even if she had only spoken to him for a maximum of twenty minutes, Calista could say she had the tiniest crush on him. It was ridiculous to think such a thing, because she obviously hardly knows him, but there was something about him.

Maybe because he genuinely seemed interested in her, something not a lot of males, or people in general, do.

When she first came to Cambridge there was one boy who liked her, resulting in a relationship of almost a year, but of course he turned out to be a bit of a dickhead, that mainly cared for himself and disregarded her in so many ways. But, Harry didn’t seem like the type; He actually seemed genuine. Of course she doesn’t want to get her hopes too high up, but that doesn’t stop the physical attraction she has towards him.

She was directed to go to Mr. Cirillo’s office early that morning, of course getting lost on the way there, shamefully asking two different people for directions. She should’ve been given some sort of map to guide her because this place was nothing short of humongous.

When she finally came across the plaque that read Headmaster Cirillo, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, a response immediately voicing on the other side of the door. Pushing the white wood open, she poked her head in and saw Mr. Cirillo at his desk. He removed his one lens glasses from his face, a soft smile on his lips as he gestured to the seat across from him, encouraging her to sit on the patent leather

“Good morning, Calista. Please, have a seat,” the older man… cyclops greets her, hands clasped together on the desk in an authoritative manner. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” she answered, for some reason completely nervous. It was sort of like when she would be called to the principal’s office when she was younger because she would miss classes or the one time she got into a fight and broke the girl’s nose. In her defense, the girl started it, and she doesn’t even really remember where the strength came from to actually break the girl’s nose.

Something now tells her it has to do with her ancestry. If that’s even possible. But, at this rate, anything is possible as she sits across from a cyclops, and is a demigod herself.

“Good, well, then I’ll get started. I know you’re wondering why it took so long for you to… know about everything and I’m here to answer any questions you have to the best of my abilities. I’d rather you ask me anything and we’ll go on from there.”

Calista nodded along, sweat in her palms developing, causing her to casually sit her thighs down on top of her hands. So many questions sprinted through her mind, her not knowing which to ask first. “I mean… I don't know, why did it take so long? I spoke to people last night and they’ve all been here for years and I guess I just want to know why I wasn’t told sooner.”

Mr. Cirillo nodded his head, “That was per your mother’s request. She was adamant on you not risking your life being a part of this society of ours.”

“But why? It hardly seems fair that I’m being kept in the dark,” she scoffed back, leaning back against the black leather, her hands coming up to grip the arms of the chair.

“I agree. But, in her defense, your mother had very good reasoning to make the decision she did. Our life, this existence of ours, is a complete mystery to the outside world,” he stood up, walking over to the grand window behind him. “People have been trying for years upon years to dig up the truth. There’s no telling what kind of acts will be made against us if they ever find us, so over the years, we’ve been preparing for any sort of war that could affect us.”

Walking over to one of the many filing cabinets that lined one wall of the office, he opened one of the drawers that seemed to be labeled Athena, skimming through the multiple manila folders before pulling a specific one out, closing the metal cabinet shut behind him. He sat back down in his own chair, keeping the folder closed on the desk before he continued his explanations. “We’ve had multiple threats over the years, claiming our secret would be revealed to the world. If the world were to ever find out, we could be executed and wiped off the face of the earth, or maybe held captive for the enjoyment of ignorant people. It would leave the gods no choice but to wreak havoc on the planet.

“One night before you were born, there was a threat against us, and your half-brother, Mikael, was sent to settle the situation. Unfortunately that night he was killed, and your mother took it very personally as any mother would. Just a couple weeks later you were born, and she didn’t want another child of hers to live their life with risk or in secrecy. She wanted you to have a so-called normal upbringing,” he finished, opening the folder that had been kept shut, turning it to face her direction. A small picture of a smiling young man was clipped to the corner of a page, the name Mikael printed on the tab.

Calista felt a sudden wave of sadness flush through her at the mention of a half-brother, seeing his smiling face that she never got the chance to greet. As she looked over the few papers in this folder briefly, she learned that her brother used to be of high status here, ranked as General Combatant along with his multiple skills and achievements. She swallowed as she never imagined herself achieving such superiority amongst everyone here, especially with her late start.

She only grew more frustrated as she hastily closed the folder, placing it back down on the table. “A normal upbringing? Do you know the kind of life I’ve lived? It was anything but normal. I’m sure I would’ve had a better chance at normal here, then anywhere else,” she rolled her eyes, her jaw clenching as tears threatened her waterline.

Normal is all she wanted. A normal family, with normal friends, and a normal life. Instead she’s practically been to Hell and back, and the scars imprinted in her brain and on her skin is the evidence of that. She understands her mother’s decision, because it must be hard losing a child and running the risk of losing another, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. Calista has been dealt the shittiest cards, and knowing she was cheated out of a better hand twists her heart and constricts her lungs.

Standing again from his chair, Mr. Cirillo walks over to the door of his office, opening it and looking back to the depressive demigod, “Let’s go for a walk.” Calista says nothing as she follows him, eyes focused to her shoes as her mind swirls with countless thoughts of never being good enough. When she looked up to look at the multiple paintings and portraits lining the walls, her stomach sank further as she saw what could’ve been her life.

She could be grateful for knowing now rather than never, but since she found out now when her life was getting better, it only hurt her more. If she found out before, she would’ve seen it as a saving grace, but now it only seemed like a burden.

They made their way outside to the courtyard, the building guarding the blooming flowers and small ponds filled with various fish. A few others were scattered around, sitting at benches or small tables and talking amongst themselves, not paying any attention to Calista and Mr. Cirillo.

Their walk was at a slow pace, silence surrounding them except for the smaller chatter from the other people, the beauty of the sun beaming down on the spacious greenery engulfing their minds. She understands why he wanted to take a walk, because breathing in fresh air helped cool her mind just long enough for her to regain her somewhat stable composure.

“I know your life was hard,” he began again, looking down at the Calista, his hands tucking into the pockets of his slacks. “And I deeply apologize for everything you’ve been put through, I wish there was something I could’ve done.”

Calista licked her chapped lips, pursing them as she came up with something to say back, because in all honesty an apology means nothing coming from him. The real apology she wants is from Athena, or even her fucking father. “Why now? Why not follow her rules and keep me away?”

“Well, there was another threat against our livelihood. An insider that has anonymously threatened to tell anyone and everyone willing to listen. When I told the gods, your mother, Athena, advised it was time to… She said you’d be a great leader like your brother once was,” he smiled softly, eyeing her reaction as she looked at the olive tree, sitting in the center of the courtyard.

“I’m not a leader,” she responded softly, taking her gaze off of the plant and back down to the laces of her boots. “From what I saw, Mikael was an honorable person, and I’m far from that.”

“And from what I’ve gathered, is that despite the horrible schools you went to and the awful people you’ve met along the way, you were still one of the highest in your class and was awarded a full ride scholarship to Cambridge. Even with setbacks, you pushed through with determination. I’d say that’s pretty honorable,” he quipped back, sitting down on the bench that was beneath the giant tree.

All she really felt at this point was confusion. She wants to be able to call this place her home, and maybe even call these people her family, but they’ve been doing fine for years without her, she just doesn’t understand why all of a sudden it was necessary to tell her. Getting an A on a test was a whole different game compared to being a leader in a war. Aside from breaking a girl’s nose, she had no ability to fight or any sort of strategy at all to be able to hold her own. Her being involved felt more of a burden to everyone else, and she’d probably get herself killed almost immediately.

“I just don’t see how I’m of any use. I don’t have experience like Trinity or Wren, or anybody here. I’ll probably end up running around like a headless chicken.”

He laughed at the small joke, raising his hand up to squeeze her shoulder. “Like I said, with determination you’ll push through.”

The reminder of Trinity telling her to surpass Wren from last night came to mind, a little ounce of this determination sparking through her, but it was quickly diminished as she thought of the actual process of conquering that. She wants to be the underdog like in all of those movies she’s watched that beats the bully in the end, but those are movies, and as much as this doesn’t feel like real life, it is and that’s not how everything works. She can try, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be successful and if she’s not successful she’s afraid she’ll be a disappointment and then that disappointment feeds into her anxiety of never being wanted by anyone and it’s this constant cycle in her beaten and bruised brain.

On the other hand, she can’t just tell Mr. Cirillo no, because then she’ll probably end up disappointing him and sending herself into a subcycle of unwarranted thoughts. She wishes everything right now had a clean cut answer as to what she should do, but she’s stuck in her thoughts, feeling as if she’s being pulled down by rapid quicksand, not giving herself enough time to mull over everything properly.

Looking up through the leaves of the olive tree, admiring the sun that peaked through the greenery above her, coating her face in a dull glow, Calista said one last thing to Mr. Cirillo before they would go on their separate ways as she would take time to think about everything alone.

“Do I ever get to meet her?”

Mr. Cirillo sighed, a look of solemn etching across his features. That was her answer alone, but she still acknowledged the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “It’s a rarity that they make an appearance.”

Calista nodded, getting up off the bench and ready to make her way back inside and hopefully find the way back to her room. Mr. Cirillo reached for her wrist, holding her in her place for one more moment, “But she’s always looking after you, Calista.”

And with that, she walked away, holding back her tears until she collapsed on the sheets of her bed.

❊ ❊

Hours had passed since her meeting with Mr. Cirillo, and she had made no progress towards processing everything that’s been relayed to her. She tried falling asleep to dull the headache beating through her skull, to give herself a moment to breathe before she would fully understand everything at hand.

Trinity had offered her support, but Calista felt it was better to be alone at this time, just so she would have no distractions and so she could wallow in her own thoughts. And while at first being alone seemed to help, after a while, she was in need to vent and discuss all of the problems soaring through her head to her best friend.

Thing is, her problem just lies in the fact that everything had been kept secret from her for so long. Who’s to say this all would’ve been revealed to her if there hadn’t been this apparent threat? Would her best friend have continued to lie to her for the rest of their lives?

Why should she maybe put her life at risk for people that she hardly even knows?

Everything just relates back to her anxiety over never being good enough for anyone, which would prove why she’s lived such an awful life considering she wasn’t good enough to be her rightful title of demigod. She understands it was done to protect her wellbeing, she just wishes that’s the way her brain would take it. Instead, she’s thinking the worst because that’s how she was raised; Expecting the worst.

When Trin finally came back to the room, she could tell something was off with Calista as she saw her friend in the same curled up position on her bed since she left. “Lis, everything okay?”

First there was no response or any sort of movement, then she heard the small whimpers leaving the girl’s lips, and immediately she was crawling into her bed, cradling her to her chest, doing her best to help ease her pain.

“I just wish I could shut my brain off for one minute,” she cried, clutching onto her friend’s hand that had wrapped around her front.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Trin murmured, pushing the loose curls from her friend's face and behind her ear.

Calista calmed herself for a moment, rolling over to face Trin, eyes red and cheeks blotchy as she sniffled, bottom lip quivering slightly. “I-I want to see the good in this, but all I can think a-about is how I wasn’t good enough from the start and how I’m not good enough now.”

“What’re you talking about? What did you talk about with Mr. Cirillo?”

Calista relayed everything she was told to Trinity, even delving into the topics that are her insecurities just so her friend can understand a little more about what’s going on inside this head of hers. She had a chance at a family, and friends, and people who related to her, but that was stripped away from her. She has a life she never knew existed and she has no guide book to understand how to go about it all, not to mention it’s a life that isn’t exactly supposed to exist at all.

Is she meant to live up to her past brother’s legacy? If she doesn't, is she just going to be forgotten about?

If her mother is always looking after her, how could she let her daughter go through everything she has?

So many questions that no one has an answer to, and it’s so exhausting.

Trinity didn’t interrupt once, letting her best friend vent to her as she sat patiently. She was once where Calista was, but of course she doesn’t know how she’d exactly take it all in if she had found out so much later in life. As an adolescent, it was so cool finding out her heritage, knowing she was meant for better than just her stuck up dad and stepmom. And she knows how Calista is with trusting people and their intentions, that’s why it took her awhile to warm up to her. So she completely understands her worries about everything too good to be true considering her past.

Being here, though, at Mythology, is where she belongs. And Trinity will do her very best to try and convince her so. When they first met, and Calista told her that she was studying the classics, she knew it was fate and that her role here as Athena’s daughter is meant to be.

And one way to help guide her friend is through the bonfire this night. The annual bonfire before the announcements of the Leaderships. Trinity is convinced the bonfire will help persuade Calista into staying here, because once she spends one night with all of these people that come to be family, she won’t ever want to leave again.

Or, so she wishes.

❊ ❊

“I’m not so sure about this, Trin.”

There was a lot of convincing in order to get Calista to leave their room for the bonfire. After Trin sat and listened to her, she felt a little better getting everything off of her chest that’s been setting up camp. Though, Calista could feel their friendship going down a more comfortable path toward recovery as she expressed her concerns.

She’s not exactly warmed up to everything yet, but the more she vents and talks to Trin who went through a not exact but similar process with being thrown into this new lifestyle, Calista can feel herself wanting to get to know this part of her life a little more.

She’s still struggling with trusting all of these people, but that’s where the bonfire comes in and why Trin believes it’ll help her. As an observant best friend, she saw the way Calista was talking to Harry and even Niall, as if they were her friends she had known for years. Granted she has known Niall for some time, but not in the way she’s known Trin. And Harry she’s known for all of twenty minutes, yet she was laughing and smiling as if she knew him since they were children.

If the bonfire can bring out more of that, then Calista will surely want to stay and be around at least for a little while longer.

Though, for Calista it felt a little like the first day of school as she scrounged through her suitcase to find something suitable to wear. It wasn’t the hottest night yet it wasn’t exactly cold, so really that left her at square one. And Trin wasn’t any help as she sat on her phone waiting for her friend to make a decision. But, Calista just followed suit with her and put on a sweatshirt and shorts along with a pair of her worn down sneakers. It also didn’t help that her ruthless curly hair was like a nest sitting on her scalp. Her best bet was a semi decent ponytail that at least kept her hair out of her face.

Trinity finally looked up from her phone, “It’s gonna be fun. It’s basically tradition, and you can’t skip tradition.”

“It’s not exactly my tradition though, so maybe I’ll just pass.”

With a roll of her eyes, Trinity stood up from her bed and grabbed onto her friend’s wrist and led her out of their room. “Well, let’s make it your tradition then.”

They both eventually wound up outside and in the large field that expanded for acres of land, the moon glistening over them as they walked further until they reached multiple people laughing and dancing and talking as a fairly big fire sat between them all.

Immediately, Calista’s eyes were drawn to the force that is Harry as a guitar sat on his lip as he sang some song, joking around with the people around him. Niall was over with them too, and once he spotted them, he ran over to hug the both of them before encouraging them to join the little circle of people.

“Everyone, this is Calista,” Niall introduced as he sat back in his previous seat. Unsurprising, there was a single seat open next to him that was clearly meant for Trin, which she so graciously sat in, leaving Calista to stand alone, full of awkwardness.

The few people greeted her with a wave, insistent she sit down with them. A little reluctantly, she sat between two people she had yet to meet, but would come to know their names are Sarah and Mitch.

Even though she was in a circle of people that all seemed to be like good people, it was one of those moments she felt so alone. She’s never really known how to bond with new people because she hardly ever purposely tries to talk to them, and now seems like a good time to break out of her bubble a little, but she’s afraid of the pending rejection from the lot.

They all seem really nice, yet her brain craved the worst of people so she doesn’t have to get hurt later on.

Looking around at everyone else that was outside of this little circle, it was hard not to notice Damien and Wren at the center of everyone else’s attention, doing whatever the hell it is that they’re doing. When Wren had turned her head slightly and made eye contact with Calista, she smirked in her usual cynical manner, which Calista just scoffed at, turning back around to the group with her.

When turning back around, she made direct eye contact with Harry, who was listening to whatever Niall was talking about, yet didn’t seem like he was paying attention as he kept his attention on Calista. She felt her cheeks heat up and most likely redden under his gaze before she broke the contact and looked to her hands.

Getting up from her spot abruptly, she announced she was getting any kind of drink that was over in the coolers, offering to anyone who wanted but they all declined. Though when she walked over to the red and blue coolers, one labeled water and the other labeled alcohol, she felt a presence following her.

And then Harry stood next to her, sans guitar now.

“Still adjusting?” He asked, reaching into the water cooler and pulling out a fresh and cool bottle, one for him and one for her since he saw her reaching for one.

Cal nodded, softly laughing at the question. “That’s an understatement.”

There was a sudden silence over them, neither of them talking for a brief moment but listening to the chatter of everyone else, or the crackle of the bonfire, or the hum of music that was floating into the night sky. When she finally gained the courage to look up and meet his eyes, she saw him already looking at her, entranced by her shy personality yet strong attitude. “I didn’t know until I was seventeen. M’mum kept it from me. Said it was for my own good or summat, but I was pissed. Felt like m’whole life was a lie. Gets easier though, trust me.”

She was taken aback at the sudden confession, her lips parting slightly as she looked at him with slight confusion. Out of everything that could’ve come out of his mouth, she really wasn’t expecting that, because it also felt like he somehow knew what was going on inside of her mind.

“How long till it starts getting easier?” she questions, taking a sip of her water, appreciating it’s cool texture sliding down her throat.

He nods, sitting down on a chair that was outside of the little group from before, an open seat next to him that she’s meant to sit on. “We all handle shit differently so m’not sure, but sometimes even now I have to take a step back and think about everything and I’ve been here for six years.”

Before Calista has a chance to ask him something else, a different voice butts in. The look on Harry’s face as he saw who was approaching them only solidified that she knew who it was.

“Aw, have we got a pair of little lovebirds already?”

Calista didn’t bother to look to her right as Wren stood tall and proud, looming over the two of them like a cloud, ready to rain down on them. The fire lit up her face in such a way that looking up at her made her seem nearly demonic, and if she wasn’t already in a bad mood, she would’ve laughed at the irony.

A faux smile stretched across her thin lips as she stood with her arms crossed, drink in her hand as she looked between the demigods. “Can’t even let the poor girl settle in for a day before you’re trying to jump her bones.”

“Fuck right off, Wren,” Harry sneered back, getting up from his seat to tower over the shorter girl.

This is when Damien decided to step up, placing himself between his girlfriend and his enemy, glaring at Harry with his dark eyes, jaw clenched so hard his teeth were probably close to shattering. Calista was a little nervous as the air around them grew tense, though luckily it didn’t seem like anyone else was paying attention to this little quarrel. Harry didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by the beefcake in front of him, an indifferent facial expression locked on his features.

“What?” Harry asks, tilting his head slightly, “She’s just jealous m’not talking to her.”

Damien goes to shove Harry instantly, but just as fast, Harry deflects his aggression and instead is able to push Damien back, causing him to trip over the leg of a chair behind him. Calista rolls her lips together to avoid bursting out into a fit of laughter, completely in awe of how Harry turned the situation around.

Guess Trinity and Niall were right when they said Damien sucks ass.

Wren didn’t even seem surprised at the turn of events. “Jealous? Oh, please, don’t think so highly of yourself.”

Calista looked over to Trin and saw how she was standing up, looking curious as to what was going on with the four. They made eye contact and spoke without any words, both of them concluding they had no idea what was going on.

“I just came over to wish her luck in Leaderships. Hope she doesn’t get herself killed and all that,” she conceded, her hands coming up in defense. Though, her confession wielded a taunting undertone that was clear as day to Calista, because all her life she’s dealt with people and their fake spouts of truth just so they seemed like the good guys.

This urged Calista to scoff, “Bullshit.”

Wren’s head snapped towards the new girl, eyes squinting a little as she skimmed over her sitting stature. “Excuse me?”

Throughout the course of this whole day, Calista had been wary about her place here, and whether or not she wanted to stick around or call it a day and go back to her normal. The idea of these Leaderships was practically nauseating to think about, and she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to take part in them. But hearing this girl talk about them, pushes her to stay and just kick her ass into next year. She’s not all that confident that she’ll be able to do so, but like Mr. Cirillo said, the determination will push her through.

“What’re you wishing me luck for? Wishing me luck insinuates me coming out on top, and we all know you want to keep your status, so I call bullshit,” she shrugs in response, unscrewing the cap to her bottle and taking another sip. From the distance, Calista could hear Trin cheer her on.

“Thanks though. Although, I think he,” she points to Damien who is only just now getting up from the floor, “needs your luck more than I do.” Wren stared in shock and anger, fists clenching and unclenching as her one eye twitched before she eventually huffed and stormed off, leaving Damien to catch up to her.

Calista waved goodbye, letting out a breath of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. There’s something about Wren that brings out this confidence in her, that if she wasn’t such a bitch, she’d want to thank her. Again, aside from that one girl’s nose she broke, she never really stood up for herself or for others.

So, maybe this whole Greek life was actually going to do some good for her in the end.

❊ ❊

Another night, another extremely restful sleep.

Though, another day, another rendition of unwarranted anxiety.

Sleeping through one more night, Calista had come to the decision that she was going to stay. After everything that had happened with Wren at the bonfire, the night went a lot more peaceful, and Cal understood what Trinity meant when she said the bonfire was going to help.

Getting to know these people and hearing all of these stories of their arrival into this life, and the stories since they’ve been here, helped ease a lot of the tension stirring around in her brain. It sparked an interest to make her own memories and the hope that maybe these people aren’t so bad like her thoughts are trying to make her believe.

After she had woken up, Calista headed to Mr. Cirillo’s office again to announce the news, stating that she’ll regret leaving more than staying and hating it.

Plus, how bad could it actually be?

Well, the answer to that is actually pretty bad.

Not exactly in a bad way, but she never would’ve expected all the exhausting effort she was going to have to put in.

After her second talk with Mr. Cirillo, Calista was ushered to the main hall where everyone was gathering for the official announcement of the Leaderships. Walking into the room, she could see these charts full of names, and at a quick glance she saw Wren’s name in the very first spot on the female side, and Harry’s on the male. It wasn’t much of a shock to see her own name all the way at the bottom considering she’s new and all, but it made her all the more hell-bent on sliding up to the top.

Everyone seemed eager to get back into the work of things, all of them super hyped that they were back. Being here was mostly a summer occurrence, so because they weren’t here all year round, to everyone it was super exciting to be back with the people they care for, doing the things they love.

All of the elders stood at the front of the room, going over the discourse about this threat of maybe an inside source. Everyone seems slightly peeved at the fact they don’t know who the rat is, looking around warily at one another. Some even had the audacity to look at Calista with disdain, as if her being the traitor makes any sense at all considering she just found out about this place two days ago.

When it was all over, Cal was whisked away by Trin, accompanied by Niall of course, as they took her outside and to some secluded part of the forest that expanded into an open area, away from everyone else. The sun gleamed through the leaves of the trees surrounding them, coating them in a golden mask of fresh air. There’s also a little pond just a little down further, which Niall says helps him out when he’s out here for various hours, day after day.

There were targets lined up against trees that had been chipped away from what she can assume was constant arrows being stuck inside of it. There were a few racks of different weaponry that stood tall beside the targets that were covered under a tarp to keep them out of harm's way of the weather.

The nerves were itching up Calista’s spine as she looked at the daunting swords and bow and arrows, and other types of metal she had no idea what to call. “I don’t even think I’ll be able to hold anything without dropping it like an idiot,” she grimaces, a wry smile on her face as she traces the intricate design etched into the handle of the first sword.

“It takes some getting used to, but you’ll get the hang of it,” Niall comforted, walking over to one of the vacant benches and tying up the laces to his shoes that had come undone. “Plus you’ve got the best of the best on y’side, it’ll be like a piece of cake.”

Calista scrunches her eyebrows in disagreement, a mental image of her cutting off her arm or even her head coming to mind as the sharp edges of the swords and knives glimmer in the sunlight. The least threatening of the various weapons was the bo staff that stood perched against the wood rack, its blunt ends that weren’t met in metal seeming to be the easiest to handle. Though, the spear that sat beside it caught her eye too, as she thought of her mother, and how the spear is known to be her weapon of choice, accompanied by a golden shield.

Off in the distance was the sound of someone walking towards them, the sounds of the pavement crushing beneath their shoes. All three of them turned to the sound coming from the side, and were greeted by Harry’s face as he whistled his way into their line of vision.

His black t-shirt was rolled at the sleeves and a red bandanna was snugly tucked into his hair as it pushed back the few curls that tended to fall onto his forehead. His tan skin glowed as his tattoos sat contrast on his arms. Calista was envious of how he looked so good doing absolutely nothing, and if she didn’t have any better self-control, she’d probably be drooling right now.

“G’morning,” he smiles at them, hands on his hips as he stops in front of the three. But, he then turns his attention undividedly onto Calista, a little glimmer of amusement sparking across his eyes as he asks, “Ready for some fun?”

“I highly doubt it’s gonna be fun,” she drones back, bending over to wrap her hair up into the best bun she could manage.

When she stood back up tall, doing a few final adjustments to her hair, she realized Trin and Niall were walking back in the original direction they had come from, leaving behind her and Harry. She was beyond confused, calling out to them and wondering where they were off to, only to receive back a curt response of, “Harry works better alone, so we’re gonna head back,” and then they were gone.

Now, Calista doesn’t know Harry all that well, and now she’s scared he’s here to murder her, deep in the woods where no one would be able to hear her scream. He’s got plenty of methods to do so right beside them, and she’d be lying if she said her heart rate didn’t pick up a little bit. And she’s a little confused as to why she wasn’t told this in the first place.

“Are you wondering if I’m going to murder you?”

Calista pursed her lips, shaking her head slowly, “Pfft, what? No.”

“I don’t usually work with anyone. I like to stay in my own headspace away from everyone so I can stay focused,” he elaborated to their friend’s previous statement before they walked away completely.

“So… why’re you here with me then?” She retorts, arms crossing over her chest in more of a nervous manner than a confident one. The small thought that he wanted to be there because of her crossed her mind briefly, but a louder, more dominant notion danced all over that, screaming in her face that no one would ever do anything just to be near her. Especially not him.

He cocks his head to the side, eyes squinting slightly as he analyzes the features of her face, his own arms crossing together as a smirk worms up the side of his face. Calista felt small under his gaze, fearing he was reading her thoughts like an open book like he did the night before.

Little did she know, he is there for her. He’s so infatuated with the thought of getting to know the ins and outs of her, needing to know what exactly makes her, her. It boggles his mind how she seems so reserved, keeping to herself as she fights the thoughts running around her head, yet can turn around and become a strong willed woman the moment someone like Wren comes storming around.

Harry likes to train by himself, finding it easier to concentrate and better himself when he doesn’t have eyes watching him and analyzing every one of his moves. Plus, he likes the thrill of surprising everyone when he learns a few new tricks to tuck up his sleeves when Duels come around. But, he’s willing to work with Calista, to bend a few of his rules if it means she’ll break down a few of her walls.

“There’s a first for everything, Darling.”

#yayayay hope you enjoyed ;)#mythology series #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles x ofc #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles soft #harry fanfiction #1d fanfiction #1d fanfic #one direction fanfiction #harry styles

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frustratedpoetwrites · 3 years

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Sins of the Fathers Update

This is a story set at the same time as Teddy Lupin starts Hogwarts, and the mystery of a muggleborn girl he meets on the train.

I will be updating this story Monthly.

Chapter One: Hogwarts

Chapter Two: Portraits and Memories

Chapter three: Dear Mr. Potter

Chapter Three. Dear Mr. Potter

Harry sat at the kitchen table of his home surrounded by his family. Lily was sitting in her high chair happily working on some buttered toast, Albus was stirring his porridge in imitation of his father who was doing the same without paying much attention to it. His focus was on a field-report that had been hand-delivered to his home early this morning. James kept taking sideways glances at his mother then looking down sheepishly spooning enormous mouthfuls into himself. Ginny was sitting between her two boys, this morning's daily profit in front of her, a slight thinning of her mouth whenever she glanced at her oldest son, the only indication she was still mad at him.

If anyone had seen this family only ten minutes earlier it would have been a completely different scene. Sparing a thought for his wife he glanced at the ceiling and spotted a rather stubborn blob of porridge still stuck there. He casually took out his wand from his inside pocket and vanished the offending blob. Ginny pretended not to notice although she had looked at him as he’d taken his wand out. He rolled up the scroll and placed it with the others in the bag at his feet, then tried to enjoy his porridge. He was stopped from eating more than a few mouthfuls by the post bell ringing.

They had been forced to install a drop-off point for owls due to the volume of mail they received, although they had few neighbours, it was always best to be cautious. It was kind of like a letterbox for owls on their roof, along with a small roost for owls to take a rest if they needed it. He gathered up the stack of letters from the collection point in their shared office and brought them back into the kitchen. He put them on the table and started sorting them into his and hers. “Oh look, daddy,” James exclaimed pointing to one of the letters. “That one has a sticker with a face on it, but it’s not moving.” He looked curiously at his parents. Harry leaned over and picked it up. The letter had a Muggle stamp in the corner and was addressed simply to Mr. Harry Potter in a very neat script. His curiosity peaked, he opened this one first. Ginny tsked at him slightly for opening it without doing any safety checks first, but he knew that any jinxed letter would not get through the charms he had placed upon the owl shoot. When he finished reading it he handed it to her without speaking.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter

I hope you and your family are well. My name is Camilla Winters and I met your godson, Teddy on the train to Hogwarts. He was very kind to me and we are friends now, but I’m very worried about him as he keeps searching the castle for a portrait of his mother.

I feel terrible as it’s my fault this happened, I gave him a message from a portrait of a woman with pink hair that looked like him. She told me she had promised not to distract him from his lessons and that’s why she is hiding now I think. I wish I hadn’t told him the message as he has been so sad and distracted ever since. Please don’t let him know it was me that told you, when I suggested asking a teacher where her portrait was he got a little angry with me and told me to drop it.

I hope this gets to you. I’ve never used an owl before I added a stamp just in case. A fourth-year assured me all I needed was a name, but I didn’t tell her who I was sending it to. Teddy says you understand him because you lost your parents too. If you could let me know what I should do, I would be very grateful as I am worried the teachers are going to start noticing he’s not concentrating.

Camilla

“I thought it odd we hadn’t heard from him yet.” She mused, “just thought he was too busy having fun. This Camilla sounds like she has her head on right.” She looked at her husband knowing exactly what he was thinking about doing. “You can’t just go march up there and snap him out of it. Even if you could find an excuse to get into the school. You don’t even know what house he’s in love.” He turned to her as if to argue then thought better of it.

“I wasn’t going to go to the school.” He lied, she gave him a disbelieving snort in response. “Ok maybe I thought about it but you're right it’s not the way to go.” He noticed two out of their three children were no longer interested in breakfast. Albus was sliding a finger through the dollops that had escaped his bowl, and James was screwing his eyes up tight like when Teddy changed his appearance, then looking at his reflection in his spoon. “I’ll speak to Neville, I would have thought he would already have this sorted. I spoke to him before term started thinking this might be a problem.”

“Neville can only do so much, especially if Teddy isn’t in his house. He has to let that teacher sort it out.” She lifted lily out of her high chair and placed her on the floor next to her building blocks. “I’m seeing Andromeda today. I'll ask if Teddy has mentioned this to her.” She cleared the table and cleaned it with a couple of swift flicks of her wand. Albus looked up slightly disappointed that his drawing material had vanished. “Mum’s coming to take the boys for the day, and Lily needs shoes now she’s walking.” She reminded him, he hadn’t forgotten, but she liked reminding him and he nodded and gave both the boys a kiss on the head and a murmur to behave as he walked back into their study, taking the pile of his letters with him.

The room was spacious for a study, big enough to comfortably fit two desks and a studded leather sofa and still not feel cluttered. Apart from his desk, that always looked cluttered.

“Sirius.” He said to the portrait of his godfather that hung on the wall while placing Ginny’s post on her tidy desk. The image of Sirius used to make the picture had been taken the day of Harry’s parents wedding, before Azkaban had drained him of his vitality, handsome and often smiling with long black hair. He appeared to be at his ease, lounging in an armchair one leg hooked over the side, eyes half closed, but at the sound of his name he sat up straight and alert . “Can you go to Hogwarts and tell Professor Longbottom I would like to speak to him if he is free for lunch. I will most likely be at my work before you return. I will make sure I can speak to you there.”

“My pleasure to help,” he said and walked to the edge of his frame and disappeared. The couple in the other picture just smiled serenely down at him while he rummaged around in his desk. Ginny walked in with Lily on her hip while he was still searching.

“That’s the boys at mums.” She glanced at the empty frame but said nothing about it. “Are you working from home today?” He shook his head, continuing to search. “If you organised, and took the files you no longer need back to work, you might have a better chance of finding things.” She said it in a very patient tone like she had said it many times before, she turned to their daughter who was trying to stuff her fist in her mouth. “Is daddy a messy boy!” She said in a silly voice smiling and making a face, Lily giggled, brown eyes sparkling. Harry made a noise at his wife but knew she was right, he needed to find time to clear out his desk.

“If you are out as well today then I won’t be home for lunch. I will do my best to be home for dinner.” Finding what he was looking for he slipped it into his pocket, then came over and blew a few raspberries on his daughters neck and planted a few kisses on her cheek, she giggled even more slapping a hand against his cheek. He turned and gave his wife a kiss wrapping an arm around her briefly whispering “love you” into her neck, before grabbing his bag and walking to the door and apparating to work.

When Harry arrived at the atrium he kept his eyes forward deliberately not paying attention to anyone else who might try to catch his eye. He did it without even thinking about it anymore.

“Morning boss.” The young Auror who had been standing leaning against the memorial fountain looking completely at ease, joined in step with him as he made his way towards the lifts. The brisk pace did nothing to stop his swagger.

“Morning Caldwell.” He acknowledged his companion. Now that he was with company he started scanning the various wizards moving about the atrium. The busy morning rush had now passed and there were only a few stragglers like himself. Owen Caldwell might act like a bit of an arrogant sod but he was a very good guard dog, and a very good Auror, he had taken very well to the lesson that confidence breeds confidence. Harry was much less likely to be intercepted on his way into the office when he was seen talking to someone else. He used to take the time to speak to people when he came into work until he realised it was taking him longer and longer to actually get to his desk. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, the problem was that people would want him to deal with every issue the ministry dealt with, regardless of who they were supposed to report to. He had never asked them to do it but one morning he started being met by someone from headquarters in the atrium, and all of a sudden he got to his desk before noon. “Has anyone at Bodmin made it in for the scheduled update yet?” The easy smile on Owens’s face faulted for a moment as he replied.

“Not yet boss no, and it’s getting pretty close to the deadline. Maybe we should send someone to check?” He meant himself, rumours were he was getting quite close to one of the agents currently out on mission. Harry knew how reckless people could become when they are trying to save those they love. He was a prime example of that, he shook his head.

“The reason why we have 24 hours to check in is because, as you very well know, you can’t always just pop back here and say hi.” There were a few people standing waiting when they got to the lifts so they ended the conversation. He recognised one as his brother in law Percy who looked to be deep in discussions with a witch he didn’t know. They nodded to each other in greeting but Percy didn’t stop to talk to him or slow down his conversation. Harry tried not to listen, knowing Percy it would be about something very important to him, and incredibly dull to anyone else. When they stepped into the lift Harry noticed there were already a handful of memos flying in lazy circles above his head. One of them dropped down and started to gently bump him on the side of the head. Taking the memo he put it in his pocket without reading. He knew who it would be from, no one else’s memos came to him directly.

The Auror office was the usual bustling place, memos zoomed about like they were supercharged a few Aurors stood chatting over the top of their cubicles. Nobody took much notice of him walking in. He would say there were still a lot more of his staff who were older than him, but his youth had never been a problem, there were far fewer now that were more experienced than him. The problem had been filling the spaces left by the devastation after the war, not everyone was suited to being an Auror, even those that thought they wanted it didn’t always after a few harsh reality checks. And Harry refused to let anyone qualify that wasn’t up to standard, even before he was made head of the department, standards had been improved when he was placed in charge of selection and training. Finally the Auror office was back to the strength it had been before Voldermort’s resurrection, still not at full strength in his eyes but the foundations were strong.

“Get everyone who’s working on the Bodmin case in the conference room in fifteen minutes. I have to take care of a few things first. I'll meet you there.” Owen wandered off then with a loud “you got it boss” Harry, his mind already back on Teddy didn’t respond. When Harry entered his office he was pleased nobody was waiting for him, he took the small picture frame he had been searching for in his desk at home and placed it on his desk, along with the memo he had nearly forgotten about. Sighing, he opened it.

Harry

Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you are avoiding me! I really need to speak to you about Kreacher. It's very important and I’m not going to take no or silence for an answer. If I have to I will bring it up out of work but neither of us want that as it’s a delicate matter. It’s nothing to worry about either.

Hermione

He ran a hand through his hair and decided that although Hermione wasn’t a high priority he couldn’t keep putting her off, he had a rough idea what it was about. He was about to reply to her when Sirius’ face turned up in the frame.

“Professor Longbottom says he will be at the three broomsticks for lunch today and he is going to bring Professor Mcallister along too.”

“Did he say why he’s bringing him?” Harry didn’t really know the charms Professor, he had only met him the handful of times he and Ginny had gone to the annual memorial service. Then he answered his own question “He is head of Teddy’s house isn’t he?” Harry shook his head and knew he wasn’t going to get anymore from the painting. He looked back down at the memo from Hermione and decided now would be as good a time as any to go see his boss.

Her office wasn’t that far away from his. Magical law enforcement was a big department and they pretty much had this entire floor. He knew the Bodmin meeting would be waiting for him soon, but he also hoped that it would give him an excuse to get away from Hermione if he needed one.

She was standing outside her office when he arrived talking with her assistant. He was pleased he wouldn’t have to argue about making appointments with the assistant once again. That reminded Harry he needed to do something about finding a temp replacement for his own assistant, who had gone on maternity.

Hermione smiled at him when she saw him approach. “Well I’m glad my last memo finally did the trick, come and take a seat.”

“Will this take long? Only I have a mission briefing starting in about…”

“It’s alright this won't take long your department can manage without you for a moment. She lifted a scroll from a pigeon hole behind her and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, feeling the weight of it.

“Read it and see”

“I’d rather you gave me the abbreviated highlights,” he complained, opening it and sitting down, the scroll unfurled and rolled along the ground stopping only when it bumped against Hermione’s desk.

“It’s Kreacher’s will.” She explained sitting down herself with another stack of papers.

“He made a will?” Harry was surprised, Kreacher hadn’t had a great deal of possessions; those he did had been mainly forced on him by Harry and the kids giving him presents every christmas. He had received the letter about a month earlier telling him the ancient Elf had finally passed away peacefully. The truth was Harry had no idea how long Elves normally lived, he knew Dobby was still fit and well and living at Hogwarts, Harry made sure to send him socks every year. “Anything he left us can be sent to the house ill make arrangements from there,”

“It’s not as simple as that,” she went on quickly realising that he was about to leave. “Kreacher made some arrangements in his will for his Legacy care to be passed on.”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at her, “Meaning?”

“You are getting a new house elf.”

“What?”

“It will take some time. The elves themselves sort this kind of thing out. Kreacher was part of a quite expansive family line, but all are already with households as far as I’ve been informed.”

“I thought it was one of your missions to stop elf slavery, and them being treated like property.”

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It is something I am still working on, and things have improved greatly, but the elves themselves are very proud of their service and you can’t change their minds over centuries of traditions overnight. Elves are in a better position than they were, they have recognised rights to fair treatment, holidays and living conditions, they are allowed to report their family of any wrongdoing within it without punishment. A basic right to me but scandalous to nearly all the elves i have spoken to about this. But anyway I digress. Expect yourself to have an elf living in your home very soon.

“I’m not sure how Ginny is going to take that.”

“Better you tell her quick before one turns up”

“Anything else?” He rolled up the scroll as he stood up to go.

“No, I think that’s everything. I'll see you at dinner on Sunday?”

“Barring a catastrophe, we’ll be there.”

Very little had changed in hogsmeade over the years since Harry was at school. It had survived relatively uncathed from the devastation during the battle of Hogwarts. The small village was sunlight when Harry apparated at the small square with it’s equally discreet memorial stone. Harry paused a moment and refreshed the wreath of snow white Lilies that was laid against it.

It was not a long walk over to the three broomsticks but still Harry was greeted by a few people as he made his way along the cobbled street. None of them looked familiar to him so he didn’t stop, just nodded his head politely and moved on.

Harry spotted his old friend immediately as he entered the cosy pub. He was sitting at a table away from the bar with the enormous frame of Professor Mcallister. They both stood to greet him as he approached. Neville and Harry shoulder bumped as they shook hands and slapped each other on the back in a very well practiced way. When Harry offered his hand to the other man it was enveloped by two large and surprisingly powerful hands. “Nice to see you again professor.” Harry greeted.

“Bartemius, please call me Bartemius.” They all sat down and Madame Rosemerta came over to take their food order bringing Harry a butterbeer without having to be told, she squeezed his shoulder as she left. “So I take it you are here to talk about Ted Lupin?” Mcallister began without prompting. “I was hoping this would be sorted without you having to be told.”

“His friend wrote to me. Camilla?” Mcallister smiled as Harry fished the letter from his pocket.

“Ah yes she’s a bright young witch. So sad about her own past, I had a feeling they would be drawn to each other, especially as they have been sorted into the same house. I do wish she had come to me, but now I see the reason why she hasn’t.” Neville took the letter once Mcallister had finished with it and scanned it quickly. “The portraits of Dora and Remus Lupin are in locations that Teddy doesn’t have access to. We were prepared to move Professor Lupin's portrait if he had been sorted into Gryffindor.” Mcallister added in a tone that said he thought it was highly doubtful. “All the portraits of those who died in the war hold very little of the true selves, although I think some of the students have been teaching them their history. I am surprised to read that the portrait felt strongly enough to send him a message.”

“The photograph used by the artist was the one taken with Teddy in her arms, the maternal bond must have been transferred through.” Harry explained, he had become quite knowledgeable on this subject over the years. Neville leaned back in his chair taking a long dink from his cup.

“The students teach them all sorts of things.” He said with a slight smirk, then continued more seriously “It’s always a disappointment to find out it’s not truly them. Professor Lupin’s picture knows loads about defensive spells and the correct way to deal with various dangerous creatures, but ask him about his wedding, or his friendships in school and the answers dry up.”

“Probably for the best he doesn’t know much about the marauders, from what I’ve heard of them they were quite a handful” Mcallister chuckled then seemed to realise whos company he was in, “No offence Harry.”

“None taken I assure you.” Harry knew all too well that disappointment. He had thought, like so many others did, that all portraits were as true a representation of their living selves as the old headmasters portraits were. It had only been when he had been fighting to get Severus Snape’s portrait hung as a rightful former headmaster, that he had found the truth, that it took years of the former headmasters teaching their hidden image everything they could, as Severus had only been headmaster a year he had not had the time to impart much of his knowledge. The more the artist drawing the picture knew of the model also helped. Harry squashed down his mild irritation at the memory.

“My godson is stubborn, and keeping him from these pictures is not going to make him any less determined.” He thought for a moment. “Could you move them to a place he does have access to, so he can speak with them privately?” He looked at their faces and they nodded. “I doubt it will take more than a couple of hours this weekend for him to realise that it’s not truly them, but if it does take him longer we can tell him he can only visit that room at the weekends, and keep it locked the rest of the time?”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult to do. Dora's picture is currently in the staff room. Remus’ in the Gryffindor common room. Some students might comment on its removal but pictures wander all the time and we could just put a blank canvas. The last few years have had smaller intakes, this is the smallest group in my time at the school.”

“There will probably be an upswing next year,” Harry added with a smirk taking a swig of the beer he then asked. “So what have the students been teaching the pictures?”

#teddy lupin #hinny #married with kids hinny #auror potter #not a romance story #hogwarts mystery #original female character #mysterious past #tj writes #teddy school days

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