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kosmosian-quills · 3 years ago

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Torn Apart

Returning briefly from my hiatus to deliver a short little thing set in @cirianne’s Street Magic Universe! Featuring Charlie making a decision a little too easily.

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Charlie

Tuesdays are normally a quiet day at the office.

With no major Council briefings to attend to, my duty was to attend to the many jobs that my role as the Spokesman for Interior Affairs depended on me for. Speaking with Commanders, scientists, wardens of academies. All people who report to me on findings, of which I then report to the Council itself. And considering the epidemic that magic is on our society, it’s an important job to be sure.

But I really have only one job today.

At 9am sharp, I stroll past my secretary - a brown-haired beauty named Stephanie or something - and into my waiting office. As opulent and spacious as it is, today it feels claustrophobic and sterile. It feels not like the place I am particularly comfortable working in. There is something I need to do before I -

Buzzzzz!

I sigh, shoving my briefcase to the floor and pressing the button on my intercom. “Yes?”

“Councilwoman Pryce to see you, sir,” Stephanie tells me through the metallic haze of noise.

I fight to keep the groan from being audible as I respond. “Send her in.”

I don’t have any time to look more presentable than I already am, and simply find myself stood behind my desk waiting for the Councilwoman to come in. My desk feels filthy today, and I haven’t even started yet.

The door clicks open, and in steps one of the few women democratically elected into the Council - Councilwoman Jillian Pryce.

Pryce is a middle aged woman, newly elected onto the Council and very by the books about pretty much anything. I suppose technically, she is one of the newer Council members, but she has held this job for a few years. She is newly appointed as Speaker for the Council. I truly doubt fun was ever a word in her vocabulary, and I pity her husband - if she has one. Her hair tied up into a tight bun on the back of her head, her arms folded in that dull grey suit of hers. She’s wearing a brooch on the top button of her blouse where a tie would be. The heels of her shoes click loudly on the wooden floor of my office, and I just know I’m in for some kind of stern reprimand from my own colleague here.

I force my lips into the charming smile that I know I am famous for. “Jill, what a pleasant surprise. Sorry I’m not too presentable this morning, but I just arrived and haven’t had my coffee yet,” I reach forward to the intercom again, “Stephanie, will you get me and Jill some coffee?”

“Tea will do, thank you Councilman Atwood,” she replies, standing right in front of my desk, her stare hardening as she enunciates my title.

“Tea, then,” I repeat, “for the Councilwoman.”

“Yes, sir.”

I release the button and stand tall, watching as her stare never falters from my direct eye contact.

“Councilman Atwood, we have a problem,” she states.

“Do we?”

“Yes, we do. Don’t try and pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. This needs to be sorted today.”

“Which problem of mine are you referring to, Councilwoman Pryce?” I ask, taking a seat at my desk and pointedly ignoring the stares on my desk. “I thought I was quite clear in my report that I am disavowing that girl completely.”

She shakes her head at me, her voice stern and even, like a schoolteacher reprimanding a disruptive child. “That is not good enough and we both know it. You can shrug this off as much as you want, but the fact is that the public will hear about this and they will want to see your response to the situation. They see everything.”

“I have made my position regarding her -”

She raises a hand up from her folded arms, and silences me. “No, you have not. Actions speak louder than words Councilman. The situation with your daughter is one that requires you to set an example to the country, and the way I see it, you have two options.”

The mention of my daughter makes me cast a glance at the photograph on my desk, the one that has been staring at me. I reach over and slam it face down onto the desk, getting those once innocent green eyes off my back.

Pryce holds up her index finger as she continues.

“One. You can behave loving and caring with her, you can use her to show off how nice mages can be with the right education in our academies. With the right amount of love and devotion to the government, she can be used to set an impression on the families who have children with magic also. Set them at ease a little, to know that their children are in good hands, and they are valuable to us.”

“Councilwoman Pryce, I cannot make such a u-turn on my very public beliefs regarding magic.” I interrupt her idealistic little speech, and she returns her hand to its previously folded position, “as you said yourself, the public see everything, and for them to see me turn around so quickly when they hear that she was my daughter? They will smell a rat, and I lose my hard line voters. That is unacceptable to me.”

“I thought you might say that.” She shrugs. “The second option is to stick to your line of evil mutants and cut her out of your life completely. No do overs, no second chances. She is out of your life, publicly, and you set the example that you aren’t letting family get in the way of your devotion to your country.”

The door opens and Stephanie comes in holding a tray. My promised coffee, and Pryce’s requested tea, freshly brewing in a ceramic pot, little containers of sugar, milk and creamers clattering on the tray. She doesn’t say a word as she sets it on the desk, places my coffee mug in front of me, and pours out the tea into the little teacup.

“Black, one sugar, please,” Pryce says aside to Stephanie, who diligently made the drink as it was requested. “Option one has the risk of Lilly… shall we say, going Rivera which I honestly don’t consider likely. If you keep her in the public eye with love and support, I highly doubt she would do something like that.”

Going Rivera. Oh please, I highly doubt that the girl would go as far as to even be compared to Rivera. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Besides, Rivera was a known terrorist who killed before she was taken to an academy to be dealt with. God, how many years ago was that now? When I had first dealt with her myself, Lilly must have still been a toddler.

Once Pryce’s tea is made, Stephanie takes her leave, hurrying out of the door and leaving us to have our meeting once more.

“Option two has the risk of you losing sympathies among the more family oriented voters - which I do not blame them for - but the hard line voters will be content with your actions. You’d have to do something to try and earn back the family voters, and given the situation it would have to be something big. But there can be no in between, Councilman Atwood.”

I pick up my mug of coffee and take a long sip, hoping for the caffeine to hit me quickly so that I can get Pryce out of my office to deal with this my way.

“I either use her as a prop, or hard cut her out of my life. I understand, Councilwoman Pryce,” I place the coffee down on my desk again, and I finally take my seat. “It’s not like this can be hidden anyway.”

“Which is why you need to deal with this today. Completely. I understand it’s a hard choice for a father to make, but -”

“I already gave you my answer, Councilwoman,” I lean forwards on my desk, “she is forever out of my life.”

Her face remains stoic, not flinching as I said that to her. “I had a feeling you’d go with that option. I would have preferred option one, but you have made your choice. Now you need to do something about it.”

She turns about, and makes her way to the door. I notice the steaming cup of tea is still there, untouched, on my desk.

“Jill, your tea -!”

“Can’t stop for tea, I’m afraid.” She doesn’t even turn to face me as she opens the door, “I have a lot to do today, Councilman, as do you.”

The sound of Pryce’s footsteps clacking down the corridor, slowly getting quieter as she gets further away, leaving me alone in my office with a tea I won’t drink.

Well. She isn’t wrong. I have a lot to do today, and I suppose now is the best time to start.

I grab a hold of the photo frame beside my computer, the one I faced down before, and I look at it properly.

It’s a family photo, taken just barely a month ago. It features three children smiling and laughing up at the camera. Two boys and a girl. All three of them green-eyed, the elder two with blond hair. The younger boy was brown-haired, curly and small. The older girl and boy with wide grins as the boy lifted up their younger brother.

Lilly, Peter, Max.

I open up the back of the frame and remove the picture, carefully tearing through the thick photo paper, right through so that the girl is totally separated from the boys.

I look over the new picture, my two sons having fun there. I place that just underneath the monitor, sticking it there with a tiny piece of tape. I carefully place the frame in one of the drawers by my side.

Without looking, I crumple up the other half of the photo and throw it into the waste bin beside me.

#my writing #my oc's #other people's oc's #other people's wips #friends tag #cirianne #Street Magic Spinoff #POV: Charlie

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years ago

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Mess After Mess

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1,944

Rating: E for Everyone

Plot: Severus is forced to restock almost all his potions ingredients at once all because of two clumsy students who never learn their lesson.

Warnings: None

A/N: For Snape Appreciation Month, prompt 7: Snape and Potions. @snapeloveposts

Posted: 6/16/20

Masterlist

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“YOU INSOLENT CHILDREN! Look what you’ve done!” Severus stepped over the broken glass and spilled powders and liquids. “This is why wands are NOT ALLOWED in my potions classrooms! Clean this mess up at once. WITHOUT MAGIC.”

The two second years nodded and ran out of the classroom for brooms and mops. Severus took out his wand and put out the small fire starting in the student stores. All of the middle shelves were broken in half and only half the bottom shelf jars survived the flaming sparks.

It would take an entire afternoon at the apothecary alone to replace everything that had broken, although he wasn’t sure how soon he could replace the ingredients that had been fermenting since before he was born.

He shook his head and hung it low, cursing himself for thinking these children could be trusted alone for even a minute. He stormed out of the potions classroom, growling at the children running back in with dustpans in hand, and stepped into his office.

He closed the door and fell onto it, ripping his cravat from his neck and unbuttoning the top buttons to breath better. Why couldn’t people be more MINDFUL of things? He had yelled about using magic in the classrooms countless times and yet he constantly caught students messing about with it.

“It’s like these wizards can’t spend five SECONDS without casting a spell of some sort.”

He threw his cravat onto a chair and sat at his desk, opening a drawer and taking out the list for the student stores. The middle shelves had half the materials alone… If he was their Head of House they would be neck deep in detentions but he knew what the others would say… ‘Just children’. More like obnoxious brats.

. . .

“Headmaster. I will be gone for the weekend and will be back Sunday night,” Severus wound his scarf around his neck and turned to leave Dumbledore’s office.

“Heading down to Hogsmeade, Severus?”

Severus turned, fearing what the old fool would ask of him, “I… am – but only for one thing.”

Dumbledore looked up from his book and smiled, “Then perhaps, you wouldn’t mind me asking for a few things… not too many, I can assure you.”

He sighed, “Fine. Give me the list.”

. . .

Hogsmeade was loud during this time of year. The leaves crunched under his foot, the birds chirped above everyone’s heads, and the chatter from the passersby cluttered the air. Even the signs sung their creaks under the influence of the cold wind. Hogsmeade village was at its peak during these types of autumn days.

Dervish and Banges was a shop at the corner of two intersecting streets on the opposite side of the village. There were two doors in the front of the shop; the yellow was the entrance to the store, and the run-down one lead right up to the living quarters of the old man that ran it.

He knocked on the rundown door and waited for the heavy footsteps and creaking of the old man coming down the interior stairs.

He opened it and tipped his hat, “Ah, Mr. Snape. Your order – ”

“Thank you, Mr. Dervish,” Severus took out the bag of coins he had collected from Dumbledore and held it out, “Your payment.”

Mr. Dervish nodded and turned around, picking up a heavy box from behind the door and handed it to Severus, “Careful there – ”

“Thank you,” Severus poured the coins into the man’s hands and clutched the box tight as he walked down the street towards Hogsmeade Station.

The train arrived precisely on time, like it always had since the first time he rode it.

He boarded and picked an empty car, luckily having to share it with no one since wizards didn’t really travel from Hogsmeade to London all too much and certainly not so early in October. He opened up the Daily Prophet – he had held back on reading it that morning specifically for the trip – and scanned the headlines, hoping for anything good to read.

It was all the same type ridiculous journalism that had people fretting for their lives every other weekend. First the journalists claim that the Ministry was allowing dragon egg trading between trainers will cause minors to harbor illegal eggs for fame among their peers and burn houses down, and now that the Ministry has banned it again, they are risking the lives of wizards by making the illegal harboring of dragon eggs that much more appealing to minors, causing houses to burn down.

. . .

It was as dark as the Hogwarts dungeons outside when the train arrived at London. He picked up his box and hailed a cab for Leadenhall Market where the Leaky Caldron entrance to Diagon Alley was located. The ride took fifteen minutes but the ‘quick’ chat with Tom the innkeeper took almost twice.

Unfortunately for him, Dumbledore had sent a message to confirm his room reservation and explained the whole story to Tom, who had wanted to hear the story all over again from him this time.

“What do you want me to say. The students were senseless. Therefor did something careless. And then the results were disastrous!” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please,” he pushed the box into Tom’s arms, “take this to my room.”

Tom nodded and headed upstairs, finally freeing Severus from the social corner he had been forced into. He sat down at a stool and ordered the most expensive hot meal, Why not, if I’m not paying. After the meal he headed up and went to bed, knowing the next day would be incredibly long.

. . .

Severus unfurled the list of items he needed to buy from the apothecary and smoothed it out over his thigh. He could see the scrawled names better and reminded himself to stay on track and not let anything distract from the task at hand.

“Student stores ingredients only,” he whispered.

He opened the door and a gust of air rushed out of the cold shop. There were dozens of baskets stacked on tables with little cards for labels. All the jars were filled with powders and the barrels full of dried creature parts were all labeled as well.

He stepped in and started his way down the shop, looking at all the shelves and sticking his nose in every barrel. He opened a few jars and shifted the powders to check for any additives – none were found. This was his favorite store – or the only favorite one he didn’t have to be cautious to be found in – so he decided he’d take his time.

He lined up seven of the best-looking armadillo bile jars and inspected each one for the best color, holding them up to the light and checking each one against the rest. Next, he moved on to the Abyssinian Shrivelfig and picked out those with the longest stems. The bubotuber pus unfortunately required several whiffs that left him nauseous, but he recovered with the honeywater samples.

. . .

It took him from dawn to dusk to inspect and choose every last ingredient on the list. He made it out of the shop just before closing time and headed to his room, eager to get started. He spread out all the items on his bed and unboxed the jars. He rubbed his hands together, excited to start putting everything into place.

He took off his coat and quickly unbuttoned his clothes, shrugging everything off and slipped into his night shirt. The floor of his room wasn’t very dirty, so he brushed away some dust and knelt on the ground beside his bed.

He felt like it was Christmas already, having to unwrap all the ingredients from the brown paper and twine wrappings to organize it all in their glass jars. He cut some twine in half and put his hair up, not wanting it to get in his way.

He got to work putting everything where it was supposed to be. He stuck tape on all the jars and labeled everything with the contents and exact date he acquired it. All the jars were put back in the box, all but one. The newest find at the apothecary. The frozen glass frogs.

He had bought twenty of the little frogs and filled the jar up to the brim. He had been sending owls to the owner for years to stock it, and not just include it in the potions kits, and finally he had done just that. The one potion every student messes up every year he could now make them do again and again until they got it right.

. . .

The train ride back was long and uncomfortable but what made things worse is he had to go back into Hogsmeade for the items Dumbledore wanted. He took out the list and looked it over.

“Unbelievable,” he crumpled the list and headed into Honeydukes Sweetshop.

“Welcome, can I help you find anything?”

Severus turned to the woman at desk, “Yes. About… a pound… of Green Lime Jumpers.”

He stood by the counter as the woman took out a bag and filled it up, weighing it carefully and handing it over to him. He paid her and left, carrying the heavy box in one arm and the bag in the other. He delivered the bag to Dumbledore, refusing to stay and chat, and got to work restocking the student stores.

He set out all the glass jars on his desk and one by one they disappeared onto the labeled spots on the shelves – all except the jar of glass frogs, which he needed to place in his own stores cabinet later. He closed the door and locked it, hoping he wouldn’t have to go in to replace almost everything for another several years. He rolled his eyes and sat at his classroom desk, putting his head down for a second.

“Ah, Severus, thank you for the sweets.”

He looked up to see Dumbledore walking into the classroom with the two troublemakers behind him. He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I expect everything was able to be restocked,” Dumbledore looked over at the closet door with a large lock on it.

“Yes. This time,” he stared down the students.

“They feel very sorry about the whole thing,” Dumbledore smiled down at the students, “They didn’t mean to burn and break the shelves.”

Severus hummed in acknowledgment but rolled his eyes.

“Might I have the bag back? I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

He sighed and headed out of the classroom into his office quickly spotting the bag of coins he had been given before the trip and grabbed it. He closed his office door and walked down the corridor to his classroom. He opened the door and stood there, staring in.

All of the frozen glass frogs were jumping about the classroom in all directions trying to escape. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up and looking at Dumbledore. He had one of the tiny frogs stuck in his beard trying to jump away. One of the two students opened their mouth and spit out a tiny frog while the other dropped the clump of unfrozen frogs from their hand.

“I assumed you had bought a jar of Green Lime Jumpers for yourself.”

“Naturally. Headmaster,” Severus stepped back out and closed the door, shutting Dumbledore in with the mess he had created. “Out of sight, out of mind,” he headed to his office for a much-needed drink.

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#pro snape #snapeloveposts #severus snape #severus #snape #snapedom #snape appreciation month #snape appreciation month 2020 #snape one shot #one shot #snape fanfiction #snape fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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theluckyyyoneee · 5 years ago

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holiday magic

pairing: Baekhyun x reader

genre: fluff

word Count: 2.99k

not my gif^

“How can you hate Valentine’s Day?!”

Rolling your eyes, you slammed your locker shut with more force than necessary, gripping your textbooks tighter in your arms as you huffed out an annoyed sigh as you repeated to your best friend for the nth time.

“It’s not like I hate Valentines Day, okay? I just...” you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders as your unfortunate eyes were met by pink. A scowl adorned your lips as you eyed the paper hearts and the annual special event dance posters covering every available inch of the hallways. “I just don’t see the appeal.”

His expression conveyed adorable shock and confusion. “What do you mean you don’t see the appeal? It’s a day where you get handfuls and handfuls of free candy and gifts!” His face now expressed childlike wonderment, spreading his arms wide and his head tilted back in what you assumed was excitement or contentment.

Irritation surged through you at his words. “Yeah, maybe for you.” You scoffed, shaking your head as you recalled all the Valentine’s Day’s from years prior leading up to this upcoming one.

“Y/N, Y/N, look! Look at all the stuff I found in my locker!”

“I gave like half of my gifts away, look how much stuff I have left!”

“You didn’t get anything? Well don’t worry, I have more than enough to share with you!”

Pushing the doors that led to the sweet freedom that was the outside, you escaped from the prison that was school and carefully made your way down the stairs with Baekhyun right beside you. “You always get candy and bears and cards, I’m sure you’d love it if Valentine’s Day was everyday.” You grumbled, the familiar jealousy enveloping your form, what kind of jealous you were currently feeling you weren’t sure of yet.

Suddenly surging towards you, he threw his arm around your shoulders and squeezed all the while teasing, “Aw, is that why you hate it? Cause you don’t get any letters or chocolates that come in a heart package?” His lips were in that signature pout, his eyes wide and you sneered at him, pushing him away.

“You know I don’t even like chocolate.” You retorted, trying your best to not let his close proximity get to you, willing yourself not to become a stuttering mess, even when your brain was having difficulty forming simple words.

Sticking out his tongue, he jumped the last three steps and blocked you from moving forward. “Whatever. This year, I will convince you that Valentine’s Day is by far the most superior holiday there is.”

“Hmm, I think the best holiday is Halloween,” you argued, side stepping his form to continue the short walk to your house.

“Both involve candy, only your favorite holiday involves unnecessary horror and annual pranks!” He argued, using his slender fingers to count the atrocities that was your preferred holiday. “Which I don’t understand how you like by the way,” he added with usual sass which you didn’t acknowledge, as usual. “you willingly sit through watching something you know will scare you.”

Huffing out a sigh, your house came into sight and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips at his words and the slight whine in his tone. You shrugged your shoulders as a nonverbal answer to his question. “It helps me sleep at night.”

Expression bordering along distraught and fearful, he created some space between the two of you to which you playfully shoved him as he continued to walk straight when you turned into your driveway, his house right next to yours. You heard his next words loud and clear.

“I will convince you that Valentine’s Day is the superior holiday!”

To which you uttered an unimpressed hum and waved your hand in his direction as you entered your home, shaking off the residual cold from outside as your body accustomed to the warmer temperature in your house. Dumping your unnecessarily heavy books on the counter, you raided your fridge, not taking Baekhyun’s words seriously.

You were never a huge romantic, never felt any envy or longing when spotting a couple nearby lock arms and exchange cheesy words to one another. It’s been ages since you’ve had the interest of dating anyone, and while all your friends all had their special one’s to spend the damned ridiculous holiday, you were content to spend the night at home, binge watching some of your favorite horror flicks.

Of course, none of that happened.

Reason: As If You Don’t Already Know

Friday, February 14th.

You awoke like every other school day, with a groan you silenced your alarm and battled with your motionless limbs, willing your hands to grasp the edge of the covers and sit up to start the day.

From: Byun [7:19 AM] can’t walk w u to school today

A slight frown adorning your face, you shrugged on your coat and braced yourself for the harsh wind of the early morning. Something felt off, you just didn’t know what it was or why you felt that way. Sticking your earbuds in your ears, you shrugged and brushed the feeling off as best as you could. It wasn’t as if you two had to walk together every day anyway.

You had forgotten the date until you had double checked the date on your phone and you still had seen no sign of Baekhyun and you wondered if he had also forgotten, or had just given up trying to convince you of the ‘superior holiday’.

Entering your first class with a smug grin on your lips, the few students who were already present eyed you strangely the whole way, you sat down quite happily and put your backpack on the floor besides you, taking out the necessary materials when you felt something stuck to the underside of your desk on the back of your hand.

You recoiled and hoped it wasn’t dried gum or anything of the sort and leaned to the side and down to identify the mysterious object and instead was completely puzzled at the strange sight of your favorite candy taped to the dull metal attached with a folded up note. You knew instantly who was responsible.

Byun Baekhyun.

So he hadn’t forgotten or given up after all like you had hoped, you pouted as you slowly opened the folded notebook paper, heartbeat increasing as you pondered what could be written on it.

i don’t know why you like [candy name] so much, when you know i’m sweeter

You eyed the note for a longer time than you would like to admit, and when you snapped out of your daze, you immediately folded the offending piece of paper back up and shoved it into the back pocket of your jeans, wondering why you were so warm all of a sudden, cursing yourself at the bitter taste in your mouth as you wondered if Baekhyun would use a similar line to another girl once this was all over.

You rolled your eyes as you popped a piece of the candy into your mouth.

So this was his tactic. To sweeten you up with your favorite candies and flirty little notes. Well.... that was just unfair. Not to mention very creative, note the sarcasm.

Every class you would find your favorite candies used against you taped to the underside of the desks with cheesy and absurd lines that made you go red in the face. You wondered when he even had time to do all this, you hadn’t seen him all day, not even at lunch and you were sort of grateful for that.

sorry i’m such an airhead sometimes, i get lost in thoughts of you

you’re hotter than these hot tamales

wish i could give you these kisses in person

he knew you didn’t like chocolate, you just didn’t think he was able to resist the obvious pun

You didn’t think you could look him straight in the eyes after reading his lame attempt at romantic poetry, even if you found it the tiniest tiniest bit cute. You sat with your other friends and decided to keep quiet about the whole thing, not wanting them to tease you about your obvious (you were the only one oblivious to it) crush.

Until he switched it up the last period of the day. You entered the classroom leisurely, totally not speed walking to see what awaited you next, and immediately reached down under the desk, only to feel nothing but the cool metal.

Slight disappointment filled you and you tried your hardest to shake it off.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself silently, all he’s done is write some lines he probably looked up on the internet and here you are where he wants you, hooked and awaiting for the next thing to happen.

Well, this was rigged from the start. Who wouldn’t be happy receiving gifts of free candy, all from an attractive boy at that. You sighed in defeat, when he was right, he was right. You grimaced as you could just imagine his damn smug grin as he danced around you and sang “I told you so~” a billion times. You were doing your best to imitate what you were sure what his face would look like when a soft voice interrupted.

“Excuse me?” A light tap on your shoulder made you jump out of your embarrassing thoughts to find your classmate who sat behind you with the most beautiful bouquet you had ever seen in person. She blinked a few times and slowly offered them to you.

You two had never really spoken before, as she was obviously a very shy person and you, who wanted to respect her privacy, you eyed her and the flowers strangely before gently taking them out from her grasp with an awkward smile.

“Baekhyun asked me to give them to you when you got here...” she whispered with a small smile on her face and you were too shocked to say anything in return before she quietly added before returning to her book, “I think you two look good together.”

You were shaking your head furiously but of course, she wasn’t paying attention to you anymore now that she had done what was asked of her and you ignored the oohs of your classmates as class started, your eyes drifting to the vibrant colors of the flowers multiple times when you were supposed to be writing down notes.

Your thoughts were instead filled with visions of a boy who you had known all your life, who had a smile and attitude brighter than the sun in the sky and a heart of gold, no matter how much he infuriated you and teased you. The thought of him picking this bouquet with your favorite flowers made your heart flutter in your chest.

You had thought it was over.

The magic had worn off and you were never going to receive such sweet and special treatment from the person who had always just been your best friend who now, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be just that anymore.

School had ended with the ringing of the final bell and you were aching to see him, usually he’d be annoying you at your locker but he was nowhere in sight. Blowing a breath out of your nose, you decided to just go home and see if he wasn’t already at his, smiling to yourself fondly as you thought you should hurry and put your flowers in one of your mother’s vases.

Rushing home to see a note taped heavily to your front door in familiar handwriting, the harsh wind already chipping at some of the corners, you eagerly plucked it off.

meet me at the tree i fell from when we were nine

The tree in his backyard. You remembered that memory very vividly, the two of you had climbed his gigantic tree, you sat on a thick branch and he was following you up when his foot had slipped and he had to be taken to the emergency room for a sprained ankle while you were positively terrified of moving from your spot on the tree. It took an enormous ladder and you clinging to your father as he rescued you, crying and panicking about Baekhyun’s sprained foot the whole time.

Nobody was home and you felt weird entering from the back gate but knew he had left it open for this exact reason, lighting up when you saw a similar note also taped to the bark of the tree.

How long did it take him to do all this?

There were two more locations before the final one, all within the general vicinity of your small neighborhood, the two of you really hung out on the streets or in front of small convenience stores down the blocks, each location bringing back fond memories of when you two were younger, as close as you were now.

lastly, head to the place where we spent our summer afternoons

You were tired and cold and as much as you wanted to hate this, you eagerly headed in the direction the note told you to, anticipating to what was at the end of this, all the while remembering all the years you had spent with Baekhyun.

“You found me!” An adorable smile lit his face as you looked at him for the first time today after envisioning his blinding smile a thousand times in your head. Looking as cozy and as comfortable as ever, he sat on a swing, feet planted on the ground as he slowly rocked himself back and forth, letting you make your way to him.

Wanting to reciprocate his smile, but not letting yourself break your cool, you acted, or attempted to, all tough and annoyed instead. “Yah! Byun Baekhyun! Do you think this is the appropriate weather for a damn treasure hunt? You could’ve just told me to meet you at the park, and I would’ve said no because who goes to the park in this cold?” You were sure your ears and nose were as red as a cherry from the constant wind and the slight drop in temperature.

“I forgot what a big baby you were,” he casually commented as he strolled toward you, a small smile gracing his lips as she unwrapped his scarf from his neck and gingerly fixed it around yours, slender hands finding your shoulders and ran them down your arms to take your frozen hands in his warm ones, placing them between his to warm them a bit. “So?” He raised his eyebrows cheekily, “have I changed your mind about this lovely holiday?”

Rolling your eyes, you tried not to fixate on how warm and soft his hands were as they held yours and refused to look him in the eyes, no matter how hard he was currently trying to meet yours. “Well, who wouldn’t like getting free candy and flowers?” You huffed shyly, before pouting slightly. “So fine, you win. It’s the best holiday.” His thumbs were now rubbing circles on the backs of your hands.

“Shouldn’t I get a wish?” He teased, leaning closer to you, his warmth radiating onto you and you backed away a bit, deeming your hands warm enough as you pulled them from his grasp, noticing his expression fall a bit at the loss of contact.

“What do you want?”

“Be my valentine.” He stated it so plainly, so confident that you stood there dumbfounded and figured he was trying to be witty with some clever wordplay.

“What?” Was all you could ask, heart beginning to thunder in your chest, warming up your frozen limbs at the insinuation of his words.

“I could make you as happy as you were today every Valentine’s Day if you agree to be my Valentine.” You almost couldn’t take it, the way he was gazing at you with that tenderness and adoration in his expression, how your parents looked at each other across the table.

“Why does it sound like you’re confessing right now?” You joked nervously, trying to rid the atmosphere of its awkwardness and you did a shitty job of it.

The expression he gave you made you feel like the world’s biggest idiot. “Do you really think I did all of this just to get you to like Valentine’s Day, or me?”

“Huh?” You offered dumbly, not comprehending his words correctly.

“I could care less what your favorite holiday is, as long as I get to spend it with you, dummy. I swear, I knew you were dumb but I didn’t think it was this bad. At least you’re pretty.” He teased, doing his part to help ease the vulnerability of his confession.

“...Are you serious?” You muttered in a small voice, to which he couldn’t help but chuckle at how cute you were and offered an encouraging nod. “Really? Because, I’ll be your valentine. You won’t be able to get rid of me, and you won’t be able to accept any other girl’s gifts, you know that, right?” He saw right through your brave facade and took you in his arms, and you hid your face in his neck.

“You’re so cute,” he couldn’t resist teasing you once again to which you gave him a smack on the back as payback for making you run around the whole neighborhood in this weather.

He squeezed you tighter and screamed in mock pain, not being able to look him in the eyes as he softly kissed the top of your forehead before taking your hand in his once again and headed for the direction of your house to walk you home.

Halloween was still your favorite holiday, much to the dismay of Baekhyun. The fear that entered his eyes as he realized he was now obligated to watch your favorite horror movies will forever be one of your favorite memories.

bro im srry if this is trash, literally had no will to write and my internet was out for like a week and i almost went insane w/o it. anyways i’m spending valentines day writing this and bout to get drunk lol as always pls lmk what u thought in the comments and pls give lots of love!!!

#exo #exo l #exo au #exo angst #exo au scenarios #exo bias #exo baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun #exo drabble #exo fic #exo fluff #exo fanfiction #exo imagine #exo reactions #exo scenarios #exo x reader

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alias-b · 5 years ago

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Without The Lights~ Billy Hargrove x OC Camille Harper

Chapter 10: Shadows Of The Night

A/N: A secret bleeds and Camille finds comfort with her friend. Billy has dinner at the Harper house and things don’t go as planned. TW: Talk of assault and abortion. Sexual content.

“Let’s see it,” Camille purred.

“Harpy, you’re making me blush.” Billy’s chest heaved softer. “I don’t think you’re ready for it just yet.”

“I’m ready,” she uttered, sultry. “Don’t make me beg.”

“Kind of want you to beg.” Teeth tugged at his bottom lip. They leaned closer in response with wandering eyes.

“Show it to me, Billy.”

“If you insist...”

“Okay. You two need to stop it, I am going to be sick.” A girl muttered from the next lab table to their right. Robin. Her face pinched in genuine disgust and amusement. Heather was laughing next to her, covering her lips. Camille noted they’d gotten closer over the new semester. World’s colliding still at Hawkins High. Chemistry class went on around them. Lab partners working together.

“What…we’re just talking grades? What else could we be-"

"What else indeed, Harper." Robin twitched one brow and Camille broke to chuckle.

"He won't show me his damn test still. I stayed up diligently tutoring him, I deserve to know.” Camille cocked her head. Robin snickered at her finally, doodling in the corners of her paper.

"Hm, that's what she's calling it." Billy mused while he slipped a stick of cinnamon gum into his mouth, earning a light swat at his arm. "Don't damage the goods now, Harpy." She loathed him especially today.

“Get an A plus, Camille?” Heather looked around Robin to see Camille grin with a nod. “No surprise there.” Fingers picked up the exam and Billy huffed at it, angling still so Camille couldn't see his paper.

“What did you get? Tell me or I'll burst.” Camille pressed. Life picked up even still. Quieter than she liked. The Party met frequently outside of school. Watching out for the others as much as they could. Billy shook his head, frowning, and her shoulder’s fell. “Oh. You studied so hard for it. It’ll be fine, we got you to passing so we'll just keep at it.”

“I guess.” Billy flicked the paper around. “Because I got a B fucking minus. No more D letter grades.” He broke to offer a grin that illuminated his entire face and she pushed at him. "Read it and weep for me, babe."

“Billy!” She hushed when he bounced in his seat, too happy that he’d fooled her. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.” He licked his lips, cheeks heating. Those words held tight and didn’t let go. “We have to celebrate. My, uh, mom’s home tonight. We should go out to a movie. I need a night out and I think you earned one.” She was nonchalant about it.

“A movie?” His focus shifted, hands lowering the exam to the table.

“Yes. A movie." Camille's sly eyes flicked to him. "You know, moving pictures. Big screen. Popcorn.”

“On this specific date?” He blinked. “Valentine’s Day.” Camille exhaled out her nose, leaning on her elbows to watch his face.

“Yes, Billy, I want to go to the movies with you on Valentine’s Day. Clear enough?”

“That sounds suspiciously like a date.”

“Maybe it is.” Camille shrugged, going back to her paper as if she hadn’t just rocked his shit apart. “I’ll pick you up this time.”

“Wine and dine me, I might try harder at this whole good grade thing.”

“Seriously, you’re trying hard now and it’s paying off. You're slowly going up full letter grades. Evidence is clear. You're a dummy but, you're not dumb.” She filled in a worksheet, winking. Camille shifted to adjust her shirt sleeves up. Pink with red hearts and cherries. Billy stared at her when she didn’t look at him again. Admiring this person he’d come to value.

“Thank you, Camille,” he’d said it so quietly, she barely heard it. Billy was writing on his own page now when Camille peered at him. She gave a nod.

“Seven o’clock? I’ll come get you.”

“Guess I’ll be waiting.” He flipped through his book. Camille opened her mouth to speak when their school’s intercom picked up. A high pitched sound caused every student to cover their ears. It echoed and adjusted before Camille grew cold.

“Hey. R-” The feedback was static and then even again. “It’s Camille…if you couldn’t remember my voice. You probably don’t want me calling. I waited for two hours. You damn coward.”

“Is that you?” Heather leaned over to whisper and Camille’s eyes went wide. All her classmates had already turned to stare at her.

“No…! No!” Camille jerked herself up like she’d become possessed and raced out. Billy almost fell from his chair in shock, unable to react.

“Ms. Harper!” Their teacher called. The horrid message continued while Camille tore down the hallways.

“I just had some stuff I wanted to say… It was really shitty. What you did. Not just leaving me to go to a clinic myself. Leaving me to abort our baby myself. Getting me pregnant in the first place. You are just…fucking awful. And I ignored it thinking it was love. That’s not love. Learned the hard way, I guess. But, wherever you are. Manipulating another poor girl. Fuck you. Fuck you for all of us!”

Camille passed students who stopped to whisper. Few came out of classrooms with curious teachers. She banged on the front office door. Locked. A tape recorder sat in front of the mic with no one around.

“Fucking eat shit. I was…I am a child. You were the adult! Can’t be an adult? You’re disgusting.” Camille heard her words echo through their entire high school. Shedding that burning spotlight upon her skin. She pressed her head to the window and wept, unable to take it before she covered her ears. “I loved you. I thought I did. Maybe I don’t know love either. But, today, a friend helped me see…just a flicker. What it could feel like. And I’m going to find it one day. I know you won’t. How could you? I don’t regret what I did and I hope one day I don’t always feel guilt and shame when I think of you. You should be ashamed, you fucked a teenager and bragged about it…”

“…I hope you never touch another woman again, shithead. Can’t get college girls so you bat at high schoolers? One day, you’re going to meet a girl who sees you for what you are. I hope it eats you. You won’t touch me ever again. And that, I can be proud of. Just fuck you. Stay away from me. Not like that’ll be hard now. You’re twenty and you got into bed with a fifteen year old. You’re sick. Don’t spread that illness to anymore girls like you almost did with me. I see you again, I’ll destroy you. Fuck you! Just, fuck you!” Camille heard herself cry and lost it, her elbow bashed into the glass while teachers tried to tear her off. She clawed and kicked. Made a scene. Flashed her queen bee stinger. Bared her teeth. “Don’t set foot in Hawkins ever again. Have a great life.” Unable to stop the harrowing tones as it tried to loop, Camille grabbed a glass paper weight then smashed the tape and mic both to bits. When the torture ended, she sunk to the floor as her English teacher came first to hold her.

“I had to do it, I had to!” Camille was sobbing. Body jerking with each heave. Inconsolable. She wondered what it must have been for the gate to the Upside Down to tear open and unleash hell. Something like this.

“Shhh, it’s alright. I’ve got you, honey.” Ms. Strode always had that soft spot for students. “We’ll call your mother.”

“Oh, my god. Margaret, wake up!” Another teacher found the office aid, passed out behind the desk. “Call the police.” Everyone rushed around while Ms. Strode got Camille to her feet. Billy was there after pushing through crowds, eyes huge when Nancy raced to catch up with him from her own classroom. Students looked at their queen fallen from grace.

“Camille, we got you.” Nancy got around Billy and came to her other side. Billy turned to see every judgmental, shocked, and intrigued expression.

“The fuck are you all looking at?! Show’s over, dicks!” Billy Hargrove flipped his switch and they cowered back to keep moving about their day. “Assholes.” He followed after the women when they got Camille into the empty nurse’s office.

“Nancy, can you stay with her?” Ms. Strode got up and Billy charged in.

“Me, too.” He didn’t ask permission. Camille was lying down, covering her face and crying hard still. Nancy held her and Billy came to her other side. Their teacher left to make some calls. They let their friend weep until she was silently gasping. Waiting for flesh to just peel off bone.

“It was her. Edna.” Camille grew numb. “She’s trying to ruin my life all over again. But, she’s been watching me. She’s known the entire time. Bitch. Trying to get me to fucking crack.” Nancy rubbed her back to soothe her cries.

“You can’t stay in that house. Your mother-”

“That’s it, she hasn’t made any move at all. I don’t…get it.” Camille let Billy wipe her tears and shift long hair from her face.

“Camille,” he realized it, “if…if this chick has been spying on you. She could know we saw your mother. In Dayton.” She lifted her eyes, stilling.

“You know Hopper’s been watching out for her too.” Nancy spoke to calm her down.

“She knows that we know everything. It's like she's trying to tear me down so I'm isolated and admitting it. Why didn’t she go to Rosemary or Noah? Lab never came for me.” Camille whispered.

“Maybe she…wants to torment you first.” Nancy frowned. She watched Billy Hargrove comfort her friend and noted how it wasn’t strange anymore. Seeing him around like this. “Camille, you’re bleeding.” Nancy pulled her friend’s sleeve up. “You might need stitches.” A nasty set of cuts swelled just under her elbow. Camille hissed upon seeing it and Billy was already digging for something to stop the blood with their nurse helping in the main office.

“I didn’t even feel that in my state.” Camille whined.

“Hold still.” Billy helped her clean it like many of his own wounds before.

“What am I supposed to tell her? My mother.” Camille ached and her friends paused for a brief moment. “Hawkins is a small place. Come tomorrow, the whole damn town is going to know about me. Edna wants that. She’s trying to break me.”

“Well, as Dustin would say, when one of the Party members needs assistance: it’s our duty to provide it.” Nancy recited and Camille tried to smile. “And we will.” Billy was gentle when he wrapped her arm up.

“Hell of a bruise coming.” He huffed, chest falling.

“Not going to a hospital.” She brought her sleeve down. “Can you guys stay with me awhile?”

“Not like we were planning to leave you.” Nancy pressed her head to Camille’s shoulder and rubbed her arm. Billy sat on the floor and let her hold his hand. Silent, they waited for Rosemary to appear and whisk Camille away. Ms. Strode appeared and gestured that her mother was waiting. Camille stood taller and wiped her eyes, opting to walk alone down the long hallway. Where she was gawked at by passing students. Eyes ahead, she swayed along and didn't give any of them a damn thing. Not one piece of her.

** ** **

“Camille.” Her mother shut the door. The entire car ride was silent. Rosemary was shaken, stuffing nervous pills into her mouth. Camille didn't dare ask what they were for. Steve dropped her car off then left with Jonathan and Nancy when Rosemary wouldn’t let anyone else inside the house. “Camille, baby, talk to me. Just please.” She sat her daughter down, sounding desperate. Hands cupped Camille face, raw and splotched red. “This is because I wasn’t around enough.”

“No, mom, I was stupid.” Camille wheezed. “I couldn’t tell you or dad.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. You needed us. You went through that alone.” Rosemary came to hug her close, too tight. Jarring. “I’ll quit.”

“No, fuck, mom. No. Do not do that. I’m better now. I am.” Camille forced a smile. “I made a bad choice. I learned.”

“You never came to me. We did not teach you to lie.” She stated that with genuine confusion. As if they groomed her incorrectly.

“I just wanted…to be perfect for you both.” Her reply was the most honest she’d been in awhile.

“This is all Noah’s fault. He filled your head with… He couldn’t let you grow naturally. We kept a distance, thinking... I told him, I told him this had gone too far. Become too much. That we lost control in the shuffle.”

“Mom…what are you talking about?” Camille watch her mother’s eyes. Manic. The moment flooded out. Of course, she knew exactly what it meant.

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry. It’s just…daddy and I made mistakes too. But, I’m fixing them. I love you so much. Please…know that you can come to me. You’re my sweet girl. Mine.”

“Mom, that…uh, you’re squeezing me. It’s okay.” Camille drew back when Rosemary let her go, speaking her syllables slower.

“Everything is going to be okay.” She cocked her flawless head like one of the damn Stepford wives.

“I know.”

“I love you. I’ll keep you safe inside here. I promise.” Rosemary kissed her head.

“I…I love you, too.” Camille gripped the couch and her mother came up. There was a moment of unsettling staring before the doorbell rang. She jumped up too quick. “I’ll be fine. I am fine. I’ll get that.”

“Rest today. I’ll make us dinner. One of your favorites.” Her mother floated off down the hall to pour herself some brandy and Camille wiped her face. She hurried to open the front door, surprised at who was there waiting.

“Robin? Hi.”

“Hey, sorry, I…” Robin held out a pink backpack. “You forgot this. I snagged your assignments.”

“Thank you, um, do you want to come in?”

“A chance to see the new Harper house renovations? Sure.” Robin stepped into the doorway. “Changed a lot since your twelfth birthday.”

“Yeah, wow, that was an odd day.”

“The bouncy castle and the dancing clown that terrified all of us.”

“You know, I have nightmares about that voice still. He had the strangest name.” Camille joked and Robin smiled at her. “Guess we didn’t see each other much after that.”

“High school changes people. Start to discover new things about yourself.”

“You’re almost too right about that,” Camille hung her backpack up. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, I just…wanted to make sure you were okay. You know? Heather will be glad to hear it too." Robin shrugged, cheeks pink over freckles. "I also wanted to say that…what you said to that asshole was really cool.”

“Ah, thanks. Words just came, I guess.”

“I hope we see more of that Camille.” Robin offered, pointing with her thumb behind her. “Well, I should…”

“Right, um, thank you again for coming, Robin. I appreciate it.” Camille paused. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Ignoring you after my birthday party." She replied. "Glad you and Heather get along. Her parents are...strict. Girl needs more friends in her life." Robin twitched a sort of half smile at that, face softening.

“I’ll see you around school, Cam. Don't make me split you and Hargrove up.”

"We're not even together really."

"You should tell him that." The teen beamed at her and moved to go outside.

“Bye, Robin.” Camille shut the door and Rosemary was there in a flash, glass in hand.

“Are you alright?”

“Better, yes. Um, I had a...a kind of date tonight with Billy.”

“Why not invite him over for dinner instead? I’d like to meet this boy you like. Your friend.”

“Uh, I’m not sure, he-”

“Tell him to be here at seven. I’ll make us all a chocolate cake.” Rosemary definitely hit the pills hard today. Washed them down with sips of expensive brandy. Only drank that when she was upset. Usually stayed with something white or blush otherwise. It was always how Camille could gauge her moods. By what was in her glass.

“…Okay.” Camille waited for her to go after another awkward beat. Her breath left tight lungs so she picked up the phone to dial.

“Hargrove.” Billy surprised her. He was never the one to answer. Neil always lied, telling her Billy was "out" before smacking the receiver down on her.

“Billy, it’s me. My…My mother invited you to dinner. Can you come?” Her voice was shaken. Billy didn’t dare ask why over the phone. “It’s at seven. I’d really like you to be there.”

“I’ll be there.” They both hung up and Camille plastered a smile to go help her mother cook.

“He’s coming.”

“Wonderful.” Rosemary moved items around. “Does he make you happy?”

“Yes, he does. We're friends, we help each other.”

“That’s all I wanted for you, you know.”

“I know. I am happy. I am. You’re an…amazing mother. You know, I see women wearing your clothing and I always smile. You touched all their lives in a small way. Billy’s stepmom gushed about how she wore one of your blouses on a date. I’m proud of what you did. You did your best. Daddy did too. I know that.” Camille found something heartfelt in all this bullshit. All this pain. And I killed daddy, Camille wanted to say. She apologized for it even still. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, I was ashamed.” Rosemary was holding her again, shaking. Unraveling.

“I’m proud of you, Camille. We’re going to be just fine. You became an amazing woman. Never stop. I just wish you'd come to me. Please, know that you can.” She kissed her cheeks and Camille relaxed. “Come on, let’s make something to impress this boy of yours.” Her daughter could only nod. The twinge of fear didn’t quite melt away. But, she was up for ignoring it. Camille Harper lived her entire life in a den of wolves. You don't just slink out of it when they begin to starve.

** ** **

“You’re early,” Camille was relieved when she opened the door in a short, pink sweater dress with black tights. Billy had his shirt buttoned up higher than usual. Only one open. Frankly, that was more surprising than the flowers in hand.

“For your mother. Moms love me.” He cocked his head so she allowed him inside. Camille kissed his cheek so she could whisper.

“Something’s off.” She warned. “She’s…” Camille came out to listen as her mother hummed in the kitchen to music playing on their stereo. “She’s like…clingy and weird. Doped up.” Rosemary opened the door to interrupt them, removing an apron. She reminded Billy of twenty Karen Wheelers. All dolled up to the max. With Karen, you still got something genuine there. Rosemary lived her life in the artificial. Her current mental state amounted to shiny sequins popping off a campy prom dress.

“Camille, darling, introduce me.”

“Billy Hargrove, this is my mother, Rosemary Harper.” Camille stepped out of the way with the flowers. “Billy is my friend from class. He transferred into Hawkins last fall. Brought us these flowers.” The teen realized Billy was making a jab with them.

“Sunflowers. How sweet? How’d you know?” She outstretched a hand and Billy took it in both of his

“Mrs. Harper? For a moment, I thought Camille had a sister." He turned up the usual appeal. "Nice to finally meet you. My stepmom talks about your clothes all the time.”

“A charmer. Flattery will get you everywhere in this house.” She grinned. More sparkly sequins threatened to burst. Billy remembered a red, sequined scarf his mother owned. Part of an old Halloween costume. Shiny and wild to the eye. As a kid, he'd playfully run about the house with it wrapped around his shoulders to music. Made him feel like a star. Until Neil came home to catch him one Tuesday afternoon. Knocked three baby teeth out. His mother threw the scarf away after that. Probably for the best. “Come into the dining room. Camille, go set the table for me.” Billy met Camille’s eyes, brow lifting subtly. They went in after her. “How do you like Hawkins, William?”

“Oh, Billy is fine,” he swallowed. “Hawkins is…different.”

“Used to be a much quieter place. Such a pity.” Rosemary sighed, bringing a dish to the table. “Chicken pot pie.”

“It smells amazing, mom,” Camille let Billy pull out her chair before he held out one for her mother next.

“He’s just a doll, isn’t he?” Rosemary served pieces up when Billy slipped into a seat across from Camille. Music still played and candles lit the table.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harper.”

“Rosemary, please.” She’d insisted, eating from her plate. Both teens waited until she swallowed to pick at their food. “Camille tells me you’re from California. You know, I dressed so many celebrities in LA. Award season was my favorite time. Sometimes I miss that. Hawkins must absolutely bore you, poor thing.”

“Delicious,” Billy remarked, nodding. “And I thought that as well until I moved here. Met some…interesting people.”

“Well, that’s good then. With the right people, you can make any place a home.” She sounded like fucking Glinda the Good Witch. If she snorted a great deal of coke. Billy watched her smile and paused to swallow. His lips lifted with some force. Camille nudged his foot under the table. “That’s what my Noah used to say.” Her mother was noticeably dazed.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Billy offered.

“That’s appreciated, young man. I can see that you’re very important to my daughter, Billy. Glad to see her in the company of good friends who care about her.” Rosemary was still smiling. “Because if anyone dared to hurt her, oh, I do pity the next boy who crosses my baby.”

“Mom.” Camille set her water down, eyes widening and Rosemary sat back. Collected.

“Camille, you are beautiful and you are still so stupid. I really thought we taught you better. I can see now, we didn’t. Pity. You just never could grasp people. You never could trust your instincts.” She poured blame into Camille’s soul like gasoline. All they needed was a match.

“Whoa…” Billy sat straighter when Rosemary’s knife tapped her plate. Camille’s jaw dropped.

"Mom, stop."

“If you don’t think for a second that this boy only wants what they all do… What have I taught you? Are you going to sleep with my daughter? Leave her shattered like the other did? Are you going to try to take her from me? When I finally have her all my own. Oh, no. I will not have it!” Rosemary smacked the table and stood. Camille jumped to her feet.

“Billy, I think you should go now.” She came around the table to push at him. “Mom, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere.” Billy was tense, fists clenching. The words blurted out. “Look, I care about your daughter-”

“Words.” Rosemary was a rubber band snapping. “Men, you’re all the same, you make messes and we clean them up. You hurt us and we lick our own wounds. You use and use and we come to our knees after. Where is my credit?! Huh, I took good care of you, I did. And you want to throw it all away by growing up. Without your mother, Camille!” Her daughter stopped and almost burst herself, remembering Judith King alone in that hospital. Rocking.

“Mom…calm down,” Camille realized the magnitude of the grave danger she was in all at once. The boiling pot she couldn't leap out of. She had to stay in control. Told herself she was. Didn't trust her fucking instincts. Her fatal flaw with people. Camille's hand lifted to slip the knife from her mother’s fingers. “I think you need to go lie down.”

“Oh…oh, yes. I am not myself. I think I,” Rosemary clenched with tears. “I think I drank a little too much brandy. Too many pills to relax me. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I wanted one good night for you. For us.”

“I know…let’s get you in bed.” Camille looked at Billy and helped the manic woman off to her room.

“I didn’t mean that, I’m just so scared.” She crumbled.

“Go to sleep. We’ll be fine.” Camille tucked her into bed and hurried out, shutting the door. Billy’s hands were on her shoulders, dragging her back to the stairs.

“You are not staying here tonight.” He was heated, voice low. “You don’t even have to come stay with me if you don’t want to. I’ll take you anywhere. I’ll take you to Harrington or the Wheeler’s or to the damn Chief, I don’t care. But, you are not staying in this house tonight. I mean it.” Camille wrapped her arms around him. Words. “Pack a bag, we’re going right now.”

“She wasn’t always like that, since my father…something’s coming undone inside her as well.” Camille sniffled and Billy held her back this time, firm as if to reassure her. She packed a bag and wrote a quick note to let her mother know that she was safe with a friend.

“Come on,” Billy reached for her hand without thinking to get her out of there. “Where am I taking you?” They got into his car so he pulled out of the driveway. She fazed out of existence. Her elbow burned still. That pain was the only thing keeping her attached to this world. “Camille, talk to me. You need to stay right here now. Okay?”

“I…” She shook her head. Tried to flood back in. For him. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“My house it is,” he inhaled. “Dad leaves before us for work tomorrow. I’ll sneak you into the window again. Can get ready at my place and I’ll take you to school... Camille. Focus here. You're fading on me.”

“Okay...yes, okay.” Her body mellowed out. Numb even when he beckoned to snap her back. “I don’t want to cause more trouble for you at home.”

“You couldn’t possibly.” He hitched with amusement then. Camille looked outside at the trees, lips opening when she found words to grasp.

“You meant it, I could tell.”

“Meant, what?”

“You cared about me.” She turned her head and his eyes stayed on the road. Billy didn’t speak so she went for his hand, clasping it between both of hers. “Everything that happened. I want you to know that you’re making it. Doing better. You’re my friend and I care about you too. And I forgive you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you touching my life. And just, thank you, Billy.” His chest sunk and he squeezed her hand tight. “Just needed you to know that.”

** ** **

“Shhh, they’re sleeping,” Billy eased Camille into his bedroom window. She had one leg over when the door opened a crack and Max poked her head in without knocking.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think,” she whispered, amused. “Saw her pass my window.” The younger girl came forward to take Camille’s other hand.

“Keep it down,” Billy hissed, hands under Camille's arms to heave her inside. She felt his muscles flex and let her face heat. “Go shut my door.”

“I heard about… Well, we all…” Max shuffled her feet. Camille dropped her bag and sat on Billy’s bed. “I’m sorry.” She came and wrapped her arms around Camille’s neck when she got emotional. Billy shut his window and sighed, sneaking out to grab a glass of water. His sister was kneeling on his bed, holding his friend close and petting her hair. “It’s okay.” Billy offered her the cool glass quietly so she came out from Max to drink, eyes red and tired.

“Come on, go change.” Billy was ushering her into his little closet with her bag. Flicking the swinging light in there on. Max stood, gaze sliding from him to the floor. He didn’t try to kick her out.

“What happened after?” She hesitated when his eyes landed on her face. “Thought her mom invited you over.”

“I don’t know, she just…freaked out on us.” Billy shook his head. His sister looked encouraged.

“So, you helped her leave.”

“For tonight,” Billy ran a hand into his hair and plopped down on his bed. Max pressed her lips. “Don’t give me that look, not like I’m in your nerd party.”

“Maybe we can start our own side party? I don’t know all the rules but I think I’ll make some of my own up.” Max shrugged. “It can be a secret too, no one will see us coming. Just think about it, maybe come up with a cool name.” Billy lifted one brow at her, lips pressing when she stood.

“Max.” He mustered the courage. Let it flood out. “I’m sorry.” Hands clenched in his lap when she came forward, touching his face so he’d look at her expression.

“I always wanted a big brother,” she admitted. “Nice to meet you, Billy.”

“You too, Mad Max.” Billy let her hug him. A quick, tight squeeze he needed. One arm returned it because she needed it too.

“Name the secret side party.” Max moved to the closet door. “Camille, I hope you feel better.” There was some quiet shuffling.

“Thank you,” came the muffled reply. Max crept out to get back to her room and Camille appeared, drained. Billy looked up and there was a beat.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” She crawled behind him atop the covers. “School’s going to be a nightmare tomorrow.”

“Figured you’d want to skip.” Billy pulled his pants and shirt off, not bothering with much else before he reclined next to her. Camille shifted in a baggy tee, curling her bare legs up. He took note of them briefly.

“No. Queen Bee can’t back down. Right?” Camille closed her eyes and opened them. “I don’t regret anything about the choice I made. I won’t let those people scare me into thinking that I should.” He didn’t argue with that. “Sorry, we can’t go on a normal date.”

“We’ll get there. Eventually.” Billy turned his head to see her, idly hitting the last lamp to shut off.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Camille sighed, burying her face into pillows that smelled like him. Billy came up to shift so he could slip covers over them both. She scooted into him, allowed his hands to smooth up and down her back. Billy was careful of the wound on her arm, relaxing while they warmed up. Dim moonlight sunk between the curtains. Camille watched the shine of his eyes in the dark. Her arms curled between them, fingers shifting out to touch his chest.

“Let me guess,” he purred. Hands smoothed over his skin. “You want to try something?”

“Hm, what gives you that idea?” Camille drew closer, lips just barely brushing his.

“We have to keep it down,” he warned, breathless before they kissed. Heated flesh pressed together. They held each other for a while there in the dark. Billy was more still as she explored him. Tracing over contours and scars. She cupped his face, thumbs smoothing along cheekbones. Following the swell of his full bottom lip before her mouth opened against his. Camille felt him get aroused against her thigh.

“I want to touch you,” she uttered, fingers in his hair until he adjusted and reclined more on his back. One arm pulled her into him so she draped her body along his. Lips peppered over his collar and neck. Billy suppressed a moan and tilted his head back, hand finding hers. Camille traced his hip and guided him until she cupped his shaft through thin briefs. Fingers edged up and down the feel of him. "Oh." The softest little sound sent pride shooting up his body. He was well aware of what he was packing. Billy’s lips parted to sigh and he shifted her hand under the fabric. Longed so to be touched. Fingers wrapped around the shaft. They found a pace together. Pumping slow and rhythmic while her mouth was on warm skin.

“Camille.” Billy came undone, hand sliding away so she could work him until he was hard and slick. Her thumb rubbed circles into the tip. Torturing him. Unraveling him utterly. His arm squeezed her closer when it became too much. “Fuck,” he craned his neck to bury his face into her hair, muffling his sighs into the pillows. “More.” She slowed to longer strokes, coming out to slip her tongue into his mouth. Drawing it out. Billy held himself together. Just barely.

“Do you think about me when you’re alone?” Camille was going painfully slow, lips lingering down his chest. Turning the tables. "Doing this to yourself and thinking about fantasy queen Camille. Hm?" Billy tried not to scoff. No comment. “Have to give to get.” She recalled his own words. Tormented him with them. Fingernails scratched down his chest. Her mouth left little pink marks he’d remember tomorrow.

“Yes, god, Camille.” His hips tried to rut in tune with her hand. “Few minutes after I met you just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal.” She teased, slipping to run her tongue down his happy trail and all the way up to his tip. Billy gave a wanting little arch to be inside her. Fingers shifted into her hair. “This is more like it, yeah?”

“Close,” he reached to stoke himself, eyes intent on her own until she opened her mouth when he offered his tip. She just felt too good. Swallowing him down all the way. “Better.” Camille gave a hum that vibrated his dick, plunging it further into her throat. She came up to find her pace again. Kisses and licks smeared arousal down his skin. Camille brought her bottom into the air and focused on the pace. Mouth slipping over him with ease. Fingers guided her by the hair, twisting locks from her face. Billy watched her suckle and pressed his head back. She'd ruin him for other flings too. They played together, heated, and as quiet as they could be. He felt his stomach flutter, body growing taut. Camille worked him, swirling her tongue as hands ran along his hips.

“I’m right there,” he confessed, tapping her shoulder before fingers latched around her wrist. Billy tried to warn her again when her eyes lifted to his. She gave a sort of nod, massaging his skin to let him know it was alright. Lips opened when he let go, climax pumped in spurts along her tongue. Camille slowed to swallow in time before she could choke, lapping to finish him off. His muscles clenched and released rhythmically so she drew it out. Exquisitely. Billy gave a soft moan like honey. Camille came up on her knees, wiping her swelled lips on her hand. Splayed, he watched her tuck him back into his briefs before plopping next to him.

“Been waiting to return the favor,” she mused, chest steady with deep breaths while he came down from the high. While he came down from her. Blue eyes darkened with clouds. “Taste you, I mean.” Billy, unable to stand it, came up to hover and took her face in one hand. Gazes flickered intently. “You don’t have to kiss me after, I get it.” As if it was a challenge, he pressed her into the bed to kiss her as obscenely as he could. Tongue slipping along lips and between teeth. Spit trailed when they parted.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I think you like it,” Camille hushed, “just a little.”

“What happened to not dating boys you go to school with?” Billy came up so she followed, braced on her hands. Legs opened while he sat between them.

“Technically haven’t been able to date yet.”

“You know what I mean. Flings were banned too.” He countered. "Friends who go down on each other is great and all, but...you want more and so do I. So, I'll ask you again. What happened to no flings for queenie?"

“Guess the same thing happened with you moving on from one skirt to another,” she replied. “Haven’t even tried to continue the rounds. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Harpy is dodging the question,” he touch his ear, tilting toward her so she caved.

“I can make exceptions.” She shifted to prop herself up on pillows. They observed each other.

“Just admit that I make you hot already, Camille.” Billy lingered, easing forward. “We played this shit for months. Just let go. Can’t stand it anymore. Admit you got off to me. More than once. Lift up your shirt.” The command surprised her. Slowly, she shifted fabric up, baring herself to his eyes. Billy bit his lip at the sight of her, pleased. Nipples pebbled against cooler air. “Take it off.”

“You take it off.” Camille hitched a gasp when hands eased up her sides. Cupped her breasts for good measure before the shirt slipped over her head. Fabric bunched around her shoulders.

“You thought about it, what type of fuck I’d be.” He hummed, fingertips edging down the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“Had a vague idea, you flaunt it well.” Camille licked her lips, teeth nipped at her bottom one so he came forward for a slow kiss. “Didn’t try hard to do it. Just happens when you’re…heated.” She gasped as he cupped her, offering a slow rub. Felt like he was out to claim something.

“Heated like this? Admit it, Camille,” he ghosted his mouth over hers, eyes direct to hold her attention. Palm on her still in a way that was possessive. “You sat next to me in class squirming because you knew…I’d make you quake. Yes or no?”

“Ye…s…” She grew timid so he advanced, lips closing around a nipple. Teeth tugged. Steady, he tormented the other bud. Tongue flicking up toward her neck.

“What was that?” His thumb circled her clit through fabric, slicking it in her arousal.

“Yes.” Camille tried not to melt but he was the sun and she’d flown far too close.

“Thought about how I’d push a dress up over your shoulders and make you moan. Don’t have to say anything,” Billy’s fingers slipped under fabric, “it’s already written all over you. You got wet with my cock in your mouth.” Camille was rocking to meet his hand, jaw clenched before she stole a kiss. His forehead touched hers when two digits slipped into her with ease. Billy hushed her when she whined, body clenching him. “You wondered what it would feel like buried here.”

“Billy,” came another plea. Her expression faltered, lost in euphoria. Lost in him. Drowning again in fire. He didn’t let up.

“Camille…” He drawled in a quiet, sing-song tone that always ruined her. His free hand came to rest by her hip when he slid closer. “Just say the words.” Billy pumped slowly, thumb teasing that stiff bundle of nerves. Heat swelled. Her flesh cried out for more. She caved.

“Yes…I…” Eyes closed and opened, lips parting to sigh. Billy had her. “Fuck it, I thought about you.”

“So, process of elimination,” he was rubbing her more intently now, “I make you…?”

“Hot.” Camille bit back a moan. “You make me hot. Okay…Ha…Happy? Fuck.” Her hips shifted back so he came with, thighs forcing hers apart when her back hit the wall.

“Camille,” he chided, lips along her jaw. “I can’t make you come if you squirm like that.” Her hands found his shoulders to cling. “You want to, don’t you?” Billy was savoring every bit of this.

“Yes,” she watched him slow and gave in, “I want to come.”

“All you gotta do is ask me,” he smiled against her mouth, "just ask and I'll give you what you want."

“Billy, fuck, make me come. I want it.” She recalibrated. “I want you. Let me, please.”

“Since you asked me so sweetly.” He bent to leave a mark on her neck that she’d have to see in the morning. Fingers pumped and curved inside her, knuckle deep. Camille shuddered against him, moving to fuck herself in turn. He felt her clit twitch, muscles clamping down against him. “Come.” He coaxed. “You’re right there, just let go. Let go, Camille.” He made her feel so good. Hazel eyes closed so he took her jaw again with one free hand. “No, you stay right here. Look at me.” Billy wanted to watch her come undone. She could only mouth the words, eyes widening when orgasm raced within her veins. She rocked unsteadily into him. Thighs quivering. “There you are.” He eased, keeping her in a state for as long as he could. Lips offering only encouragement. Pride. Fingers slipped out of her, holding fabric aside to see her soaked and twitching. “Fuck, Camille.” Beautiful. She slipped down so he eased her against the mattress to nestle into his chest. Fingers danced all along her back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He felt her hitch to muffle a laugh into his chest.

“It is, isn’t it?” She tucked herself into him, contented. Billy craved a cigarette but couldn’t stand to slip from her to grab one. Instead, they breathed and traced shapes into skin. “Made the exception because I like you…dummy.” Billy shook his head, thoroughly entertained. “It’s different between us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Feels like we’re on the same edge, terrifying as it might be.” Camille sighed, relaxing further into him. “But…it’s not lonely. Not anymore.” He could only nod, arm looped around her back. Her body breathed in tune with his. Lulling to the heartbeat pulsing under her ear.

“Go to sleep.” He murmured into dark hair at last. Camille didn’t feel she had a choice at this point. It tugged her away. Billy held her and soothed every little twitch that dared to disturb her mind. Up until it came for him next.

#LMAO the opening of this chp is my fav #billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #mine #writing #without the lights #Camille Harper

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rorykillmore · 5 years ago

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okay this is for @transrobro who requested a catra/scorpia fic! which is a dynamic we’ve really only just picked up but that i already have so much love in appreciation for, in no small part thanks to jay’s scorpia.

jay... i am so grateful to be able to celebrate another year of us being friends <3 this sounds like. cHEESY but your kindness and generosity really does touch everyone around you even in the smallest gestures (my mom still treasures her groot ornament.) and you have a wonderful talent for making me laugh REALLY hard which i oftentimes find i really. need tbh. thank you so much and i hope you congratulate yourself on this year; it has certainly had its ups and downs but i know you have taken a lot of important strides over the course of it and i am proud of you!!!

She thinks about how lucky she is to be here, right now. To have not lost herself entirely to that all-consuming anger. To have come out the other side and still have friends who care about her, and want to forgive her.

“I just feel like... I already have everything I need.”

One of the many, many differences between Catra and Scorpia is that Scorpia is a notorious early riser, while Catra is notoriously... well, not. And she wouldn’t compromise that for just anyone or anything, but she’s spent the past few days since her little outing with Zero meticulously planning this out, and she knows she’s going to get too restless if she waits it out much longer.

Besides, she’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for when Christmas morning is supposed to... start. Better safe than sorry.

“Hey. Scorpia.” Catra leans over her sleeping form and uses one finger to give her forehead a gentle prod. “Wake up.”

Scorpia’s eyes flutter and eventually focus on Catra as she stirs, her expression moving from surprise to delight, with the tiniest underlying hint of uncertainty (definitely new, Catra has noted in the weeks they’ve been in this world together). “Catra!” She sits bolt upright, forcing Catra to draw back quickly to avoid a painful collusion of their foreheads. “Did -- did we have plans today? Did I sleep in too long? Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have stayed up to finish that season of Parks and Recreation...”

“No -- no, you’re fine. It’s still early,” Catra reassures her quickly, not bothering to add that she has no idea what ��Parks and Recreation’ is. A nature documentary, or something? “Sorry to wake you, I just -- I have something I want to show you.”

It’s not much of an explanation, and Scorpia could very easily be skeptical of why Catra would sneak into her apartment after the sun’s barely gone up for such vaguely defined reasons. But it’s Scorpia, of course, so she just says, “Oh! Exciting. Okay. Um -- should I go get Emerald?”

“Let her sleep a little while. We’ll get her later,” Catra promises, because she tentatively has something in mind for Emerald - who, for the record, is a lot harder to shop for than Scorpia - as well. She fights the urge to lower her ears in embarrassment. “For now, let’s just -- I mean, this is... for you, specifically. So.”

The look on Scorpia’s face makes her feel both pleased and guilty. Catra can only describe it as awed -- stunned, even, like Scorpia never in a million years would have expected Catra to wake her up just to tell her she’d done something nice for her. Catra supposes she hasn’t really given her much reason to.

“Give me five minutes!” Scorpia springs up, amending over her shoulder as she springs into her closet, “--Three minutes!”

“Take your time,” Catra tells her, unable to suppress a goodnatured roll of her eyes. “I know you have your morning routine, or whatever.”

“It’s fine. I have a speedrun version prepared for emergencies! -- Hey, Catra?” Scorpia sticks her head out of the closet a moment later, suddenly hesitant. “You know you... I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you... have to do stuff like this. For me. I mean, I’m over the moon, don’t get me wrong, I just --”

Catra holds up a hand to stop her, because she’s already figured out that this isn’t just obligation, or the desire to fix things, on her part. It feels -- well, okay, nervewracking right now, because she isn’t entirely sure what Scorpia’s reaction is going to be once she sees the actual gift. But Catra’s sure it’ll feel good eventually. “It’s Christmas, silly.”

She gets a slightly nonplussed look in response, which... figures. So Catra goes on to explain, “It’s a thing they do in this world. A celebration. You, like -- buy presents for people, among a bunch of other weird, colorful traditions.” She can already envision Scorpia’s panic at the realization that she hadn’t somehow magically known about a holiday tradition that didn’t even exist in their own world, so she quickly adds, “Yeah, I didn’t know about it either, until a couple of days ago. So I just threw something together. It’s no big deal.”

The way Scorpia is looking at her, eyes bright with emotion, suggests that she very much thinks it’s a big deal. Catra looks away. “You’re hyping yourself up.”

“I am so completely just the right amount of hype. Just a sec!”

“Take your time!” Catra tells her yet again, fond exasperation taking the edge off her usual prickliness. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a promise she takes more seriously than Scorpia probably really knows.

----

“Okay. So. I didn’t know how to wrap it.”

Catra awkwardly hoists the present in her hands, well aware that it looks absolutely nothing like the neatly wrapped gifts with the perfect bow finishes that she saw in all those display windows in Metropolis. Instead, hers is a clumsy mess of tape and shiny red paper, an immediate betrayal of the fact that Catra has never done anything like this before. But then, she figures, Scorpia already knows that.

“It’s perfect!” Scorpia beams, completely undeterred. She takes the gift from Catra in one claw and tears carefully at the wrapping paper with the other, and Catra notes that the messiness probably does make it a bit easier for her.

If she was anxious about her presentation, though, she’s even more anxious about the gift itself. Scorpia pulls back the wrapping to reveal a large, leatherbound book with no title on its cover. Even though Catra is sure she must be puzzled, her enthusiasm does not seem to be dampened as she shoots Catra an inquisitive look.

“Open it,” Catra says simply, trying to keep her expression neutral.

Scorpia does... and Catra watches her expression change from curiosity to shock as she takes in the contents of the book’s pages. A soft, stunned exhale quickly prompts Catra to leap to explain, “It’s, uh. A scrapbook, basically. But like... a special, high tech one I bought in Auriga. You can upload photos directly onto the pages, and mess with the colors and stuff. I -- uh. I started it for you.”

Truthfully, Catra didn’t have very much to work with. An old picture of her and Scorpia, and one she took with Emerald a couple of months ago, and a couple of silly candids she snuck of Entrapta. And then Catra’s rough attempts at scenic photography; a few shots she took of some of the prettier places she knows around the Southwest. Since... that’s kind of become their home now.

“Catra...” Scorpia whispers.

“Well, I -- I mean, you have to fill it out, obviously.” Embarrassingly, Catra can’t seem to stop talking, her tone bordering on defensive for no definable reason. “Which will take a while. But I know you like that kind of sappy stuff. Making memories, and all that --”

She gets cut off with a sudden huff as Scorpia frees one arm to pull her into a tight hug.

And Catra, despite Scorpia’s best efforts to convert her, is still not really... a hugger. But she’s learned that she’s capable of making a few exceptions. And if her eyes are stinging a little, well, she makes sure she’s blinked any wateryness away by the time Scorpia lets her go.

“This is -- it’s the most wonderful thing you possibly could have gotten me. I am going to keep it forever,” Scorpia declares, making Catra’s cheeks warm sheepishly. “I -- I have to get you something! And Emerald! Stay right here, I’ll --”

“Scorpia,” Catra finally manages to cut in quietly. “I’m sure Christmas hasn’t really been the first thing on Emerald’s mind, either. She’ll understand if you’ve gotta do some belated shopping. And... you really don’t have to get me anything.”

Scorpia falters a little, concern seeping into her expression as seamlessly as it always has for Catra’s sake. “Hey. I know you’re trying to do the whole, you know, ‘making amends’ thing, but if you think that means you don’t deserve a gift...”

“It’s not that.” Catra shakes her head. “This isn’t a ‘me hating myself’ thing. Don’t worry. It’s just that...”

She thinks of the note written on the inside of the back cover of the scrapbook. The one she deliberately hasn’t pointed out because she doesn’t want to stand here in front of Scorpia while she reads it.

“I just feel like... I already have everything I need.”

Scorpia opens her mouth to respond, but for once, she doesn’t seem to know what to say. So Catra reaches out - a rare gesture of her initiating affection - and squeezes Scorpia’s claw in her hand.

“Merry Christmas. Or whatever stupid thing people say.”

Slowly, Scorpia’s expression melts into the kind of soft, adoring expression that Catra still doesn’t quite feel she deserves. “Merry Christmas, wildcat.”

As for anything else that needs to be said, well -- Catra will wait until she takes her leave, or until the next time Scorpia flips through the scrapbook if need be. Whenever that might be, Catra’s message in her messily scrawled handwriting will be there waiting for her.

Scorpia,

I suck at words, sometimes. Writing them down’s easier. I know I haven’t been a very good friend, so now I’m gonna help you fill up this book with a bunch more good memories to get rid of the bad ones. You deserve to be happy, and if this world gives you that, then I guess I really do owe it one.

Thank you for giving me another chance. I won’t waste it.

Love, Catra

#god you know what i just realized #this is supposed to be in the same 'universe' as my fic for fate but im like #posting this one first because i just decided to edit it first skjhdgkg #its fine you dont need to have read that one #ANYWAYS MERRY CHRISTMAS!#fic #christmas gifts

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hymn2000 · 5 years ago

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Chiquitita - MCU AU fanfic - C12

Story summary: Something strange is happening. Someone from space has made their way to Earth, armed with a strange weapon. Targeting teenagers, their ray gun, when fired, turns the victim into a toddler. The Avengers set out to stop this, and find a way to reverse the effects. However, they don’t all come out of the battle unscathed.

Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: de-aging, family stuff, corporal punishment (early chapters only), mental health stuff, hurt/comfort

Chapter 12 - The Game

Tony, unable to do anything by halves, invited all of the Avengers, and a couple of other people besides. Loki raised an eyebrow when he saw how many people he’d texted, but he understood - almost - and chose not to say anything.

“Your auntie’s and uncle’s are gonna come and see you tomorrow” Tony said to Peter on Saturday afternoon.

“Is mumma coming?”

“No. I think she’s still in space”

Peter pouted.

“Hey, don’t look so sad, chick” Tony said. “You’ll still get to see everyone else. Most of them, anyway. I bet they’ll all bring you presents too”

“Ah, that reminds me” Loki interrupted. “We got a box in the post today”

“A box?”

“A box” Loki nodded.

“What was it?”

“It was from Liz”

Tony stopped. “Oh”

Ever since Liz had gone back to Oregon after their holiday to Sheringham, her and Peter had exchanged very aesthetically pleasing pen-pal boxes and letters. They aimed to do it fortnightly and were usually pretty good and keeping on schedule. They both put in a fair amount of effort, and Loki and Tony both enjoyed watching Peter choosing things for the box and putting together a letter with gel pens and cute stickers. They supposed that, yes, he was due for a box, but what with the whole Kindsprengen situation, it had slipped their minds.

“...Will he remember her?”

“I don’t know. The box isn’t addressed to him, though; it’s addressed to us. I haven’t opened it yet”

Tony took out his phone, and scrolled through his camera roll.

“You said you found out he didn’t remember May by showing him a photo, right?”

Loki nodded. “Yes...”

Tony found some photos from the holiday Liz and Flo had accompanied them on. He found a decent photo, zooming it to crop Peter out, and he showed the phone to the little boy.

“Who’s this?”

Peter looked at the photo. “Um. Is she a girl or a lady?”

“Kinda a bit of both” Tony mumbled, putting his phone away. He sighed, and shrugged at Loki. “Well, that’s our answer. Should we open it?”

“I think we should” Loki said. “Later, though, after the baby is in bed”

Tony and Loki sat on the sofa, looking at the box on the coffee table as though it were a bomb.

“Should we open it now?” Tony said eventually.

“Well, it is addressed to the both of us” Loki said, putting the box on his knee and scoring down the tape with a pair of scissors. “Do you want to do it?”

“No, you do it. She must’ve seen the news - I know it’s been a big story. She addressed it to us, not Peter...”

Loki swallowed. He snapped the tape, pulling the box open. There was an envelope at the top with their names on. Loki picked it up, turning it over.

“Should I read it out?”

“No” Tony said. “You read it first. I’ll read it after”

Loki nodded, taking the letter out of the envelope and unfolding it.

Dear Tony and Loki,

I’ve seen the news. It’s been a pretty big story. It’s weird to think about it, but it’s easier to imagine it now that pictures of Peter as a toddler have ended up in the news. It’s funny, because you can tell it’s him, but it’s not *really* him. Does that make sense? It’s hard putting my feelings about it into words. It must be super weird for you both, since you’ve only ever known him as a teenager.

I’ve read about Kindsprengen and the people he hit with that gun. I know some of them are struggling. A few of them have set up blogs and done interviews with news sites. It’s weird, but interesting to read. I hope you’re doing ok (I’m sure you are!). I know Peter probably doesn’t know who I am now, but I also know this isn’t forever. He’s still my friend, and we’ve still got our promise of keeping in touch. I thought I’d send a box anyway, even though he’s a toddler now. I wasn’t entirely sure what to send, in case he likes different stuff now, and I didn’t think having things that are connected to our insider jokes or our friendship would be a good idea, because it won’t mean anything to him as a little kid. I don’t mind you looking at everything first, in case there’s stuff he shouldn’t have (I don’t really know anything about toddlers). Say hi to him for me, even if he doesn’t know who I am. I hope he’s ok. Give him my love, ok?

Love from Liz x

Loki handed the letter to Tony. They didn’t look at each other until Tony had finished reading, folded the letter, and put it back in the envelope.

“She’s a good kid” Tony said. “It’s good someone’s still thinking about him”

“I’m sure she’s not the only one” Loki said. He looked at the box. There was a layer of lilac tissue paper laid over the contents. “Should we look?”

“...I’m kinda interested to see what she’s got”

They still hesitated. They swallowed hard. Then they heard the sound of little feet, and Peter came into the room, his rocket under his arm.

“I can’t sleep” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“Never mind, darling” Loki sighed. He looked at Tony.

Tony nodded. “Come over here, kiddo”

Peter did as he was asked. Tony picked him up and sat him on his lap.

“Sweetheart, I want to talk to you” he said, getting his phone out and finding the photo from earlier. “Do you remember I showed you this photo earlier?”

Peter nodded. “You said she was a girl and a lady”

“Yeah, well, she’s a teenager, so kinda in the middle... See, she’s kind of a friend of ours, though she’s young... Her name’s Liz. She knows you”

“Oh” Peter said, resting his chin on his rocket. “I don’t know her”

“No... But she knows you. She thinks you’re cute. That you’re a good boy. She’s sent you some things” he put his phone down. “She wrote us a letter, because she’s our friend. But this box is full of things for you, lots of little treats. Would you like to have a look?”

Peter looked up at him. “Is she an auntie?”

“Well, no. Just a friend” Loki said.

“So, do you want to look in the box?” Tony asked again.

“Ok” Peter said. He didn’t move.

Loki moved closer to Tony. “How about I unbox everything for you, and you can look at everything that way?”

Peter nodded. Tony stroked the boys hair gently, watching as Loki pulled back the tissue paper. There was another envelope on the top, smaller than the first one. Loki opened it and took out the little card.

“Dear Little Peter, I hope you’re doing well. I hope you like what I got for you. Love from Liz, kiss kiss kiss” he read.

Peter just blinked. Loki set the card down.

“Ok” Loki said softly. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here... Well now, isn’t this nice?”

“Honey!” Peter grinned, looking at the jar Loki held up.

“Oh wow, cute” Tony said, taking the jar. “This is local honey, isn’t it? I bet this label is hand drawn. Yeah, that’s definitely a family business. She must have been to that farmers market again. Cute. You can have some of that at breakfast tomorrow, chick”

“Honey! I want honey now!” Peter said, trying to take the jar. “Honey!”

Tony chuckled, giving Loki the jar to set safely aside. “Tomorrow, chick. Let’s see what else is in your box”

“Is it more honey?”

“I don’t think so” Tony said. “Let’s see”

Loki found a little dinosaur colouring book with a mini set of felt pens and a mini set of pastel paints.

“Art stuff!” Peter said.

“These are so cute. I want them” Loki said. “Mini things are so cute”

There were more cute mini’s in the box: a little chocolate bar with a lion on it, a little marshmallow lolly, a little toy car, and a little soft toy dinosaur. There was also a cute pair of kids socks, again patterned with dinosaurs, and a little torch of the Iron Man helmet that lit up when the face plate was lifted.

“She’s got good taste” Tony said, flicking the torch on and off.

“Tony Stark, lighting up people’s lives since two thousand and whatever”

“Since nineteen seventy, thank you very much” Tony said, sticking his chin in the air. “Anything else left in there?”

“These” Loki said, holding up a twin pack of dummies. “They’re cute, but I think he’s too old for them”

“I thought toddlers still used them”

“Well, some do, but they’re not really supposed to. Bad for their mouths, apparently. Still, the thought is there” Loki said, setting them aside from the other things. “Well now, what a lovely box of things Liz has sent you, Peter. We’ll have to write her a thank you card”

Peter nodded, watching Loki pile everything back into the box.

“I think it’s definitely bed time now” Tony said.

“I wanna take the dino with me”

Tony took the little dinosaur toy and handed it to Peter. “There, now you’ve got a new dino to join your rocket. Back to bed now, young man”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes” Tony stood up, holding the boy tight. “Say goodnight to daddy now”

Peter whined, but he said goodnight to Loki and let Tony take him to bed.

Tony joined Loki again in the living room once he’d put Peter back to bed.

“That’s a pensive face” he said, sitting down beside him.

“Liz said she wasn’t sure what to get, but she chose so well” Loki said. “Those socks are incredibly cute. I know the label too, and they’re not cheap either”

“She loves Peter, we know that. They’re good friends”

“...He didn’t really understand, did he? He doesn’t remember her, he doesn’t know her, so he can’t really feel much towards her or this, can he?”

“Well, maybe not” Tony said. “I think he appreciates the presents though. Are you gonna get him to write a card, or are you just gonna do it?”

“I’ll pen a letter, and probably send her something too. Maybe we can get Peter to draw her a picture or choose her something. I don’t know. It might not be personal in the way their pen pal letters usually are, but I think she’d still appreciate something in return. I’ll have to confirm her fears in our letter though”

“Yeah, it’ll upset her, but it’d upset her more if we lied and then she found out about it” Tony said. “Have you thought of what to write yet?”

“I’ve been writing it in my head” Loki said. “I’ll need your input though”

Tony went and fetched some note paper and a pen, which he handed to Loki.

“Ok, let’s see what we can do”

They did a few drafts, and eventually managed to pen an appropriate letter.

Dear Liz,

Thank you for your letter. It’s nice to hear from you.

Little Peter is fine. He’s happy, and healthy. He’s a cute little thing. He’s tiny, and compared to big Peter, he talks far less. He’s still undeniably him - there’s a lot of similarities in his mannerisms and things like that. I know he’s only a toddler until we find a reversal, but we still have to treat him like any other toddler. He remembers people, but he doesn’t really have any actual memories, aside from those since being turned into a toddler. I’m sorry to say he doesn’t remember you. We showed him a picture and told him a bit about you, but nothing clicked. We understand it might upset you, but unfortunately this isn’t a surprise to us.

Peter loved his little presents though. He’s taken the little dinosaur to bed with him tonight, and we’ve promised he can wear his new socks tomorrow, and have some of that honey on toast for breakfast. You got him such lovely things, so thank you again. We appreciate it.

We hope you’re doing ok. We’ve enclosed a few little things for you. We know it’s going to be different to what you usually get. We got little Peter to help choose.

Love from Loki, Tony, and toddler Peter x

“I think that’s fine” Tony said. “We can always add something on later if we need to”

Loki nodded. “Yeah... We’ll go and get some stuff later. I’ll stick the date at the top of the letter. Right...”

“We’ll do it on Monday morning. Get everything done and boxed and sent by the afternoon. Let’s just get tomorrow out of the way first”

Peter wasn’t happy at all on Sunday morning. He woke up early and started crying. Loki went to him and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Shh. Hey, it’s ok. I’m here” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, still half asleep. “Stop crying now”

Peter just cried harder, tears streaming down his little face. Loki sighed, standing up and lifting the toddler into his arms, rocking him gently.

“There now, darling. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream?”

Peter shook his head, and then buried his face in Loki’s chest, howling and squeaking. Loki rubbed his back firmly.

“You have to tell me what’s wrong”

Peter just kept crying. Loki sighed again, kissing him on the top of the head.

“Have you hurt yourself, is that it?”

Peter still didn’t say anything. Loki tried to put him down, but the toddler shrieked louder and clung tight.

“Alright darling, alright. We’re gonna go and find other daddy. Maybe he can help”

With the help of the AI, Loki found Tony tinkering away in the lab.

“How long have you been down here?”

“Not long. What’s up with the kid?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d be able to settle him”

Tony put down his tools and took Peter from Loki.

“Hey little one. What’s going on?”

Peter clung to him, squeaking and sobbing.

“Oh dear, you’re not happy this morning”

Tony sat him on a clear bit of the work bench. It was harder than expected, as Peter really didn’t want to let go.

“Stop grabbing at me! What’s the matter?”

Peter cried harder, desperately holding one arm out to Tony, his other hand clutching his tummy.

“Have you got a tummy ache, is that it?” Loki guessed, stepping closer and touching the boys tummy gently.

Peter shrieked. “OW! OW, IT HURTS!”

Tony looked at Loki. “Wh-what do we do?”

“Lie him down and try to keep him still so I can have a little feel. He might have an infection or something”

Tony lay Peter down on his back on the bench, holding his hands and resting a hand on his head.

“Shh, daddy’s just gonna have a look. He’ll make you feel better”

Peter was red in the face from screaming, and he hardly heard him. Loki’s heart was thudding just watching him. He took a deep breath and pushed the boys pyjamas top up. Straight away he noticed a small blue plastic disk just to the left of the boys belly button.

“Hold on, is that a push-pin?! No wonder you’ve been crying!” Loki exclaimed. “This is going to hurt, darling, but it has to be done. I’m sorry”

He carefully levered the push pin out of the poor toddlers tummy, sucking his breath as he did so.

“Ouch. Shh, ok darling, ok” he said, reaching for the little first aid kit Tony kept under the bench. “How did he end up with a push pin in him?”

Tony felt sick. He felt like coming up with some elaborate excuse, or just saying he didn’t know. But Loki could always see through his lies.

“...I knocked over that pencil pot on the window when I was closing the curtains. It must’ve fallen on the bed without me realising. I thought I’d tidied everything”

Loki sighed. He squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault... Oh darling! Peter, shush”

He finished patching the boy up, and then cuddled him close. He kissed him on the cheek, rocking him gently, willing him to stop crying.

“Shh. You’re ok, darling. It’s ok, darling” he said. “I know, I know. Shh”

Tony watched them, biting his thumb. “He’ll be ok, right?”

“It’ll scab over and heal in a day or two. It’s nothing serious. The plaster and such are more precautionary than anything else” Loki said. “Poor little Peter. Shh. That’s it... See, he’s calming down now. It must have woken him up and scared him as well as hurt him”

Tony looked at Loki for permission, and then took the boy from him. He kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Do you wanna go back to bed for a bit, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Ok. How about some breakfast, then? You could have some of that honey?”

Peter nodded slightly, resting his forehead against Tony’s shoulder, sniffling.

“Breakfast then... Loki, do you wanna go back to bed? You look exhausted”

Loki looked at Tony. He sighed, and nodded. He could do with another rest.

Loki had to be woken up later on.

“Hey, it’s just me” Tony said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. Are you ok?”

Loki shrugged, stifling a yawn.

“People are here now, if you wanna get up”

“Who?”

“Nat and Clint, and Steve and Bruce”

“No Pepper?”

“No, she’s busy. And Rhodey. And a few of the others, evidently”

“Where’s Peter?”

“Nat’s got him. Just come through whenever. There’s no rush” Tony kissed him gently. “See you in a bit, right?”

Loki nodded, sitting up slowly. “Ok, darling. See you in a bit”

Loki felt like staying in bed, but he dragged himself up and got washed and dressed anyway. He went into the kitchen (which was miraculously empty) and had a quick mug of tea and a bite to eat. Finally, he went to the living room and faced everyone.

Peter was much happier now, with everyone making a big fuss of him. He grinned at Loki when he came into the room, but quickly went back to showing Steve his doctor set.

Loki nodded in greeting before settling down on the big armchair.

“Hey, little guy” Clint said, kneeling down by Peter. “I think we all brought you something”

“A present?” Peter said, looking up at him.

“Yeah, exactly. You wanna open them now?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes! Presents! Daddy, they bought me presents!”

Tony chuckled. “I said they might. Alright, you can open them, since you’ve been such a good boy this morning”

They’d spared no expense. Tony had warned them all prior that if they were getting the kid stuff, and they got anything with sirens or flashing lights, he’d kill them. So at least that was something he didn’t have to worry about coping with.

Clint and Natasha had coupled together, and bought him a toy shopping basket full of miniature groceries, a toy till complete with plastic currency, a little tin tea set, and a play set of wooden food.

“Those sections are stuck with Velcro, so you can cut them with that knife” Clint explained. “My kids always loved this kind of stuff”

They’d also bought him a huge bar of chocolate and a big box of jelly babies. Loki frowned, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why are small versions of everyday things so cute?” Tony said, pressing the buttons on the plastic till.

“They had so much cute stuff. They had a whole big kitchen set, like one that has cupboards and an oven and a hob and stuff, but it was a bit out of our price range” Nat said. “Clint thought you’d probably whine about where to put it anyway”

“For once in his life, he’s right” Tony said, and he smiled. “This stuff is great. Thank you. What do you say, Peter?”

“Thank you aunt Nat! Thank you uncle Clint!”

Bruce had bought Peter a tub of colourful wooden building blocks and a box of Stickle Bricks.

“Stickle Bricks! I used to love those” Tony said. “I used to bite them”

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, they’re probably good to chew. I don’t think I ever had them, but some of my friends did”

He’d also bought Peter a big tub of marshmallows, a bar of fudge, and a box of chocolate chip shortbread. Loki wasn’t at all happy with that, but again, he didn’t say anything.

“I’m starting to rethink my own decisions” Steve said. “My presents aren’t nearly as fun as you guys’s”

“Hey, one of us has got to be the sensible one” Bruce said. “The kids plenty spoilt; he’ll like whatever you give him”

“I just got him a bunch of little things. I didn’t get him any sweets...”

“Good” Loki said, breaking his silence. “That little lot from the others is more than enough for the little tyke. He’ll still be getting through them when we find a reversal”

“Could be a few months, Loki” Steve said. “Have you heard anything from Thor?”

“Not yet”

“Can we just get on with the here and now?” Tony said. “I’ll end up cracking if I think about the future or the past too much”

“Sure, sure” Steve said. “Ok little Peter, you can open the things from me now, if you like”

Steve had taken on the role of the Sensible One pretty well. He’d bought Peter a little blue hooded toddler towel with a matching flannel, a book of traditional nursery rhymes, a little white plastic cutlery set with little grey elephants on the handles, a box of Peppa Pig plasters, a pack of animal alphabet flash cards, and a marble run.

“Like I said...” Steve said awkwardly. “They’re not as exciting as the others”

“They’re lovely, Steve. Thank you” Loki said sincerely. He paused, and then decided to address the others. “... All of you, thank you. It’s very generous of you to get him these things. We appreciate it”

“Yeah, Loki’s right. You didn’t have to do this. You’ve spoilt him. Thank you” he looked at Peter. “You haven’t said thank you to Steve, kiddo”

Peter looked up. He wasn’t sure what to make of Steve’s presents, but he grinned up at the man anyway.

“Thank you, uncle Steve”

“You’re welcome, Peter” Steve smiled.

Peter looked at all of his new things. He thought for a moment, and then grabbed the plastic till.

“Are you gonna play with that now? Want me to get it out of the box for you, little guy?” Clint asked, taking the box from him. “We love the kid too; of course we’re gonna get him stuff. I told Loki I would, anyway”

“That kid’s not gonna get bored any time soon” Bruce said.

“Best way to have it” Clint said. “Kids are easier when they’re entertained”

He set the till up for Peter, piling the plastic coins and paper bank notes up beside it. He showed him which button to press to open the till, and showed him how to use the bar code scanner. He pulled the netting off the shopping basket of play food.

“There, you’ve got a full shop now”

“My shop’s closed!” Peter shouted. “No grown-ups allowed!”

The grown-ups all laughed at him, and Clint put his hands up in surrender and backed off. Tony moved all the sweets onto one of the lamp tables, and then they all sat on the sofas and gave Peter some space. The toddler was quite happy ‘scanning’ the toy food and opening and closing the drawer of the till, and organising the toy money into all the sections of the till drawer.

“It’s funny how hard they concentrate” Nat said. “He looks so busy”

“He is busy” Steve said. “He’s got a whole shop to run”

“He’s so cute” Bruce said. “Look at his little interested face”

“So” Clint said. “Have you given him a soldering iron yet?”

“I’m not that irresponsible!” Tony snapped, glaring at him. “Obviously he’s too young for the lab”

The doorbell sounded, closely followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. Tony and Loki looked at each other.

“Is that..?”

“I’d imagine so”

It was hardly a minute before Thor entered the room. Peter jumped up excitedly and ran over to him.

“Uncle Thor!”

“Hello, Nephew Peter!”

Thor scooped the boy up in his arms, hugging him close. Tony had also stood up, and was looking at him expectantly. Thor noticed.

“Hello, Tony”

“Have you got it? The reversal?”

“Ah. That’s what I was going to talk about” Thor said, setting Peter down on the floor and distracting him with a plastic sardine tin to stop him from squeaking.

“What? What is it? It’s been two weeks, Thor, for crying out loud!”

“Tony, shouting isn’t going to get you an answer any quicker” Loki mumbled. He looked up at his brother. “Spit it out”

“We haven’t made any progress. We’re still trying to track down and figure out Kindsprengen’s origin, and it’s hard to make a start without knowing these things”

“So what does that mean for my baby?!” Tony demanded.

“It means he’s no closer to being turned back into a teenager”

“So he’s stuck like this?!”

“Tony, it’s only a temporary thing; we know that” Steve tried.

“He’s safe and happy and healthy as a toddler, right?” Nat said. “Two weeks isn’t a long time. You knew this could be long-term”

Tony looked at Peter. The little boy was stood in front of the coffee table, chewing on the plastic sardine tin and shuffling from one foot to the other and crossing his legs.

“I think someone needs a wee” Clint said.

“Peter?” Loki said, catching the toddler’s attention. “Do you need the toilet?”

Peter nodded.

“Ok, so why are you still stood here?”

Peter took the toy out of his mouth. “There’s people here. I wanna stay with people”

“You’re still allowed to go to the toilet” When Peter didn’t make a move, Loki hauled himself up and took the boys hand. “Come on”

“Is he toilet trained?” Bruce asked once they’d left the room.

“Yeah. We’ve had no issues till now anyway” Tony mumbled, grateful of the distraction stopping him from shouting at Thor. “Why would he want to stay?”

“Maybe it’s fear of missing out”

“In a child that young? No way” Tony flopped back on the sofa. “Ugh, I really had got it into my head that this would only be a couple of weeks”

“We’ll find a reversal. We just need some more time and information” Thor said, sitting beside him.

“Are you staying on Earth for a bit now?”

“For a bit, yes. I’m not as much use with the reversal gun as you might think”

Once Peter had finished in the bathroom and came back out to the corridor, Loki knelt down to his level.

“If I give you a message, can you pass it on to daddy?”

Peter thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Ok”

Peter marched back into the living room and stood in front of Tony.

“Daddy, other daddy has gone for a lie down” he announced. “Because he’s too tired”

“Oh right” Tony said. “Well. Thanks for letting me know”

Peter giggled and ran over to his pile of new toys. He grabbed the tub of wooden building blocks and tried to prize the lid off.

“It’s stuck!”

“I think there’s tape round it” Bruce said, taking the tub from him and scoring through the tape with a key. “There, you should be able to open it now”

Peter set the tub down and took the lid off. He tipped the tub upside down, emptying all the bricks out, and then set to work putting them in piles of red, green, blue, and yellow.

“He knows his colours then” Steve said. “Does he know his shapes?”

“I’m not sure; I’ve not really tested him” Tony said.

Steve knelt down beside the boy, and picked up one of the building blocks.

“What’s this, Peter?”

“Brick” Peter said.

“Yes, but do you know what shape and colour it is?”

Peter looked at it, and touched the side facing him. “That side is a red rectangle”

“Yep, that’s right” Steve said, reaching for another block. “When it’s 3D, it’s a cuboid”

“Steve, he doesn’t need to know that word” Nat said. “He’s three”

Peter held up a block. “I know this one! It’s a blue cylinder! It’s got a circle at the end, and the other end”

“I see. Very good!” Steve said, holding up another shape. “This one is a little harder. Do you know what this is?”

“Yellow” Peter said. “It’s a triangle prism”

“How the hell does he know what a triangular prism is?!” Clint said. “I don’t even think I knew that without the visual reference”

“Well, then it’s confirmed” Tony said. “You are officially thicker than a toddler. Please collect your participation trophy on your way out”

“Ha, ha, very funny”

“You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?” Thor said, kneeling down beside Steve and ruffling Peter’s hair.

“I’m gonna build a tower” Peter said, starting to stack blocks one on top of the other.

Thor smiled and stood up. He turned to Tony.

“I’m going to take my leave”

“Oh” Tony looked disappointed.

“I’ll come back again in a day or two” Thor said. “I promise”

Steve picked Peter up and sat down with him on his lap.

“Why don’t we have a look at these?” he said, picking up the animal alphabet flash cards. “Do you like animals?”

Peter shrugged, relaxing back against Steve. “Can I have a dog?”

“You should probably ask your dad that one”

“Oh” Peter looked over at Tony. “Daddy? Can I have a dog?”

“Nope” Tony said, snatching his phone back from Clint. “I’ve already been through this with your father. Look at your flashcards”

“What’s a flashcard?”

“Ask uncle Steve”

Peter looked up at Steve, and then at the pack of cards in his hand.

“Let’s have a look at them, shall we?”

Peter nodded slightly. Steve opened the pack, pulling them out of the cardboard sleeve. He held the first card up for Peter to see.

“A is for Anteater” he said. “See it’s long nose? Do you know what anteaters eat?”

“Ants?”

“That’s right! They probably eat other bugs too. Ok, let’s see the next one” he said. “B is for Bear. What do bears eat?”

“Um... Honey?”

“Well, I’m sure some do. Lots of bears eat fish” he went to the next card. “C is for Cow”

Clint leant closer to Tony. “When did you hire a tutor?”

Tony snickered. Well, Peter seemed happy enough. That was all that mattered.

Peter seemed to enjoy going through the flash cards, especially when he got to make all the different animal sounds. Even so, he was quite happy when Steve put him down on the floor afterwards and he was able to go back to his toys. He found his rocket and went over to Bruce to show it to him.

“How do you get him to behave so well?” Clint asked. “I was looking forward to watching you deal with a tantrum”

Tony rolled his eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, we started our day with him shrieking his head off”

After they’d all had something to eat, Peter started rounding everyone up.

“We’re gonna play a game!” he said.

“What game are we playing, honey?” Nat asked.

“Hide and seek. You’ve all gotta play!”

“Uh, can I opt out of this one?” Bruce asked.

Peter turned to him. “You’re first counter! You count to- to... you count, and we hide, and then you gotta find us”

Bruce grimaced, but he didn’t want to risk the boy having a major tantrum, so he nodded.

“Daddy, you’ve gotta hide”

“Nah, I’ll stay here”

“But then you're not playing!” Peter shouted.

“Sure I am. I’m gonna sit right here and act referee. I’ll catch out any cheaters” Tony said.

Steve looked at Bruce. “Better start counting, Banner”

“Wait, wait. Ground rules” Tony said. “No going on the balconies, no going downstairs, and no going in mine and Loki’s bedrooms. Other than that? Fair game”

Tony had successfully excused himself from the game, and Bruce was reluctant, but the others were happy to humour the toddler. As soon as Bruce started counting they all dispersed. Tony sat back quite happily, scrolling on his phone.

Bruce reached twenty, and stood up. “Next time, I’m the referee”

#I've had to end this chapter early because it was getting way too long #my writing #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #frostiron #irondad and spiderson

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preppernewstoday · 2 years ago

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14600 shares The contents of your Bug Out Bag are one of the most important things you need for disaster preparedness. We’ve talked about this a lot before at Primal Survivor. But, as we’ve said many times, each person has different needs. A BOB for a fit young man, for example, will look a lot different than those of a family. To give you an idea of how different Bug Out Bags can be, check out these 4 examples of Bug Out Bag essentials. Not all of these Bug Out Bag contents are perfect, but looking at what they include and don’t include should help you decide what to put in your pack. BUG OUT BAG CHECKLIST Get organized fast with our completely free checklist. Example 1: The Military Bug Out Bag A female military veteran created this Bug Out Bag. She’s done a good job choosing her BOB items, including a few things you don’t often see – like the collapsible washbowl. She’s chosen a great survival knife (a khukuri), which would be much more useful in the wilderness than your standard folding knife. The basha pole (see here for more types of fighting stick) is excellent, but I wouldn’t recommend it to preppers unless you know how to use it in combat. It was also really smart for her to add waterproof pants to her BOB in addition to the standard waterproof jacket/poncho. If you’ve ever gone backpacking in the rain, you know what I am talking about! Bug Out Bag Contents *Not pictured: Example 2: Backdoor Survival Bug Out Bag This Bug Out Bag was made by the good people over at Backdoor Survival. I want to point out that this is the only Bug Out Bag here that includes COPIES OF IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS. As I talk about in this post about emergency binders, you must have copies of documents like your ID, passport, health insurance, etc., in case rescue workers need them. Not every disaster will bring about TEOTWAWKI, so you’ll want these for semi-SHTF scenarios! They also included some other really practical items – like TOILET PAPER. It isn’t necessary and does take up a lot of space, but you’ll probably be happy to have some TP around when SHTF. See toilet paper alternatives and toilet paper tablets. Note that Bug Out Bags are supposed to be the minimum supplies you need for survival immediately after disaster strikes. So, a knife sharpener isn’t strictly necessary. It is small and lightweight, though, so why not bring it along? I would have included a more durable flashlight, preferably a winding one, in case the batteries go out. Bug Out Bag Contents Example 3: The Budget Bug Out Bag This is an excellent example of building a Bug Out Bag on a budget. There are some higher-quality items in this BOB (like the knives), but they are older and passed down. While this Bug Out Bag is a pretty good start (more than the average person has!), there are quite a few flaws here. Instead of including 4 knives in the kit (yes, there are 4 knives here!), I would have opted for one really good quality survival knife with a fixed blade. Fixed blades are much stronger than folding knives, and a quality blade will allow you to do things like cutting wood. Or, he could have packed 1 fixed blade and 1 folding knife. Read how to select a good survival knife. I would have also opted for a wind-up flashlight instead of carrying all those spare batteries. And there should be some sort of tarp or tent in this Bug Out Bag. A wool blanket isn’t much good when you don’t have a roof over your head! Bug Out Bag Contents Example 4: Secondary Bug Out Bag This is a SECONDARY Bug Out Bag – meaning it contains the gear which isn’t used as often, so the main Bug Out Bag can be free. There are some nice additional items here – like the zinc oxide tape and mini fishing kit. The addition of gloves is nice, too, especially for urban survival situations where you might have a lot of broken glass or rubble. Bug Out Bag Contents Northface jacketTowelHat, thermal top, socks, underwearLarge ziplock bagOrtlieb drybagColeman gas burner with cartridgeKatadyn

water filterSpoon, pot, and lidLighter and matchesLED light and 2 12-hour chemical lightsGlovesMini fishing kitLatex gloves and zinc oxide tapeBandage, safety pins, and scalpel in tinGerber survival knifeRation pack meals – find out how to buy cheap MREs onlineSleeping bag How does your Bug Out Bag compare to these? + Image credits

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marksburyscripts · 4 years ago

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Episode 8-- Where Two Were Made

Google Doc

Content Warnings: -Strangulation

[Pre-episode announcement]

Hey, everyone! Victor Stark here! Just a couple announcements before we get started with this episode. First off: We are currently accepting auditions for Season 2 of The Marksbury Incident. Yes, already, wow! You can find us over at PariahPod on Casting Calls Club, or at the link in the description of this episode. Auditions go until February 14, 2021, and if you don’t get a chance to audition for next season, we will have auditions for future seasons, as well.

Second: We have merch! You can get Marksbury bags, replicas of Henry’s college hockey shirt, or anything else RedBubble will let us put our designs on. Again, you can find us at PariahPod, or in the link in the description.

Finally, thank you all so much for sticking with us. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I know that I’m having an absolute blast sharing this story, and I can’t wait for you to see how everything plays out.

Okay, that’s it from me! Here is Episode 8!

[Buxley, Maine. Ingleside University. Day. Christine and Victor are walking around campus]

CHRISTINE

So, how's it feel to be back?

VICTOR

Terrible, and I want to leave.

CHRISTINE

We drove six hours to get here, and you said you thought it was a good idea.

VICTOR

No, my therapist said it was a good idea, and I made the mistake of mentioning that to you.

[The sound of a small bell as they enter a cafe]

CHRISTINE

If you really aren’t comfortable, we can go back to the hotel. We don’t have to rush it.

VICTOR

No. No, we’re here, might as well get it over with.

BARISTA

Hi, what can I get you?

CHRISTINE

Hi, could I please get a small chai tea latte?

BARISTA

And for you?

VICTOR

Yeah, could I do a large black coffee with three espresso shots?

BARISTA

...Sorry, did you say--

VICTOR

Three, yeah.

[There are several seconds of concerned silence]

CHRISTINE

...How are you alive right now?

VICTOR

Through very unfortunate circumstances. [He slides his card] And yet.

CHRISTINE

You’re sure you’re okay being here, though?

VICTOR

We’re gonna find out pretty quick, aren’t we? [Beat.] Did they redo the library?

CHRISTINE

Yeah, they started not long after you left.

VICTOR

Good, that place was falling apart. Did you ever see on the third floor, that there was that glass partition that was just completely shattered and held together with tape?

CHRISTINE

Is that the one someone glued a bunch of condoms all over?

VICTOR

No, that was the one on the second floor.

CHRISTINE

Ah.

VICTOR

Everything else looks pretty much the same, though, if I remember correctly.

BARISTA

Here you go, you two.

CHRISTINE

Thank you.

VICTOR [Overlapping with above]

Thanks.

CHRISTINE

Yeah, I guess they were planning on updating the gym and the theater, but the funding had to go toward something else.

VICTOR

Oh?

CHRISTINE

Something to do with an “accident” in a biology lab.

VICTOR

...Ah.

ICHABOD

Well, would you look what we have here. It’s been a while, Christine, how have you been?

CHRISTINE

Professor Crane! Good, really good!

ICHABOD

And Victor Frankenstein. I didn’t expect to see you again.

VICTOR

Because I had a mental breakdown, set fire to the science building, and dropped out before they could expel me?

ICHABOD [With an audible smirk]

Because you hated my class.

VICTOR [Softly]

Oh, right.

ICHABOD

So, what brings you two back? Looking for a bit of nostalgia?

VICTOR

Therapy trip.

CHRISTINE [Cutting in before things can get too awkward]

But how are things with you? Everything still going well?

ICHABOD

Yeah, about the same as they were. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. Are you two still around here?

CHRISTINE

No, we’re both down in Massachusetts now.

ICHABOD

Whereabouts?

VICTOR

Doubt you’ve heard of it.

ICHABOD

I’m from Connecticut originally, I might have.

CHRISTINE

Marksbury? It’s not far from the Connecticut border, actually.

ICHABOD

Okay, yeah. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s nice.

VICTOR

It’s trash.

CHRISTINE [Cutting in again]

We were just gonna hang out here for a while. You’re welcome to join us if you’re not busy.

[Victor lets out an exasperated breath. Christine hits him, and he lets out a small “Ow”]

ICHABOD

I suppose I have some time.

VICTOR

Don’t you have like… a class to teach or something?

CHRISTINE [Through her teeth]

Don’t be rude.

ICHABOD

They have the ramp for the music building torn apart for renovations, so all of my courses have to be online for the next few weeks. Really I just wanted to get out of the house.

CHRISTINE

Perfect timing, then.

[Two chairs are pulled out, and Ichabod pulls his wheelchair up to the table. Victor unzips his bag and starts flipping through a book]

CHRISTINE

So they seriously just took apart the ramp in the middle of the school year?

ICHABOD

Despite my best efforts to get them to put it off, yes.

CHRISTINE

And no alternative accommodations? Isn't that extremely illegal? If you went to the news with that, I'm sure it would get fixed up within a few days. If there's one thing universities hate, it's bad press and lawsuits. Hell, I'll do it if you're afraid the school will retaliate.

ICHABOD

Oh, believe me, several news stations and papers have already gotten some anonymous tips. It’s just a matter of time before they--

[He cuts himself off, a touch of fear creeping into his voice]

Victor, what are you reading?

VICTOR

Uh… it's my mom's journal…? I'm not even really reading it, it's not in English, and sure I know some scientific Latin, but I've never been good with--

ICHABOD

Let me see it.

VICTOR

What?

ICHABOD

That page you have open. Please. [Victor slides the book over. Ichabod takes a few seconds to look it over. When he speaks again, it is clear that he is trying to keep from panicking] You two should go.

CHRISTINE

Wait, what do you mean?

ICHABOD

This-- You two should go back to Marksbury. Victor, whatever your mother was doing… I think it's best if you leave it alone. It was nice to see you both.

CHRISTINE

Professor Crane, wait!

[The bell rings as he leaves the cafe]

VICTOR

...One day. Just one day, I'd like to not have something ominous happen. Three hundred miles away, and I still have to deal with it.

CHRISTINE

He recognized that symbol. Do you know what it means?

VICTOR

No. No, I've never seen it outside of the journal.

CHRISTINE

We should go after him, if he knows--

VICTOR

If he knows, that's his business. Whatever this is, whatever… follows me, I don't care. I'm done searching for answers to questions that people aren't meant to know.

CHRISTINE

And yet, you're still looking through the diary full of ciphers and weird sigils. I know I haven't known you for long, Victor, but even I can tell when you're lying to me.

VICTOR

You ever think that maybe I just didn't want to forget what her handwriting looked like? ...Look, we'll talk about it later. C’mon. I’m stressed and I feel like garbage, might as well keep going before I start to feel better.

[The cafe bell dings once more as they exit]

CHRISTINE

You’re sure you’re going to be okay?

VICTOR

No. But no point in turning back now.

CHRISTINE

Let me know if you change your mind, okay? I’m not gonna force you to do anything.

VICTOR

No. No, I need this. Don’t let me get out of it. Hold me there if you have to.

CHRISTINE

I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that would be healthy.

VICTOR

Look at me. I left healthy coping mechanisms behind a long time ago. There comes a time when you just have to force yourself to bite the bullet.

CHRISTINE

If you say so…. [Beat.] Tell me what you’re thinking.

VICTOR

That I should have gotten another espresso shot in my coffee.

CHRISTINE

I’m being serious.

VICTOR

...I feel like everyone’s staring.

CHRISTINE

Why would they be staring?

VICTOR

I don’t know, maybe-- maybe they recognize me. I’m sure there’s a few dozen urban legends or rumors, or maybe they’re just really into true crime stuff.

CHRISTINE

Victor, it was five years ago. Plus, you’ve changed a lot since then.

VICTOR

Thanks.

CHRISTINE

I’m not wrong.

VICTOR

No, you’re not.

CHRISTINE

No one’s staring, Victor. I promise. Everything’s okay. [As they approach the science building, Victor lets out a breath] You good?

VICTOR [Clearly not fine] Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… never thought I’d see this place again. Can’t even tell what happened. [Beat.] It was in that room. Right there. Third floor, fifth from the left. Lab 311B. Lightning struck the rod I’d snuck onto the roof, down the wires and into-- [Beat.] I’d been holding onto the cables hardly a second before, I remember thinking how lucky I was that I’d let go in time. Then… it went wrong. The fire alarms took a while to go off. I was already down the hallway and headed toward the stairs by the time it started. Three floors down, and out the door. Then across the quad and toward my apartment. Maybe people saw me. They probably did, but-- But I'm not sure. I don’t even remember what happened on the way there, next thing I knew I was calling Elliot with no idea what I was supposed to tell him. I hadn’t spoken to anyone back home in months, and obviously I never told them what I was working on.

CHRISTINE

And what did you end up saying?

VICTOR

Nothing clear. Just that I was scared, that I made a mistake. It was the middle of the night, he didn’t even answer. By the time he woke up and listened to the voicemail, the police had already shown up at my doorstep and taken me away. I don't remember much past that, but I know it took them two days and a firm attorney before they actually sent me to a hospital.

CHRISTINE

That's horrible.

VICTOR

And yet, I am not surprised in the slightest.

CHRISTINE

Do you want to go in?

VICTOR

No. No, this… this is enough for today, I think. We can try that in another five years. [He forces a laugh]

CHRISTINE

...Can I ask you something?

VICTOR

You say that a lot.

CHRISTINE

Is there any reason in particular that you were being a huge ass to Professor Crane earlier? It’s not like you.

VICTOR

Would you believe me if I said that I just don’t like him?

CHRISTINE

Nope.

VICTOR

...Trusting people is hard. I had one class with the guy, it’s not like I really know him.

CHRISTINE

You could say the same about me.

VICTOR

And who says I trust you?

CHRISTINE

I thought that was implied when you agreed to be alone with me three hundred miles away from home.

VICTOR

...Good point. [Sighs] I-- I don’t know. I don’t know, there’s just… something. I think… you remind me of my sister a bit.

CHRISTINE

Yeah?

VICTOR

Yeah. Like… warm, but rational, you know? Never afraid to tell me when I’m being an idiot. Which happened a lot. [Laughs] She was into the arts, too. I was actually the odd kid out in that regard. She and my brother, they had this arrangement. If she were ever having artist’s block, they’d sit down at the piano together. Billy would make up a little melody on the spot, and Evelynn would paint something that made her feel the same way the music did. You know, the songs weren’t exactly breathtaking, he was ten. [On the verge of tears] But… they were nice.

CHRISTINE [Soft]

You okay?

VICTOR

...Can we leave now?

CHRISTINE

Yeah. Let’s rent a movie at the hotel. I know one you’ll love.

[A beat of silence as the recording ends and the scene changes. That night. We hear crickets and Ichabod’s wheelchair on the pavement. He pauses, listens for a moment, then continues on, slightly faster now. Whispers begin to fade in, and he stops once again as someone begins speaking]

WOMAN

Good evening, Ichabod.

ICHABOD

I-- I’m sorry, who--

[He is cut off and begins struggling for breath as she begins choking him]

WOMAN

Oh, let’s not get distracted. You’re a long way from home, aren’t you? [She throws him to the ground] Now. Tell me about that night on the bridge.

NEXT EPISODE➝

#Season 1 #Episode 8 #Christine Daae #Victor Frankenstein #Barista #Ichabod Crane #Unknown

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beautyisyours · 4 years ago

Text

BONES GOES COUNTRY

(Side note: it’s so weird how things change but stay the same. Now I am constantly scolded for putting acts on our show that aren’t “country” enough. So, like in real life, I never really fit in perfectly on the radio, either. I may be the only guy to play 2Pac into Luke Bryan into Lou Bega on a country station. I also bring in acts to perform on the country stations that aren’t country at all. I’ve had Ed Sheeran in performing live. Even Shaggy came in to do a couple of songs. Yeah, “It Wasn’t Me” Shaggy. The station managers were like “WTF?”)

Because Rod and I had been talking about my moving into a country format, I didn’t think it was all that odd when he invited me to the Country Music Awards in November. “I know you’re wanting to spread the word about your show,” Rod said. “So why don’t you come to Nashville? Everyone’s going to be in town at the same time. Station managers, company managers. Ordinarily it’d be tough to get all these people in the same room.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. I booked my Southwest flight and off I went to do my Top 40 show from the heart of country music, and hopefully get station managers to see it was a good fit for their stations. Almost as soon as I landed in Nashville, Rod and his team (from the company then known as Clear Channel but later rebranded iHeartMedia) were wining and dining me. Well, just dining me. They took me to so many awesome dinners and cool places it was freaky. Maybe they just like me, I thought to myself. But that wasn’t what it turned out to be at all.

On my second day in Nashville, Rod casually suggested we check out a shoot where all these top bands were doing national promos for our company. “Of course!” was my speedy reply. Tim McGraw was there; Lady Antebellum was there; Carrie Underwood was there. And everyone was super nice, and so clearly A-game. “Well, this is pretty cool,” I thought to myself. “I’m in Nashville to meet all of the bosses. And I get to see a few country stars, too!”

Right after I got done talking SEC football with Tim McGraw (and texting all of my friends, “I’ve been talking with Tim McGraw for the last twenty minutes about college football!”), Rod took me aside and gave me one of those serious the-police-are-outside-to-take-you-to-jail looks. “Listen,” he said. “You’re about to be hammered. They’re going to tell you something that will really shake you up. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I just

wanted to give you a warning, so brace yourself.”

What?

Thanks, Rod Phillips! I mean, what the heck did that mean? Was I about to get fired? You brought me out here to fire me? I imagined the worst flight home ever: being fired and then having to sit on a plane for two hours wondering why. I know it’s not customary for bosses to take their employees out to big fancy dinners and promo shoots if they are about to fire them, but common sense wasn’t floating around anywhere in my head in that moment.

It only got worse when I was taken over to a corner of the video shoot where huddled together was a group of bigwigs: Rod; John Ivey, the program director of KIIS FM in Los Angeles, one of the two biggest Top 40 stations in America; and Clay Hunnicutt, who was then the director of country for Clear Channel, were gathered around talking. They sat me down and said, “We want you to move to Nashville to be our national country morning show.”

And then I went deaf. Just like when something loud pops in your ears, I heard a loud beeeeeeep and then nothing after that. I was shocked. Their offer came out of nowhere for me. It was the last thing I was expecting. I really thought I was going to Nashville to pitch my Top 40 show, based in Austin, to any station manager who would listen—not to be asked if I wanted to broadcast the largest daily country morning show in the history of the format across tons of Clear Channel’s markets.

“Are you kidding?” was all I could manage to say. They took a picture of me as they asked me the question. In the photo, I’m pink haired (it was Breast Cancer Awareness Month) and my jaw was on the ground. I was shocked, sad, and slightly excited at the same time. In that order.

I didn’t say yes right away, not only because I was in shock but also because I really didn’t know how to feel about the offer. On the career side of things, I had built this entire “empire” in the pop format. It was a small empire, but it was definitely expanding. I had already accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to get a morning spot on Top 40 stations in New York or L.A. Elvis Duran and Ryan Seacrest had both just signed new contracts, and they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. They were giants. But I was content in continuing to grow from where I was. In addition to my regular morning gig, I had started cohosting a new national sports show on Fox Sports Radio with tennis champ Andy Roddick. (Let me sidebar on Andy, who in addition to having become one of my best friends is also one of the most obnoxious

and best humans in the entire world. That dude can be a real dick on the tennis court or golf course. But man, he is a quality human being. One of the best people I’ve ever met.)

Despite the fact that I was comfortable with what I had done in Austin, I wasn’t stupid. I recognized that there was much more room for me to grow inside of country—the biggest format in America and one in which I felt comfortable because of my background and my deep appreciation for the music. But there was one other major factor that kept me from jumping at the promotion: I loved Austin. I mean I really loved Austin.

I was supposed to hate it, because I’m from Arkansas, and when you grow up in Arkansas, you are taught to hate Texas. Texas is the bigger and better brother—particularly when it comes to sports. So as an Arkansas sports fan, I was pretty wary when I first moved to Austin. But the people there are so great. The city embraced us, which was particularly unbelievable for as cool a place as Austin to do to a small gang of—well—idiots, who had never done a morning show like ours. In a city where everyone is always trying to be the biggest hipster in the room, my approach was always to keep it real. I mean I- hang-out-at-Chili’s-and-shop-at-Walmart real. And people loved us for it. I couldn’t imagine anything better.

I thanked the Clear Channel execs, who expected me to answer “yes” right away, and immediately went back to my hotel room, where I called Betty.

“You’re not going to believe what just happened,” I said to her. “I was just offered a national show from Nashville. They want me to move here and be the national country guy.”

I know that it had to be hard for her to hear, because the offer meant I would have to move away. I already wasn’t the easiest boyfriend in the world; a long-distance relationship would only make things more difficult. Still, because she cared about me so much, her immediate reaction was to think only of me.

“You have to do it,” she said.

It’s crazy just how supportive and unselfish she was. I don’t have that inside of me. But she did. She didn’t need to think about it. In a beat, her response was “You have to take the job.”

I was scared—not to go to country, because that was awesome. And not to go to Nashville, because Nashville’s awesome. It was because I had to kick down everything I had spent the last seven years building from the ground up and start all over. It felt very much like the move from Little Rock to Austin.

I’d never been there before, but I had to do it. “You’re right,” I said to Betty. “I have to do it.”

A few days later, I told the execs at Clear Channel that my answer was yes. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. These kinds of offers are always followed by a lot of negotiating on both sides. One thing that wasn’t up for negotiation, however, was the rest of my crew on The Bobby Bones Show. I wasn’t coming unless all of the team could come too. If they wanted the show, well, Amy, Lunchbox, Ray, Eddie, and the rest of my crew were

the show. Thankfully, that wasn’t a sticking point.

Even though the gang had new jobs in Nashville if they wanted them, they still couldn’t know for a long time, which was weird for me. It went from uncomfortable to problematic when Amy and her husband picked a house to buy in Austin. Luckily (for me), something happened and the deal on the house fell through. But I went to Rod and said, “If we don’t tell Amy now, she’s going to buy another house.” So I got special dispensation to tell her months before everyone else. She was in immediately. Because for Amy, the bigger her platform, the more good she can do in the world. Also, despite how much the rest of us drive her nuts, she still likes being part of the gang. Crazy girl.

Eventually I was able to call in each person on the show one by one and tell them that I had some information I needed to share, but I had to have them sign a nondisclosure agreement first—which scared everyone. As soon as they had put pen to paper, I told them the news quickly. I didn’t take any pleasure from torturing people.

Except Lunchbox. He was the only person I messed with. “There’s going to be a lot of changes,” I said.

“What kind of changes?” he asked nervously. “The changes involve you.”

“Okay.”

“It’s tough for me to tell you this . . .”

I dragged it out forever. I took many deep breaths. I even faked a half cry.

It was an Oscar-worthy performance. I wish I had taped it! “I’m going to be leaving,” I said.

His eyes got real big.

“I’m really sorry that I have to leave. I don’t know what you’re going to do

. . . but I hope you’re going to come with me, because they’ve offered us a national show out of Nashville!”

He didn’t know whether to hug me or kill me. It was awesome.

On Monday, February 4, 2013, we formally announced that The Bobby Bones Show was moving to Nashville; Friday was our last show in Austin. I know this might not seem like big news to most of you reading this, but it made some waves in the city that built our radio show. As the Austin Chronicle’s Abby Johnston wrote about me: “He assembled his own dream team and turned KISS FM’s negligible ratings into a national goldmine, far outscoring any other local show. . . .

“The show feels like a conversation between friends, and that’s what kept me listening. I love to hate Lunchbox’s antiquated and misogynistic attitude toward women and his party-boy lifestyle. . . . Lunchbox’s foil, Amy, has captivated listeners with her struggle to have a child, and as she chokes up on air, I’ve shed tears with her. . . . Mostly, though, there’s Bobby, who through the years has revealed himself as one of the most genuine and open hosts on the radio.”

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han-made-bookbinding · 7 years ago

Text

The Fables of Æsop

This blog post is about a binding that was actually actually completed in September of last year for the 3rd International Designer Bookbinders Competition. Given the anonymous nature of the competition I have waited until now to do a write up about it and have also held back on posting up anything on social media between now and the announcement of the prizes (although it was very tempting to do so!).

In December of last year I was thrilled to find out I was one of the 28 prizewinning binders. There were 194 entries from 31 countries and 74 bindings in total were selected to make up the “Heroic Works” travelling exhibition. The private view and prize giving took place on Monday 17th July when I learnt I was one of the twenty-five “Disinguished Winners”, earning myself a wonderful little Doric column award with my name engraved onto the top.

Andrea Odametey of Germany took first prize with her beautiful paper binding of "Daedelus and Icarus". The strips of paper are fixed crossways in two planes and are ordered like the feathers of wings.

Second prize went to Rachel Ward-Sale of the UK with her wonderful binding of "The Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite". The design of her binding was inspired by broken Greek pottery and the Japanese technique kintsugi, where precious metals are applied to repair and enhance it. Andrea Odametey's binding has been given to the Bodleian Library and Rachel Ward-Sale's to the Getty Collection at Wormsley.

The bindings are currently on display in the spacious Blackwell Hall on the ground floor of The Weston Library, part of the Bodleian Libraries at the University of Oxford. It opened to the public in March 2015 following a three-year transformation, the refurbishment turned the 1930′s Grade II listed building into both a world class research library and a new visitor space with exhibition galleries, a lecture theatre, a cafe and shop.

The theme of the competition was, “Myths, Heroes and Legends”, a wide and open field from which to choose a text. I searched online for a text block that would fit the brief and settled upon a 1909 Hodder and Stoughton publication of “The Fables of Æsop”, with wonderful illustrations by Edward J. Detmold.

I have a particular penchant for nature, especially birds, so this book felt like a natural choice for me given the number of bird and animal related fables. Given the three dimensional nature of a book, and therefore the different possibilities for decoration, it gave me scope to select a variety of the fables and illustrate each separately on different parts of the binding.

It so happened that at the time of working on this binding I was living in Queens Park in London and at the annual “Queens Park Day” there was an Eagle and Vulture display team, Eagle Heights, there doing a show - we came within centimetres of some of the most awe-inspiring birds of prey in the world! What better place to do a bit of feather-related research...

The first task was to chose the fables I wanted to illustrate and where they were all going to be placed, listed as follows:

________________________________________________________________

‘THE OAK AND THE REEDS’ – The box

A very large Oak was uprooted by the wind, and thrown across a stream. It fell among some Reeds, which it thus addressed: 'I wonder how you, who are so light and weak, are not entirely crushed by these strong winds.' They replied, 'You fight and contend with the wind, and consequently you are destroyed; while we on the contrary bend before the least breath of air, and therefore remain unbroken, and escape.' - Stoop to conquer.

‘THE EAGLE AND THE ARROW’ – Front cover

An Eagle sat on a lofty rock, watching the movements of a Hare, whom he sought to make his prey. An archer who saw him from a place of concealment, took an accurate aim, and wounded him mortally. The Eagle gave one look at the arrow that had entered his heart, and saw in that single glance that its feathers had been furnished by himself. 'It is a double grief to me,' he exclaimed, 'that I should perish by an arrow feathered from my own wings.' - A consciousness of misfortunes arising from a man's own misconduct aggravates their bitterness.

‘THE HEN AND THE GOLDEN EGGS’ - The 3D hen atop of the front book edge and the front doublure

A Cottager and his wife had a Hen, which laid every day a golden egg. They supposed that it must contain a great lump of gold in its inside, and killed it in order that they might get it, when to their surprise they found that the Hen differed in no respect from their other hens. The foolish pair, thus hoping to become rich all at once, deprived themselves of the gain of which they were day by day assured.

‘THE FISHERMAN AND THE LITTLE FISH’ - The edge decoration and the front and back endpapers

A Fisherman who lived on the produce of his nets, one day caught a single small fish as the result of his day's labour. The fish, panting convulsively, thus entreated for his life: 'Oh Sir, what good can I be to you, and how little am I worth? I am not yet come to my full size. Pray spare my life, and put me back into the sea. I shall soon become a large fish, fit for the tables of the rich; and then you can catch me again, and make a handsome profit of me.' The Fisherman replied, 'I should indeed be a very simple fellow, if, for the chance of a greater uncertain profit, I were to forego my present certain gain.'

‘THE SWALLOW AND THE CROW’ - The 3D crow and swallow atop of the back book edge and the back doublure

The Swallow and the Crow had a contention about their plumage. The crow put and end to the dispute by saying: 'Your feathers are all very well in the spring, but mine protect me against the winter.' - Fine weather friends are not worth much.

‘THE ANT AND THE DOVE’ - The back cover

An Ant went to the bank of a river to quench its thirst, and, being carried away by the rush of the stream, was on the point of being drowned. A Dove, sitting on a tree overhanging the water, plucked a leaf, and let it fall into the stream close to her. The Ant, climbing on to it, floated in safety to the bank. Shortly afterwards a birdcatcher came and stood under the tree, and laid his lime-twigs for the Dove, which sat in the branches. The Ant, perceiving his design, stung him in the foot. He suddenly threw down the twigs, and thereupon made the Dove take wing. - The grateful heart will always find opportunities to show its gratitude.

________________________________________________________________

Once I had worked out the design I set about pulling the book. The original text block contained numerous illustrations from drawings by Edward J. Detmold plus 23 original tipped-in colour plates.

Unfortunately the plates had been tipped onto a paper that had quite badly deteriorated over time through fading, and the edges had had a lot of wear. I therefore decided to carefully remove the images from these pages, pressed each of them flat, and sourced a new paper on which to re-mount them.

The best match I could find colour and weight-wise was 312 Dark Green Hahnemuhle Bugra Butten paper from John Purcell Paper. As I knew I wanted to decorate the edges of the text block, rather than tipping in the colour plates before re-binding, instead I tipped in waste sheets to compensate for their thickness. I also made sure the waste sheets were the same size as the book‘s pages so that they would span right to the edges of the text block in order to have a level edge to aid me when doing the edge decoration. These were to be removed at the end and replaced with the colour plates.

In the process of pulling the book I realised it was going to be necessary to repair the spine folds of the sections where the original sewing holes had been as they were quite large and vulnerable. I did this using Japanese tissue (dyed to the same shade as the paper of the pages) and paste.

I chose to use the endpapers to illustrate the fable of “The Fisherman and the Little Fish” and wanted to print a net onto them. I inked up the net using some black lithographic ink and a roller, then laid it onto paper and pressed it hard in the nipping press.

In order to get the net printed in exactly the correct place on the page so that it could run around the book edge continuously from the front to the back I had to carefully map out where to print it. I made a paper frame upon which I could stick the netting to in order to print it in the right place on the page.

Once inked up, the page was laid within the frame and the whole thing was pressed in a nipping press.

The printed pages were left to dry for a few days and were then made up into the endpapers. Before laminating these with a folded sheet I cut out a small fish and backed it with gold leaf, to illustrate “The Little Fish” in the fable. The sections were then individually pressed before being sewn onto 4 tapes using a link stitch.

The book was squared up and placed between boards under a weight and the spine edge was glued with PVA.

Once dry, the shoulders were marked onto the outer edge of the text block and placed between backing boards. The spine was rounded and backed before being glued up and lined with linen between the tapes.

I was then able to sand the three edges flat in preparation for the edge decoration. Firstly I clamped the book tight in a press and made up a template for the top edge which I tacked in place with a couple of small pieces of masking tape.

Through small holes I had pierced out of the template I was able to pencil in the joins of the net. I then removed the template and inked in the net using a fine nibbed pen.

Given it was hard to accurately print the net on the front and back endpapers exactly in the correct place it was necessary to slightly elongate the netting across the spine to match. I started by drawing guide lines in with pencil and worked out the spacing manually. I then inked in the lines.

The end result was quite satisfying...

For the headbands I worked with black and cream thread, working them in a pattern to continue the grid of the net on the top edge.

Before lacing on the boards It was necessary for me to fix three metal tubes into the board edges. These were in order to insert some three dimensional characters into the board edges - a part of the overall final design. Firstly I cut some channels into the core of the board using a jeweller’s piercing saw.

I then encapsulated some square profile metal rod into the channels by laminating watercolour paper each side.

A hole was drilled down the centre of the square rod in order to fit a 1mm gauge pin which would later be topped with some carved figures. The edge of the board was then sanded to a bevel all the way around.

The boards were then laced on and back-cornered.

It was then time to work on the leather, starting with the onlays. The leather I used for the onlays was the split/suede side of a variety of coloured skins that I coloured with watered-down white acrylic paint. This gave me the colour and texture I wanted for what was to become the feathers of the two wings on the cover design.

These onlays were then stuck down in place on the covering leather with PVA through a tracing paper template, first the dove’s wing on the back...

...then the eagle wing on the front, starting with the larger bottom feathers...

...building up to the smaller feathers on the top of the wing in a lighter colour.

Once these were done I was able to back-pare the leather and begin the embroidery process. Firstly I worked on the outlines of each of the individual feathers, pricking the holes first using a needle bodkin. I then used a Holbein stitch that was further whipped around with a thread of the same colour.

I used a different thread colour for each of the layers.

I then added the central quill shaft of each feather before adding the linear vanes to each using a couching stitch to tie down the long threads.

Next I added shorter threads to add a tonal effect on each of the feathers.

And added further stitches to each of the quill shafts in contrasting coloured threads.

The reverse of the leather began to take on a life of it’s own too!

The topmost feathers then got the same treatment.

Finally, metallic threads were also woven in underneath the stitches of the vanes, copper in colour for the largest great feathers...

The same method was used for the wing of the dove on the reverse using threads in white, light greys, gold and silver.

The water ripples on the back cover of the book were first machine sewn using a sewing machine and then they were whipped by hand in a thread of the same colour.

Finally a “floating” leaf made from gold leaf adhered to Japanese paper was stuck down in the centre of the circular ripples.

The body of a black ant was inlaid onto the leaf and the legs sewn on top of it, along with some veins on the leaf.

Once the embroidery was complete the leather was damped on the front with an atomiser and then paste applied to the back.

Despite all of the embroidery the leather stayed pretty flat and went down onto the book easily - always a relief!

A couple of days later, once the paste had dried, it was possible to open up the book boards by dampening the outer joint with water. I could then stick down the leather joints and infill the insides of the boards.

The front and back endpapers were devised to work with the little three dimensional characters I had designed to sit on the board edges. The same gold leaf on Japanese paper (as used of the leaf on the back cover of the book) was used here. On the back endpaper featured some swallow feathers for “The Swallow and The Crow” fable...

...and on the front some golden eggs for the fable of “The Hen and The Golden Eggs”.

I don’t often title my books but decided on this occasion I would like to title both the book and the chosen fables featured on it. In order to tie each of them into the design I tooled individual letters onto punched circles, firstly onto paper.

These were then adhered in place on the endpapers and doublures of the binding using PVA glue and tweezers to place them down correctly.

I added extra circular “bubbles” in a variety of blues to illustrate the watery sea that the fishing net was in.

I then did the same for the cover, tooling the titles onto leather circles.

For “The Eagle and the Arrow” fable, before gluing the title down the circles were placed in position in order to work out the tooling of the arrow heads.

The gold tooling of the arrow heads could then be done using Moon gold.

And finally the title of the book was tooled in Moon gold leaf using larger handle letters, on larger circles of leather. These were stuck down on the spine section of the binding, following the curved lines of the water ripples.

From the onset of working on this binding I knew I wanted to do something to take it to the next level - it was for a competition after all! I decided the way to do this would be to make some small three-dimensional pieces to sit on the boards of the book, but to be removable so as not to be impractical. I decided to carve some birds to illustrate two of the fables that I had chosen to feature on the doublures.

I worked out how large the three birds in question (a hen, swallow and crow) needed to be in scale to one another. I then used some little blocks of tulip wood that were first roughly cut to shape with a junior hacksaw.

These were then shaped using files and sandpaper until I was happy with the end result.

Pins were glued into a drilled hole to make the legs. One was left long as this would be the pin that was going to push into the metal tube inserted into the boards. The other was left short enough so that when the wire legs were formed the foot would sit on the top edge of the board to stop it from spinning.

Paper feathers were cut for each of the birds in the relevant colours, including some feathers cut out of the Japanese paper/gold leaf lamination.

The wooden forms were then painted with acrylics ahead of the feathers being stuck to them using PVA. The feet were formed using wire and a spot of glue added to the base of the feet to keep them in place.

Once all of the feathers were added the beaks were painted and little eyes added.

With the addition of the three dimensional birds I needed to make a container that would house them in safely both for storage and for travel, given the books were due to tour as part of the exhibition. I devised a box that had an extra section above where the book was going to sit for the birds to sit in. A piece of wood was machined to slide in and out of the top section upon which the birds were to sit on “perches”.

The box sides were machined from oak with a channel routed into them in which to hold the Diabond lid and base of the box. The Diabond panels were covered in paper to match the look of the endpapers and doublures. A ratchet strap was used to hold the box tight whilst the glue dried and then small brass pins were driven in to hold the corners secure.

The box was lined with paper and oak spacers added to hold the book snugly in place. A ribbon was attached to aid the lifting of the book out of the box.

Finally the spacers that were stuck in at the beginning of the binding process were removed and the original colour plates adhered back in place.

A removable foam cut-out was included in the box to stop the birds from jumping off their perches during travel!

The book was delivered to Oxford and then the waiting commenced...!

I am now pleased to share the details of this binding and have now posted it onto my website at the following link:

The Fables of Æsop

I will leave you some photos of the final binding...

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artdjgblog · 4 years ago

Photo

Innerview: Ercan Ucer / Grafik Tasarim (Turkey)

October 2008

Image: NA / Grafik Tasarim Dergisi

Note: Take #1 of a design magazine interview.

01) How do you name yourself other than being a versatile designer? Labels aren’t my liking, but they can’t help but be used. Things are what they are. The past year and half I’ve come to the realization that I’m not really a graphic designer. Well, I am, but not in conventional ways or to today’s standards. I find myself every day becoming more and more out of touch with things. I’ve always had the knack for carrying my own cocoon with me, but some days it’s very apparent that I’m enclosed. That aside, anymore I just say that I’m a maker of things, as I like to just make things. I think I confuse a lot of people, actually I know I do. I’ve had people email me confused if my web site is an archive for many artisans’ work. Some think that there is a D, a J and a G teaming up in my basement. One girl asked if I did any actually DJ-ing. Which, I gladly agreed with. I’ve had clients get a little disappointed by what I make for them because it’s not what they wanted, even though they told me from the initial phone call or email, “I like everything that you do. Do whatever you want.” I simply like to make things and hope to dab a bit into many things by the time my time is up. I do know that every day is a new adventure at my soupy head and dining table. I’m calling a portion of my problem, well not really a problem for me but it might be to others and so be it, the “Batman Boyhood Concern”. When I was younger I simply made things. When I was younger I was obsessed with Tim Burton’s take on “Batman”. And I still find it to be my most engaging. I wanted everything in my room to be “Batman” related and if we couldn’t afford the room make-over, I’d just have to take matters into my own hands. My Grandparents lived just a four minute, little-legged sprint down the sidewalk from the school house in the small town I was associated with. Nearing 3:30 PM about three out of five school days, I’d hit the screen door running, grab a sugar cookie and get to work on my life-sized detail drawing of actor Michael Keaton as Batman. My Grandma kept this ode to pop-culture and my life in her bottom dresser drawer next to a giant pile of drawings from a giant pile of grandkids that she had collected over the years. I’d shut myself in her bedroom, drawing my way into a little portion of my master work until “Supper” wrapped it’s way around the kitchen corner, calling down the hallway. Drawing utensils were then exchanged for eating ones and the paper was rolled back up until I’d hit the front door again the next time. Something in me just said to draw it, to do it. Something before even this particular episode or movie was in me saying for me to do and make things. And I just enjoyed it. I found a peace to documenting things and sometimes I’d tag team with my older brother and we’d feed off of our energy to draw and make things. We’d tailor many creative moments after late nights watching movies or attending a wide range of events like fairs, tractor pulls and visiting cities. For the record I believe the “Batman” project went unfinished, but in some extension I’m still making things in this formative format, along with feeding off of other events in my life, past and present. Sadly, when my Grandma had to finally sell her home and contents, I wasn’t there the day the trash was hauled off with that over-sized, unfinished treasure map to my late ’80s world in-tact. In some ways maybe it is better off that it lives as a memory, though I’m sure I’d proudly display it if I had it today. And in some ways I hope that somebody plucked that thing up out of a trash heap somewhere to hang on their wall, to either celebrate another’s dream or as inspiration for their own. I know I’d do the same if I found someone’s life work, even if it was only drawn in a season and only for the sake of making something. I can see that a lot of talent is emerging right now from my generation (mid-20s/30s). In a sense we’re coming out of our bedroom closets to share with others what we can do. We’ve got a firm grasp on our ancestors’ aesthetics and fuse it with a brimming-over upbringing pile of video tapes, video games, computers and pinches of rebellion and rock ‘n’ roll and whatever environment we come from or have access to (at least from my perspective). I suppose the versatile designer isn’t a new thing, as I’m now thinking of some of my favorite and influential master designers of yesterday. But the combination of yesterday’s and today’s technology plays a role in the creative implants of the current versatile designer. I think you’ll find that a lot of people are just up and making a wide-range of things, not because they have to but because they simply can. Everybody seems to be versatile, and many are extremely good at it. Many artist/designer web sites are a file cabinet for all things, all ideas and information (I know that mine is that way, or I’d like to think it is or will be some day). I always say that you can throw a rock and hit somebody who is involved in the arts. And that’s not a bad thing, but it’s this is interesting to me and I think it’s due to the internet and technology. There are a lot of people making things or tying to. It’s good and bad that we’re all kids again? I think I’ll always be a man-child to some degree, but I have to plug into the adult world. Opposed to being versatile, there are a few one-hit-wonders, or stylists that can pull off their own thumb prints with each piece over and over and over, assembly-line like. Personally, I get a bit blahed by this and like I say a few can only pull it off for a career of the “same something to say”. I always think of one of my favorite illustrators, Edward Gorey, when I think about a style that sticks and is truly of the originator. He had his influences and his loves, but he also spun his own world and I don’t think his world caan ever be truly duplicated. 02) What is the relationship between marketing and your designing process at different areas? (poster, packaging, logo…etc) Until recently I’ve never had to market myself in conventional practice. For six solid years I cut my cloth diapers full on independent music-related designs that involved posters, logos, illustrations, etc. Being plugged-in to a small market like Kansas City, MO as a maker of things, and early-on living with a band who knew other bands and so forth, it was easy for me to crank out quite a quantity of work and a wide selection. Still, I’ve always just barely dipped into the arts scene here. My first few years of my design odyssey, there was no shortage of people to form relationships with and most of these people needed things made for their band or whatever. Not to mention I was in my early 20s which amounted for a large amount of energy and excitement. It also got to the point where I didn’t need to be told to make something. I’d just up and do it. Granted, I haven’t made much money at all doing what it is I do (this is something I knew from the get-go) and there have been some frustrating times, but the rewards have been greater and most all of my initial goals and curiosities have been met, several times over. And look at me, I’m making it in Turkey! Anyway, mostly what I’ve fit into is “Trickle Down”, or “Word-of-Mouth”. On top of creating my first five or more years, which was squandered into the late night / wee morning or on weekends, I was working 40 hours a week (oh, still am) at day jobs. I was a janitor and grounds keeper for many years and currently I do data entry in an office and have a better schedule and sleeping pattern. For a season or two I was even working 60 hours a week to make ends meet, plus a full-time girlfriend (now my wife) and working all night to meet design deadlines (thankfully independent music industry deadlines can be very relaxed and since I don’t get much money, I can pretty much make my own deadlines). I was at times scrambling between 10-to-15 projects at once, and only to basically be paid in cheeseburgers. Certainly, the ultimate goal and position for me is to someday make a clean getaway from the day jobs. I will still dabble in music-related practices, but I’m finding new avenues and realizing the powerful and simple marketing tool that the internet has to offer. Although I butt heads with computers and technology, I’ve learned to just be myself when representing myself. But, my biggest “butt” will be with myself. I can never do enough and I’m so very hungry. 03) Can you tell us about your working environment and your different feelings or extraordinary events that inspires you? Ever since I was a child, my working environment has been in my bedroom hunched over at my bed or whatever work station of the week I’ve built. I could always be found drawing or building something, or putting culture into my system. Though, my working environment extended beyond the bedroom as I grew up a child of rural farm and country life in the middle of America. I made dives into the sandbox, the fields, creeks and woods. I certainly believe in a home base of operations, mostly a place to find peace through the pieces, store my treasures and to unload my skull cap. And I’ve claimed to friends before how I could easily stay alone for weeks or months on end. I don’t get bored and lonely. Like my childhood on the farm, I still see everywhere on the outside as my working environment as well because I do my most thorough thinking / observing while out of my clubhouse comfort zone. Don’t most all who dive into any area of the arts and crafts? Given my odd schedule, I also must spin wheels rather quickly. So, I suppose the clubhouse external is the feeding and processing ground until I get the moment’s time to get it out of my system while at my desk down in my basement clubhouse. And I need this. It’s my cure, though it can be my downfall. I’m a major fan of extraordinary events and tend to find humorous and peculiar ones to be more my taste, and more-so in retrospect of the event. I’m a fairly anxious guy, so inspiration usually comes after my own post-dramatic stress of a situation. I feel to be blessed with a certain quality that attracts odd circumstances, or maybe it’s just in over-kill-over-my-head. Extraordinary has its own brand of fast pitch. More often I find inspiration in places, events and things that are fairly run-of-the-mill and every day ordinary for any person, which can give them an added cushion of “extra” for me. Some of my very favorite designs are remnants of everyday people, places and things. I do a lot of looking down or glancing off into space, collecting while I’m out and about either mental delights or physical ones that have been discarded. Since I was young I’ve had a habit (good or bad?) of bringing things home. While most men bring booze, golf clubs, sports cars, tools, even ladies home…I started dragging pieces of the farm to my world under the bed. I believe this started with bugs and the only type of spider I find comfort in, known to me as the Granddaddy Long Leg. When I found out that these long-legged, tiny had wonders would pass away of suffocation and frost bite after rounding them up in a glass jar kept in the freezer, I started dragging pre-dead things home to spare me some emotion. Not too unlike the family farm dog, I’d drag animal carcasses, parts and pieces to my bedroom. I was a gatherer before I was a hunter. Though, part of this was instilled in my boots while on excursions with my father to hunt animals like quail, rabbit, squirrel, turkey and deer. My Dad would let me keep things like turkey beards, feathers and feet. He himself had an impressive collection of deer antlers. When I was 6 or 7 my grandmother made me a denim backpack lined with plastic to collect the day’s dead things in. My Dad would shoot something and toss it into my backpack. Once home we’d dump it out to field dress our dinner and wipe out the lining for the next hunting trip. Mom and Dad have a couple picture books filled with the conquests of kills. They also serve nicely as a chart for watching four children grow-up as they jot the front lawn or pick-up truck bed landscape in front of my Dad’s kills, with big eyes, grins and sometimes a tongue hanging out in mimic of a dead deer’s. Further-on the photographs reveal the children as stars to their own still scenes with their own bagged game. A future goal of mine is to have an exhibition of blown-up family photography of this genre. To some this may be quite strange or extraordinary, but it’s not unusual for me at all and nothing out of the ordinary in response to the environment I grew up in. It’s only one tier of the cake. I’ve had many events in my life stick-out (check the “history” on my web site), but a singular extraordinary event that sticks out in a way in which it triggered me happened when I was six years old. I was at the school playground during Kindergarten recess. All alone I sat on top of a tall slide and watched the rest of the class playing games together, rummaging through the playground’s wood chip obstacles and tennis court tag playing. They were all going and doing and jumping and seemed to be enjoying themselves, but it just didn’t feel right to me. The playground sat directly next to a well-traveled road and it too was buzzing behind me with cars, trucks and tractors housing people on the go. Even though I made my own decision to do my own thing, sitting atop that slide, I felt extremely alone, confused and secured inside a most intense sadness of insecurity and strangeness to this scene, to the extended world I was coming up into. I can still feel a connection to this moment and I’ve had two or three other episodes like it, but not nearly as bad. Jokingly, I’ve maybe spent three of my nine lives during these moments. But, the one thing I can’t precisely channel, looking back up that slide, is what exactly happened after my observational anti-social breakdown. I do know that I blacked-out, fell from the top of the slide and hit my head really hard on the ground. The next thing I remember was sitting in the back of my parent’s car, smiling at the blue sky and excited to leave school early. Something important announced itself that sunny day. I wouldn’t exchange my early observations, inputs, memories and moments for anything, even the things I did this morning I wouldn’t trade. It has all compounded and fueled me in a way to how I got to the right now. When that can be channeled and floated on, then the moves you make can be pre-calculated and form purity to them. Notes like that aren’t always hit perfectly, and sometimes you’ve got to miss and even collapse to the floor. But, when the notes are on, you can really feel it. 04) When did you discover the impulse that led you being a designer? This impulse to create, to leave behind a paper trail of some sort on my impression, has always been kicking around in me. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t doing or making something. Even now, creeping on 30 I’m finding that I’m more in touch with my former self than my current, chipping away at something. Actually, the former and current are the same person. I’m not really living in my past, but I’m moving forward with it fully there and in use. Which, is another calculation of how all things gathered and hunted in one’s life can lead to the now, I suppose? Though, I don’t mean to randomly aim arrows. From a young age I was dealing with design (as all of us “designers” did and do), but at the time didn’t really make a proper connection to it. I knew how to spot Beatles records by their green apples. I was a fan of the “Star Wars” logo type and knew it was its own calling card and mega cool. I was very respectful of my nation’s flag and very curious of how one got his picture on money…and many other things that we all find developmental comfort or relation in. And while growing up on a farm I became quickly associated with tractor machinery identities and seed corn logos. With my older brother I’d collaborate on mini magazines and we also would cut and clip exciting words and phrases out of Mom’s magazines and paste them down. I always chose to “Visualize” my book reports in school rather than “Verbalize” them. I must confess there was many times where I wouldn’t even read the book and still score a top honor with my interpretive illustrations based on my own guts and thoughts. Which, sometimes a designer doesn’t have time to read a whole book before slapping a cover to it. When the age of 9 or 10 came around I was the winner of a wide-spread logo competition for a roller skating / bowling alley business in a nearby town. I had a hunch I’d win as every other submission, even those by students 8 years older than me, didn’t feel inspired or realized or even logo-like (whatever that means nearly 20 years later). I still like my logo. Though, when my family drove by the facility after the sign was finally up, I got a real-world shock of disappointment as the owners had took the liberty to butcher my design and it just wasn’t the same. It was ruined to me. It was my first design disaster and it hurt at the age of 9 or 10, just like they hurt now. I was also a big fan of collecting and mimicking logos and mascots for collegiate and professional sports teams. There was a time when I claimed, “I want to be one of those people that makes those sports logos.” Not really knowing what people who made such things are called, but I knew that I wanted to be involved somehow and I knew how to make sense of them (I also celebrated a go at trying to design athletic shoes). My love for those sports logos moved into sports stadium design and architecture while I was in my early teens. I still have pages and pages of baseball stadium designs I’ve invented. However, a poor track record in mathematics finally convinced me at 18 that I probably couldn’t make the cut in such a technical field as architecture without being held accountable for faulty engineering. It was a hard reality, though I eventually would work as a night janitor for a successful stadium design office when I first moved to Kansas City, MO. So, technically I did work in sports architecture. The summer previous to my non-math skills realization, I was involved with a wide-selection of fellow high school artists to form the first annual Missouri Fine Arts Academy. This opened me up to other channels for future development with the arts. And I became more open and dare-I-say, evident of my ability for “artsy”? I also was becoming influenced by new things like typography of graffiti (even though I only practiced graffiti in sketch books and had no idea what typography was until two years later). The last year of high school I decided to go to college for something called graphic design. I enjoyed art and making things, but from what I understood graphic designers guaranteed “more chunky of a pay check”, something I’m still looking for. It wasn’t until receiving a great helping of design education at Southwest Missouri State University (SMSU, which is now Missouri State University), that it really began to seep in what a graphic designer was defined as. The illustration and design department at SMSU was a unique opportunity to study with as my instructors were from Eastern Europe and Russia. This brought a great perspective on not only the largely hands-on work that I was interested in pursuing but also from a cultural platform. Most importantly, I learned how to build and burn from the fuel that I once had while making things in my bedroom as a child. This took over two years of redevelopment, oiling and eye opening to get at what I had in me from the foundation get-go. My instructors helped me to see this, along with a lot of hard work. Though, looking back I don’t think I really worked hard enough. At times, it wasn’t an easy transition and at times I was laughed at by peers. One such instance early-on in my studies was when I said, “I’m going to take the graphic design route that doesn’t involved computers.” It wasn’t arrogance speaking, rather backwoods boy. A couple of friends thought I was crazy for that one. Later on those same friends would look at me very strange when I thought that typography class involved map making. After many paints of red face, and once knee-deep into my studies, I had second thoughts about graphic design as I fought with the screen barrier of the computer monitor, the route I didn’t want to take. Computers choked the fun out of creating for me. Frustration was sensed from within and out as I was at a loss with my once creative love and my first computer design instructor was pretty frustrated with me. Along with this struggle, I visited many professional design studios and always came back very unsatisfied with the “profession” I was getting into. It lacked what I was searching for, the thing that kept me up as a child making stuff. A professional design office atmosphere might work for most, and that is perfectly fine, but I for one wasn’t about to give myself to another man’s dream, spending 40 years pushing around on an assembly line screen. I’m painting a terrible picture for professional design offices and I apologize. I just didn’t see myself and the way in which I thought and worked in that environment. I knew what I wanted to do, but had no idea what to do with it. And I for sure knew it wasn’t going to be wasted on computer monitors (Note: I own a computer and use it. It is a remarkable tool and has been a good/bad addition to the industry. But, a computer is not design nor does it have a magic button that pukes out designs like people back home have once thought). Sheepishly, I took a chance on myself the last couple years of school and gained much needed confidence in doubling up design with illustration classes and learning to merge the two. It was a lot of work (even though I don’t think I worked hard enough), but something clicked and I felt like something could come of it. Outside of class I was catching fever as well, starting what would become my own business and shuffling a large amount of clients. This was when I started getting into independent music graphics, merging my love of music with my love for making things, and meeting people who needed me to make them things. The last couple of years of school were very important. I learned to reconnect with myself, to poor into my work to where it became more than just “work”. I would then finish up the rest of my design and illustration courses and secretly drop-out of school to pursue a higher calling to do my own thing. 05) Is looking at life always from a different angel, the designer’s necessarily ego? Most any area of most any job / skill / talent / business doesn’t come without some ego hurdling. The ego is amped further within the arts. Inflated achievement comes with ease when your voice gets a little loud in a “scene” or beyond, when you start to make some ground or just think you’ve got it going on. It’s easy to become your own Hallmark moment. I’d like to think I’m fairly grounded, but it’s hard not to feel the eggs weight the other side when I know I could be sitting on a couple of golden ones. And everybody asks me why I’m not doing this full-time, why I don’t have my own book, why this and that. Working a day job can help matters upstairs and can also add a unique fuel to the equation, but it can also be a nightmare pushing everything to the back burner because of a day job. It can hard to keep up with everything. But, life is life and I’m best when I don’t try to push it so hard that I end up breaking instead of making. I have to just tell myself that I am a man and a man who happens to make things. Even if those things are on the side, and at times have to stay on the inside. It doesn’t mean that I’m better than somebody nor am a “somebody” because I’ve found a certain something within me or a way to leave my mark. I enjoy my life, have fun and feel very fortunate, even if I do find it all quite silly or serious from time to time. I think one needs healthy doses of reality and a whole heap of humor to make it. Besides, I have no answers. If you know somebody with it all figured out, have them call me. Phones tend to bring the egos out, but I’ll at least give an ear. What helps me is to find comfort and ease in venturing back into my child manner. I find peace in just Be-ing, but not in some freak-out way. I’m much more content and find peace when I’m either looking at the world through a certain lense that I might qualify for or just making and enjoying the act of celebration in creativity. The moment I start to think too much about it all or start to answer questions for interviews is when it can get a little dangerous. I feel odd for the people who sit through an entire interview with me because half the time I have no idea what the heck is going on. Creative voice can be a dangerous stomping ground. We see individuals all the time start to play God with their arts and crafts to where they become the work of art. They say it’s “who you know”, not “what you know” and this may be true in some fashion, but I think people play with their gifts a little too hard to become something other than a someone, to where they don’t even recognize themselves. It’s a place where the art takes possession over them and the things and even the people that they pioneer. It’s sad. And another thing, it’s sad to me when creative people resort to outside influences to fuel themselves. This is another topical can of worms, but I get extremely sad, frustrated and the feeling of cheat when I find a great piece of art was created under the guise of chemical enhancement and or power pills. I don’t think I’ve ever had a creative supply shortage. Even if I had the full-time employment of my own craft, I’d still have a back list added to daily as there isn’t enough time and resources to accomplish everything I want to and I don’t have a lack of work ethic or passion (though sometimes I might think I’m lazy). It’s evident that those who are steeped with some intuition to create and spew out what they’ve got in them have been blessed and cursed in some way. I feel very blessed to have this ability of self-contained entertainment and amusement and the strange need to put my stamp down here. Though, it can be a wreck when I stay too deep within myself. It’s hard to find balance sometimes, but if I just take things one step at a time, I’m fine. I think gaining wisdom through maturity helps and I know that my energy and will-power have died some and of late because I’m getting older. But, I’m leaning on this as a beneficial tragedy and it excites to want to always be making my best work. I think I say and do some dumb stuff now, but I’m positive it’s less than yesterday. 06) Can you inform us about graphic design’ s one of the important field, package design and your sketches? / Tell me about the sketching and process of packaging. There is a certain amount of image longevity that becomes attached to packaging. I’m not experienced in much more than musical CD packaging, but I think a long life span especially applies to this in the iconic halls of pop-culture. Certainly, my little kicks aren’t associated with the big boy playground pop-culture world at all, as I’ve only floated around the local independent music scene and a few magazines and books. Though, who knows as time passes and perhaps within the very small circle I’ve operated in, it will tell. Besides, it’s not the reason to make something and/or package something (to win awards and hearts or to make something cool-lookin’) but if you can add some meaty eye candy, then so be it and why not? I love poster design because there are endless possibilities to exhaust, many ways to work reach-and-grab, to be of-the-moment and intuitive. If something doesn’t work all-around, it’s throw-away and will die soon like house flies. CDs are so different, at least for me, and they can be quite intimidating and sometimes a nightmare. I do a little bit of sketching, but more-so the process and evolution of diving right into the CD package is the sketching for me. If I’m rewarded with an ample amount of time to work on a CD I usually make it happen in three different sessions, or what I call “incubation stages”. This allows me time to sit on ideas and to come back to them with fresh perspective and clear head, to play or spin off ideas and such. With the way in which I work, I tend to feed off of my day-to-day (sometimes minute-to-minute) emotional handy work. It can be a little strange though as I say I don’t like to think, but I’m no stranger to it and thus I can easily obsess over wondering the what-might-have-been with something like a CD package or anything after it’s over. There have been moments where having an extended deadline for a package can cause too much to happen, too many sessions. And I’ve had some CD packages that the musicans/band have taken anywhere from six months to two years upon getting to the final. You know, people taking their time, finishing up recording, life stuff and production blahs. These typically turn to nightmare with the band or a third party (another designer or the printer) ending up with passed around digital files, putting the project on the mutated chopping block. CDs can wear me out. Especially in the age of digital and “everybody’s a designer”. That’s another ball park though. Though I appreciate not cramping my time and style, as I’m a busy boy, I do believe my best packages have come down on me at the last minute, and usually on the lowest of budgets. And I mean cheap, major cheap. Sometimes I only need one session to cram for the final. There have been times where a client tells say, “Hey, I’ve got such ‘n’ such idea to release a CD.”, and instantly I’ll have the image in my head and make it and it’s perfect. I guess it just depends? 07) What are the benefits of making global designs for the designer? I love a body of work, one that breathes and not only serves as a timeline for the maker, but also for views and observations on life itself. I like the idea of the paper trail through the woods. Even if it goes barely used or undiscovered in its own time, it still becomes a piece of time. Who knows, maybe it will be a major highway further down? Of course anyone who makes things in a passionate format and routine can’t help but be a tad bit selfish when it comes to dishing something up. Even if it is for some other body, it is always from an original body, the creator. Anything that goes global is still connected to that first breath of singular life. It means a great deal to me when something silly that I get tickled out of bringing to life, in some aspect, makes it out of the nest and causes others to react in their own way, mostly positively and even sometimes negatively. In today’s fast-paced world of millions and billions of images and things flashing, it really does mean a lot that my meager things have made it in some strange and oddball small-scale way. Even, if it’s just a grin or a double-scoop by someone of a little poster on a wall or in a magazine or out there on the internet billboard. After starting to make things on my so-called professional design odyssey for only a few months, I had people track me down to say how their bedroom walls had few places to hang anymore of my work. This just floored me as I am not one to have much bare space on my own walls of other people’s work. 08) Can you explain the relationship between marketing and designing? Like I previously mentioned, years of marketing for me came by word-of-mouth or by people seeing my work in the community or in magazine competitions and book publishing. Something I tell artists and designers is to get the work out there. Even if it’s something you’re doing in the off hours, just get it out. I know that I have some things that only I and my basement will see, but a lot of what I make gets out there. And if the people find something to listen to within your work, they will come. Even if it’s just one or two, then that is worth it. I feel I’m finally at a place where I can sit back and re-learn some things and actually look at the things I’ve made, the pile I’ve built. I’m learning to use the internet as the tool it is to pass emails to prospective clients or industry folk and to find ways in which to get my new web site some traffic. I have to take it a bit slow though because I only have so little time to actually make things that it’s hard to find the time to push that stuff into other areas. There aren’t enough hours in the day. Also, I definitely believe in getting the work to design competitions whether local organizations, national or world-wide. I recommend dumping as much stuff as you can every year, money-willing of course. People on the other end start to take notice and begin to look for you, which can turn to magazine editors leaving positive messages and emails, interested in your work. This can also lead to interviews and other special things. The work in magazines has been the most important for me as publishing can extend many world regions, gathering a lot of feedback. This can lead to book submissions and beyond. I’m not sure if I’m answering this question correctly. Marketing in other ways…? A design is a marketing tool. Though, a designer does play eye-grabber, a designer is not really a marketer, but I guess it helps a bit to know how to sell something? I had friends in college who studied marketing as well as design. But, it’s an area I’m not familiar with other than getting people to get excited for a musical group/sound/feeling/expression by way of poster, CD or logo design. It is marketing tool though, especially when working with a client. It certainly is not only what the designer can bring to the “product”, but you’re also working for somebody and trying to sell an image or an item and in the case of show posters, selling a venue or the place the poster is hanging or even the scene and city. I think this can be a tricky walk. I’ve been fortunate to have some success with great clients and great projects to where things work out lovely. I guess it helps that independent music graphics kinda start out in left field? Though, I don’t think that the work should limit itself. I think it’s great when the work speaks to anybody. There are times though where things don’t mix well, whether under the weather or client-wise or consumer. It’s just part of the deal. 09) Does any of your designs have an unforgettable story? This question has been asked a handful of times and it’s always answered the same way as this story is one that I won’t forget. I think that everything I make has a story to it. Whether it’s an unforgettable one in terms of production on my end, or one that is contained within the background of the piece internally, everything has a story. The “Whatever Makes You Happy” CD package design I made in June of 2002 for the band Elevator Division, is one of my most memorable moments, story-wise and design-wise. The following has been told so often for interviews, that I’ve now come to simply plug in a script that I’ve already spent time with to answer such a question. I don’t aim to cheapen this interview by including something that I gave for another, but here goes the story. It’s pretty whacky and ended up being one of the best things that I think I’ll ever make. It was a special run of 250 homemade CD packages for the band Elevator Division. I’ve had many projects that demand more production time than my little brain imagines, but this one was the worst. Actually, the finished piece is a lot tamer than my initial idea. Though, the final image’s concept, married to what the band was communicating on the disc inside, is way better. The idea came at the night I started printing. Well, actually it was spray paint. I had an image made for a month or more and then changed it at the last stroke of inspiration. It married the themes for the album “Whatever Makes You Happy” perfectly. With reflections of war and relationships in the songs, I made an image of a hand shooting off its index finger like a missile. It was the idea of shooting off one’s options and making decisions. It was aggressive, inviting, serious and humorous all in one. It was not only fitting for the band / music but also to the national / world agenda and climate. I went to war that night with many cans of spray paint and the idiot mind to do two-hundred and fifty, all in one massive sweep, and in my basement, which is something I will never do again because I could have died. I will probably also never be involved with another package like this again (take that back, I have been). Anyway, each one was hand-cut from cardboard and handmade stencil sprayed and rubber stamped. Inserts were cut, folded and glued. At the last mist of red spray a crack of thunder shook the massive turn-of-the-century home and I bolted from the basement and out the front door to a down poor fit for Noah himself. I was like a much less cool version of Dr. Frankenstein though. I leapt off the front porch and slid head first down the embankment and into the street turned river current. Like a taxidermy nightmare, I was born again. The drug dealing squatters of the home across the street were on their front step perch per usual summer evening, looking at the fire in my eyes and the red paint streaming from ears, nose and mouth. It was a high much higher than that of chemical substance. Well, maybe a three pack of design, life and paint fumes. -djg

#innerviews

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jesbakescookies · 7 years ago

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Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Twenty One

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!

***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***

Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)

Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.

Rating: Mature : NSFW **dirty dirty**

"We have a situation." Jeffrey's publicist spoke as soon as he answered his phone. Sighing, he glanced around the set and stepped away to get privacy.

"What's up?"

"Well..." her voice trailed off.

"I'm kinda pressed on time Kathy."

"The good news is the announcement of your relationship has been overall positive, many already asking about a wedding."

Jeffrey felt his neck heat at the idea, the same damn thing had been plaguing his own mind for the last week. Ever since the hot shower sex, where a vision of Aria in white permeated his brain and forced him to realize just how hopelessly in love he was with the petite beauty.

"So what's the bad news?"

"Well there is a female fan base that isn't too pleased with you settling down. They've started an anti-Aria twitter and have been spamming negative content about her all day. A lot of mean remarks and hurtful stuff."

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you serious?"

"Unfortunately." She sighed, as she typed in the backed ground. "Look if you want me to talk to Aria-."

"I'll talk to her. What're we doing about this?"

"There's nothing to do unless they start threatening her or stalking."

"For fucks sakes Katherine. So I'm supposed to go to her and say, 'Hey the internet hates you and I'm not doing shit to stop it?"

"Look Jeff, this stuff happens. Until they do something over the line, there's nothing we can do."

Rubbing his eyes roughly, Jeffrey noticed the interviewer looking for him. "I've got to go. Look try to do... something. I don't know, think of something to..."

"What? Make everyone like your girlfriend?" Katherine snarked.

"Har har." Jeffrey, deadpanned. "Just do something okay, Kat. Please."

"Okay, okay. I'll think of something."

Aria's phone blew up with messages from Megan as dinner service started. The frantic vibrations turning her peaceful Wednesday evening into a drama filled fuckfest. She knew that the words of random idiots on the internet meant nothing but it didn't stop the knot from forming in her throat like a chunk of stale bread. Eventually she tossed her phone into her office and forced her mind to focus on work.

Forcing it however, didn't work. Aria being scattered and distracted, sliced her thumb and burned her forearm by closing time. Javier tried to talk to her about everything but she was tight lipped. She needed to get her head on straight before even thinking about talking out loud. She felt way too sensitive to have a rational conversation.

"You sure you don't want me to look at your arm?" Javier murmured, his gaze far to empathetic. Rolling her eyes, Aria scoffed, "Like I haven't tended to a burn before. Get fucked Javie."

"Okay, okay. Night boss lady."

"Night Jav. Hey... thanks though. For wanting to help."

Smirking, he gave her a nod before leaving the kitchen. Once the door locked loudly, Aria collapsed against the walk in fridge door and closed her eyes.

"Its worth it. Jeff is worth it." She murmured, blinking away the prickling and straightening herself upright. Heading to the cabinet with all their first aid supplies, Aria began to tend to the burn and cut on her finger.

A loud knocking had her freezing solid, her eyes widening as she realized she hadn't spoken to Jeffrey since that morning. Her phone was long forgotten in her office.

"Fuck." She muttered, wrapping a paper towel around her thumb, which was openly bleeding again. "Hold on."

Walking briskly to the front door, she found Jeffrey pacing with a scowl, which only deepened as she opened the door. His dark eyes looked her over and she knew that he knew about the web chatter.

"What happened?" He asked, pulling his riding gloves and beanie off before reaching for her hand. Rolling her eyes, she tipped her chin towards the kitchen. "I have first aid stuff out."

Walking back to the supplies, Aria felt Jeffrey watching her closely but couldn't bring herself to look back. She felt stupid for feeling emotional about a bunch of no-name assholes saying terrible thing about her. It was ridiculous that she was even thinking about it, let alone being affected by.

"Talk to me doll." He rasped next to her, his head cocking to the side to catch her eyes.

Sighing, she pulled the paper towel away to show him her thumb. "I cut my thumb and burned my arm."

"Jesus." He grunted, reaching out to look her thumb over. "Doesn't need stitches, how bad's the burn?"

"Not the worst I've had."

Jeffrey looked at the red skin with a frown, finding a blister forming already. "Damn sweetheart. How'd this happen?"

Aria hopped up on the counter, while Jeffrey sat in front of her on a stool. She watched him clean her finger first, his touch gentle as he put pressure of the spilt skin.

"I was being stupid."

Cocking an eyebrow in question, he continued wrapping her thumb.

"I was just... distracted."

"Does this have anything to do with something on the internet?"

Huffing out a breath, she looked away from him and pursed her lips. Shrugging one shoulder, Aria muttered, "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter because it's upsetting you."

"It doesn't matter because I'm an adult. Sticks and stones and all that shit."

"Aria."

Hearing him say her name rather than a pet name, she returned her gaze and felt the stupid knot form in her throat again. She couldn't stop the blurring of her eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey." He hushed, reaching forward to cup her jaw. "Oh sweetpea, fuck don't cry. You’re killin’ me."

Sniffing, she shook her head and whispered, "I'm not crying."

Laughing quietly, he brushed his thumbs below her eyes and showed her the obvious moisture.

"Wanna keep lying to me doll?"

"Ugh." She groaned, pressing her forehead into his shoulder so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes when she confessed. "Fine I'm feeling... emotional about a bunch of mean girls."

Leaning back, he forced her eyes up to meet his. "You're allowed to feel emotional and upset about a bunch of jealous women saying mean shit about you. Fuck, do you think I haven't felt like shit after some movie reviewer calls me a hack or a type cast drone? I've drunk myself stupid on numerous occasions because of fucking jerkoffs not liking the way I play a pretend character."

"I know, I just..."

"You're not used to being under a microscope. I know darlin' and fuck if I could make it any other way for you, I fucking would. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, I hope you know that."

"I do and I appreciate that you would." Aria replied, her uninjured hand coming up to rest on his chest. "I'd do the same for you too, you know?"

"I do." He rasped, leaning down to kiss her softly, both of his large hands holding her face. "Let me see that burn and then get you home."

Rolling up her sleeve, Jeffrey gently washed the burn with a cool towel and then applied a burn gel. Wrapping it with gauze he finished it with a strip of medical tape and a soft kiss. Aria smirked at him as leaned forward to nuzzle into her chest, his large hands sliding up her thighs and hips to grasp her ass.

Growling lowly, he dug his nose into collarbone. "I wanna taste you."

"Fuck." She gasped in surprise, her bottom lip screaming in pain as she bit down harshly. Jeffrey reached up and freed the poor thing and rasped, "Don't bite it off, it's my second favorite one."

"What's your first?" Aria moaned, as his hand slipped up her inner thigh.

"Let me show you." He mumbled hoarsely while sucking on the soft spot below her jaw, his thumb rubbing her clit through her pants.

"Jesus."

Jeffrey quickly unbuttoned her chef coat while she kicked off her shoes and tugged her pants down. His warm, rough hands grasped her breasts through her worn tank top. "Fuck." He groaned as her nipple hardened below his palm. "Got the cutest fucking nipples."

Aria giggled at the comment and ran her fingers through his hair. "Thank you."

"You're fucking welcome. Now lay the fuck back and spread my favorite lips. Let me make you cum on my tongue."

Aria dipped her head, her cheeks flushing dramatically. "Jeff."

Laughing deeply, his thumbs brushed together against her core, sliding through the slick folds. "Holy fuck." He grunted before biting her shoulder. "Shit. You're so wet. Lay back baby girl. I wanna taste you."

Stretching out, Aria squeaked as Jeffrey yanked her closer to the edge. His hands cupped her ass and raised her hips to his mouth as though licking his plate clean.

"Oh my god." She gasped at the overwhelming sight alone. She could barely fire off enough neurons to compute the sensation of his thick tongue sweeping through her, curling around every surface, let alone the look on his face while doing it.

Humming into her wet flesh, Jeffrey stared up at her with deeply hooded eyes, a hungry glint in the dark slits as she writhed against his mouth. Pulling back he panted onto her mound, "Are you gonna cum babydoll?"

"Yeah." She moaned as he dove back in with vigor. "Jeff."

"You're mine." He growled, sucking her clit in between his lips while slowly shaking his head. Aria snapped instantly, her body arching off the counter as her hands tugged Jeffrey's face closer to her clenching walls.

"Jesus, holy shit." She panted, her chest heaving as he continued to suck and lick her clean. She combed her fingers through his hair and stroked his neck as he nuzzled into her thigh.

"Taste fucking awesome." He murmured, placing a soft kiss on her clit before unbuckling his pants. Aria watched as he pushed them down enough to expose himself before tugging her off the counter and into his lap. She slung her arms around his neck as he slowly lower her down his dick.

Throwing her head back as he sunk inside, Aria squirmed in his lap as he began to slowly raise and lower her onto him.

"Fuck." He groaned when she was flush against him, his hips thrusting up into her. "So damn tight."

"Jeff." She moaned, her mouth pressing open mouth kisses along his neck and shoulder.

"Yeah sweetpea." He breathed, his heavy breath feeling moist on her neck. "You like riding my dick?"

"Yes. Fuck me harder."

Standing up, Jeffrey lay her back down on the counter and began plunging in between her spread legs. His large hands pinned her legs open, as his hips snapped forwards into her soaked entrance. The feral growls he was emitting while watching himself disappear into her, had Aria clawing at the slick metal surface. He was still partial dressed but she could see the cords of muscles in his arms flexing as he grasped her limbs and fucked her deep.

"Fucking shit." He snarled as she squeezed him with her inner walls, the sensation causing him to swell even further. Moaning at the feeling of his throbbing head pulling a delicious friction from her, Aria continued to tilt her hips to meet his thrusts.

"Come on baby girl." He panted, his hand sliding up her stomach to play with her tits. "So good. Such a good girl."

"Jeff." She gasped at the praise, her insides fluttering and mouth dropping open.

"You like that hmm?" He rasped, his hand laying flat on her stomach as he continued to rock his hips into hers. His thumb began brushing back and forth over her clit as he spoke. "You're so fucking good baby. Fuck look at you taking my dick. You're goddamn precious."

"Fuck." She gasped, her hips flinching with every not so subtle brush of his thumb. "I'm gonna-."

"Yeah. Be a good. Cum for me baby girl. Fuck cum for daddy."

"Jeff."

"Say it. Be a good girl and say it."

"Please."

"Please. What?" He growled, his hips thrust into her hard as his thumb pushed down and rubbed tight circles.

"Please daddy." She whined, her hips rising from the flat surface to feel him deeper. The growl he released echoed in the kitchen as he went full speed, his hips snapping hard in between her legs. Aria moaned deeply as the sensation of him rubbing her clit and burying himself as deep and as fast as he could, had her cumming instantly.

"Motherfucker." He snarled, his large hands pulling her to the edge to plow through her first orgasm and push her into a second before releasing inside her with long pulses. His chest heaved as they recovered, his sweaty forehead pressing in between her breasts.

"Jesus sweetpea." He rasped, his breathing heavy and tone exhausted. "Wearin' me out."

"I'm sorry old man. Am I too much for you?" She quipped with a giggle as he tickled her sides.

"That's e-fucking-nough of that dollface." He growled.

"Stop!" She squealed with laughter, squirming against the counter as he nuzzled into her neck.

"Alright, alright I'll stop under one condition."

"What?" She gasped, her stomach twitching as his fingers slid along her ribs, soothing her.

"You tell me the truth."

"I always do."

"Are you rethinking us now? Because of the stupid internet?"

Sighing, she asked, "Do you think I would ride your face if I was rethinking us?"

"I don't know, maybe. It'd be a nice going away present."

Snorting Aria sat up and began dressing. "True but I'd rather keep you around so I can ride it more."

Grinning at her, while tucking himself away and handing her clothing over. "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? Jesus, I'm pretty sure it should be illegal."

Jeffrey sat in bed next to Aria, who was fast asleep, her face tucked into his side. He could feel her warm breath on his ribs and her hair tickling his arm as he held her close. With his free hand he scrolled through twitter and read the latest posts about the woman he loved. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to react as they talked about the woman he loved.

He wasn't sure what they wanted to accomplish but their group had grown in size and become more aggressive with their taunts.

Sighing at the pictures of Aria they'd doctored and tagged, shots from the charity cook off used to harass her. Glancing down to see her still sleeping, Jeffrey slowly extracted himself and headed downstairs. He grabbed himself a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table, thumbing through the photos he'd taken of Aria on his phone.

Finding one of them together, his long arm taking a selfie as he kissed her temple. Her eyes were vibrant and lips quirked into a tiny pink smile. She was gorgeous and he loved her. He wasn’t going to hide that from anyone.

Typing out a quick message, he tagged the photo and posted it without second guessing himself. He wasn't going to sit around and let people treat his girlfriend, the woman that he was growing fairly certain would be his wife, badly. He was going to share with the world what a wonderful fucking person she was and they were going to have to fuck the fuck off.

"Oh my god. Did you see what he tagged that picture with?" Megan asked while Aria spoke with her the following evening.

Rolling her eyes, Aria muttered, "How many times are you going to ask me that?"

"As many as it takes for you to understand what I'm saying."

"What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that handsome fucker is totally gonna ask you to marry him and you better say fucking yes because I have to be in the wedding party with all his handsome, famous friends. If I'm not maid of honor and walking down the aisle with Norman fucking Reedus, you're dead to me."

Snorting at her friend's insistence, Aria muttered, "It doesn't mean he's asking me."

"How can you not see that from his tag? I mean #loveofmylife #onlyone. How do you not read that to mean marriage?"

"It's just a fucking tag. He's not on one knee yet."

"He will be. I guarantee it. I bet when you come for my engagement party, he'll do it."

"He's not going to propose at your engagement party. That'd be weird." Aria scoffed, her eyes rolling hard in her head.

"Not at it, dumbass. You'll be staying overnight in a cozy bed and breakfast. There will be a soft bed, probably some large tub filled with rose petals. Who wouldn't propose?"

"You're a nutjob Megs."

"One, what’s your fucking point? And two, what will you say?"

"Oh my god, stop."

"I'm serious." Megan sobered up, her tone softening. "I'm serious, if he asked, what would you say?"

Aria swallowed thickly and bit her lip in thought. If she were honest, she'd thought about it. The white dress and what Jeffrey would look like waiting for her at the end of some imaginary aisle. The images had her chest fluttering and cheeks heating. She wanted it badly but was too scared to voice it, until then.

"Yes." She replied, the word sounding entirely too small of a reply but completely accurate. Aria would marry Jeffrey in a heartbeat.

"I knew it!" Megan squealed, "I can't wait to walk down the aisle with Norman."

"Oh my god Megs, calm down. Besides you're getting married remember?" Aria laughed.

"So what? I can't enjoy a fucking stud muffin on my arm? Oh my god, I'll get to touch his arm!"

"Oh Jesus Christ. I gotta go Megs. You should go take a cold shower."

"Fuck that, I'm going to use it as spank bank material."

"Bye Megan."

"Okay, okay. Hey, seriously though, I'm happy for you. Jeff's amazing and you deserve someone like him, someone that shouts over the inter web rooftops that you're the love of his life."

"Thanks hooker."

"You're very welcome bitch."

Chapter Twenty Two here.

http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/163362693201/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-twenty-two

I started posting this fic over on AO3 also. I will probably post in both places since I’m still figuring out AO3 formatting etc.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates. I’ll try my best to remember!

@magikat409 @cadeviolet @aforrester77422 @bethcarli @thamberlina @star017 @bec-brained-blarg @blackmother77 @lascitateo gnesperanza @adriannawiggins @jdm-negan-mcnaughty @negans-network @negansmutweek @cltex84 @audreychaz @wolfhart18 @ruggedasfuck @warriorqueen1991 @yellatthetopofyourlungs @hotfornegan @jml509 @ladyynegan @ibelongtonegan @uhh-dope @brandi-sykestw @negandarylsatisfaction @londoncapsule @jeffreynegan @morganstopbeinghotkthx @sicksadtired @wolfgirl1074 @sophisti-kate-ed @jdmsgal @sasquaatch68 @spideygeek @arkhamasylumpatient-blog1 @cupcake5365 @jackythemoo @soft-spokenangel @beegnc @mandilion76 @prettyepiic @beautifuldizasterfics @kitcat44 @mayuketchupytostones @ibelongtonegan @azanoni @alyisdead @mwesterfeld1985 @helena-mrs-murder @lovexxxkittyxxxblog @nu1freakshow @jenn0755 @skylouise12

#Jeffrey Dean Morgan #jeffrey dean morgan x oc #jdm #JDM x OC #jdmorgan #negan #negans thirst squad #negans-network #fanfiction #AU fanfiction #Actor rpf #rpf #real person fanfiction #too hot to handle #jesbakescookies #The Walking Dead #twd #Norman Reedus

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jarpadandjensenaremyheroes · 7 years ago

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The Hunt

A/n- this is for @waywardmoeyy’s 1k fluff fest challenge. This was supposed to be a drabble, but then one idea led to another and next thing I know, I’m at 3k words. It’s my first time writing Sam, so please go easy on me. If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it! I hope you guys enjoy!

Word count: 3,062

Warnings: so much fluff it’ll rot your insides. Very brief mentions of panic attack, brief mentions of typical SPN violence, swearing.

Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader, Dean Winchester

It had been weeks since you had last gotten Sam alone. Every time you had the chance, he always found some excuse to go do something else. Of course, it always came with promises of Next time baby, and You know I love you. Something felt off, and you couldn’t figure it out.

It all started after their last hunt; one which you sat out due to a dislocated shoulder, thanks to a lovely vengeful spirit. Sam had doted on you and tended to your every need. But when this hunt popped up, he was so gung ho to go, you were worried you had done something wrong. And then when he came back and started acting so strangely, you thought for sure you messed it all up.

You went to Dean after the first week to see if he knew anything about Sam’s behavior. He of course said no, but he was shifting from foot to foot and couldn’t keep his hand off the back of his neck.

“I’m sure it’s nothing Y/N. You know how he gets after a hunt without you. Just wait. He’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

You sighed and walked away, knowing the older brother knew something. But you also knew you weren’t gonna get it out of him. So you let things go on for the next few weeks, silently sulking when Sam wasn’t around.

Then one day, you woke up and realized Sam had never even come to bed. You went searching the bunker, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

“Dean!” you bellowed from the middle of the war room. “DEAN!”

Dean came charging in waving his gun, wearing only his boxers. “What? What the fuck is all the yelling about!”

“I can’t find Sam! He never came to bed last night and he’s not here this morning! Dean, what if he went out and something got him?” You could feel your panic rising with every word that tumbled out of your mouth. “We gotta find him De! He could be half dead in a ditch somewhere! Oh my god… What if he’s already dead?! What if--oomph!”

Dean grabbed you by the shoulders and crushed you to his chest. He’s your best friend and knows exactly how to shut down your panic attacks.

“Breathe honey. I need you to breathe. I know where Sam is, and I’ll explain what I can after you calm down, alright?”

You nodded your head and listened to his lungs fill with air and push it back out, trying your best to mimic the action. In a few minutes, you felt your body relax and the black spots in your vision disappeared.

“Okay, I’m good now. Can you tell me where he is please so I can go shoot him in the foot for being an ass and scaring me?”

“Whoa Y/N. It’s not what you think. I promise. Just trust me, okay? You’re my best friend, and I would never let my little brother do anything to hurt you, right?”

You nodded again.

“Right. So just go with me on this okay? Sam is waiting for you somewhere. I’m not allowed to tell you, because this is all part of the plan. I am supposed to tell you to go look in your dresser drawer for a light pink envelope. Your first clue is in there.”

You looked at him quizzically. “What the hell is this?”

“I don’t get paid to ask those kinds of questions dear. Just go find the envelope!” he called over his shoulder as he went back to his room.

You quickly went to your own room to search your dresser. You found the envelope with ease and opened it to begin reading its contents. As you realized what was going on, your smile grew.

Y/N,

I know these last few weeks have been hard on you, and I’m so sorry. You must think I’m an ass. But I promise you, it’s all been leading up to today. You may not know it yet, but today is a special day. Scattered around in different places are more of these envelopes. Each one contains a clue as to where the next one is. Follow the clues, and it will lead you directly to me. But don’t take too long! Dean will take you out where you need to go, and I’ll be waiting to see you.

I love you, Forever and Always.

Sam

Attached to the back of the little note was a slip of paper. You peeled it off to read it.

The first place I kissed you.

“The kitchen!” you exclaimed! You dashed into the kitchen, looking on the counter where you had been sitting when Sam finally pressed his lips to yours in a drunken flurry. Seeing nothing, you checked the cabinet you had banged your head on during the whole ordeal. Sure enough, taped right inside was another pink envelope with a winking smiley face drawn on the front. You opened it up to find another little note.

Good job! The first few are super easy, but they do get more challenging. I know how much you love a challenge. So go get dressed in something comfy and go find the next one!

On the back you looked at the next clue.

The first place we made love.

You squealed in excitement and went to go throw some shorts and a tshirt on. As you went flying out of your room, you ran smack into Dean.

“Whoa where’s the fire!” he chuckled. “I take it you’re ready to go?”

“Yes yes yes and I know exactly where we’re going!” You grabbed his hand and dragged him to the garage while he laughed at your sudden change in mood. You gave Dean directions to the field that was no more than a few miles from the bunker. No sooner than he had put Baby in park, you jumped out and took off running towards the tree you and Sam had parked the Impala under to watch the stars that night.

In the small hollow at the base of the tree you saw the envelope peeking out, but it was covered in spider webs. The thought of sticking your hand in there made you shiver.

“Dean! Can you come grab this for me please?” He strode over to you with an exaggerated eye roll and reached down to pick up the letter, making sure to brush off all the webs before placing it in your eager hands. You ripped it open and read the note.

I know we technically were on Baby, but I couldn’t let Dean know that so I had to use the tree instead. I hope there weren’t any spiders! It gets a little harder from here, my love. Keep going!

Order your usual to get the clue!

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. The theme seemed to be all your firsts together, so you tried to think of a place that you always ordered the same thing at.

The first date Sam ever took you on was to your favorite coffee shop. You always ordered a hazelnut cappuccino every time you went! It wasn’t too far of a drive into town, and before you knew it you were walking in the front door. The gentle chime alerted the barista, Amanda, to your presence, and she waved hello to you both. She poured a black coffee for Dean and got started on your cappuccino, handing it to you with the envelope. Dean pulled his wallet out, but she stopped him.

“Sam already paid for it all. And Y/N, I think it’s adorable what he’s doing. He made me promise not to tell you, but he was so excited he told me everything! You’ll have to come visit me soon and let me know how the rest of the day goes!”

She was nearly bouncing up and down with glee, and it made your heart race. “You know, it’s so not fair that everyone but me knows what’s going on here!” you whined.

“That’s the whole point of a ‘surprise,’ Y/N,” Dean chuckled.

You and Dean decided to sit for a minute and enjoy your coffees while you talked. Soon enough though, your coffees were gone and you were itching to open the newest envelope.

Dean just laughed at you. “Go ahead and open it. I know it’s killing you to just sit here.”

You tore into the envelope with gusto and read the next clue. This time, it was just a simple note.

I love you.

The first time you told Sam you loved him, you were on a hunt in Colorado. A werewolf got you good, tearing you to ribbons and you were dying. Had Cas not shown up when Sam and Dean screamed for him, you would have bled out right there in Sam’s arms. You had only been dating for a couple months so you felt that it was too soon to say it, and he agreed. But laying there choking on your own blood, you had to tell him. You couldn’t die and leave him wondering.

“Surely he doesn’t mean for us to drive to Colorado, right?” you asked Dean, puzzled.

He laughed heartily. “No you goofball. Let me see the clue.” He read the short note. “So we all know you told him I love you for the first time after that wolf hunt. But when did he first say it to you?”

Then it clicked. “We had just gotten home from that hunt. We were standing in the bedroom and he was helping me peel my clothes off since they were stuck to me and I was still sore. I thought he was mad at me for being careless when he didn’t talk the whole ride there, so when I broke down crying in the bath, he told me then… But why would he send me back to the bunker? I thought we were meeting him someplace else?”

“I guess you’ll just have to follow the clues and find out!”

You got back in the car and Dean drove you home. You tore ass through the bunker and into your shared room with Sam, slightly dismayed when you didn’t see him. On the bed though was another pink envelope with your name scrawled across it. You opened it up and read the note.

You’ve done so great sweetheart. Only two more after this! I love you so much and I hope you don’t hate me for making you run all over town. I’ll see you soon.

Water. Roses. Relax.

“Water, roses, relax?” you asked yourself. “Oh!”

You went into the bathroom to find the bathtub full of steaming hot water with a rose scented bath bomb that had already dissolved, and various flower petals littering the top of the surface. On the countertop was another envelope.

Y/N,

I know by this point you are probably anxious to see me and get to the bottom of all this, but I need you to just relax for a little while. At least 30 minutes. In our closet is a garment bag hanging just inside to the left of the door. Put on what’s inside after your bath and then you can come meet me. I love you.

The one restaurant I’ve always wanted to take you to

You gasped. Surely he didn’t mean the high class steakhouse? That place is impossible to get in to with their snooty little wait list! You tried not to think about it too much and just relaxed into your hot bath. You don’t take them very often, mostly because you get too hot and just feel like you’re sweating. But tonight was special. Sam made the water just right so that you wouldn’t get too hot too quickly. He really wanted you to soak.

Taking advantage of the time you had in the tub, you shaved your legs and pampered yourself a little bit. You used your sugar scrub on your legs and arms to help make them feel a little softer, and when you got out you used your nicest lotion. You wrapped yourself in the big, fluffy towel that Sam knew you loved so much and went to the closet to look for this garment bag. You almost cried when you pulled it out.

In your hands was the most beautiful evening gown you had ever seen. It was a deep red with a cinched waistline adorned by a decorative beadwork piece, and a neckline covered in beads and crystals.

You threw on your robe and brushed your hair out until it was smooth and shiny and then pinned it up in graceful curls that fell down your neck. You finally slipped into the dress and the poked your head out the door to call for Dean.

“Yes m’lady?” he said teasingly.

“Can you zip me up? I’m afraid if I try to do it myself I’ll rip the dress…”

He motioned for you to come out and turn around, but his jaw dropped when he fully saw you.

“Holy shit you’re gorgeous! If you weren’t my best friend and my brother’s girl, I’d totally try to steal you away.” He winked at you as he gently turned your back to face him and pulled the zipper up.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. “Such a gentleman, Dean.”

He swatted at you playfully. “Hurry up and finish! I got instructions to get you there by a certain time!”

You gave him a mock salute and moved back into the room to find some shoes to wear and a pair of earrings as well. Once you completed you outfit, you met Dean back in the hallway. He had somehow channeled superman. In the 2 minutes it took you to get your heels and earrings on, he had changed into one of his nicest fed suits. He offered you his arm and led you back to the garage. He helped you into Baby; carefully making sure the ends of your dress wouldn’t get caught in the door.

“Well, you are quite the gentleman tonight. Thank you De,” you said as you blushed.

He grinned at you as he got into the driver’s seat. “So, do you know where you’re going?” he inquired.

“I think so, but I’m not certain. I think I’m meeting him at that fancy steakhouse. But it’s damn near impossible to get a reservation there, so that’s why I’m unsure.”

“I always knew you were a smart one. Sometimes I think you’re smarter than Sammy! He did get a reservation there, and it’s at 8 sharp. We should get there with a couple minutes to spare.”

True to his word, Dean got you there 3 minutes to 8:00. He jumped out of the car and ran over to open your door and help you out. When he was positive your delicate dress wasn’t snagged anywhere, he offered you his arm and walked you up the steps and into the lobby area.

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked.

“She does. Under the name Winchester.” The woman looked at her list, giving Dean a funny look. “The other half of her party should already be here,” he said flatly.

She nodded curtly. “Ah, yes. Mr. Winchester. Right this way ma’am.”

Dean gave you a peck on the cheek as he released your arm. “Have fun. I’ll see you two lovebirds later.”

You nervously followed the hostess into the dining room and immediately spotted Sam. He stood and pulled your chair out for you, pushing it in as you sat down. A waiter came over almost instantly with a bottle of wine. When Sam grabbed your hand across the small candlelit table, all your nerves disappeared. He smiled that stunning smile at you and you just melted. Everything was perfect in that moment, and you didn’t see how it could get any better.

The two of you enjoyed your food while you talked and laughed for what seemed like hours. When the plates were cleared away, Sam suddenly became jumpy and nervous.

“Sam, what’s wrong? Why have you been acting so strange lately? And not that today wasn’t a blast, but what was with the scavenger hunt?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I know I’ve been acting like an ass, and I’m so sorry baby. I’ve been keeping a secret from you and being around you made me want to tell you.”

You felt your eyes go wide in shock.

“But if I told you, then it would ruin the surprise I had all planned out for today. Y/N, I love you so much. We’ve been through so much together, and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side through all that. For anything, really. You’re the piece of me that I never knew I was missing, and I don’t ever want to be without you. You make me a better man, and I want your lips to be the last ones mine ever touch. I may not be able to give you the whole white picket fence and barbeques on the weekends, but I can give you some of the things I know we both want. You and me baby, Forever and Always. So, Y/F/N Y/M/N,” Sam got down on one knee in front of your chair as you gasped and tried unsuccessfully to hold back your tears. “Will you marry me?”

He opened the black velvet box, and the ring inside made you cry even harder.

You practically fell out of your chair trying to wrap your arms around him. “Yes! Yes of course I will! Sam I love you so much.”

He placed the ring on your finger as the whole dining room started clapping for you both. The waiter came back to the table with a bottle of champagne. “Compliments of the staff,” he said quietly. But the whole time you couldn’t take your eyes off the gorgeous ring now decorating your hand. It made your heart swell at the thought of all the promises that came with that one simple piece of jewelry.

“You know, I like the sound of Y/F/N Winchester.” You had the biggest grin on your face when you looked up at him, and you had a feeling it would be a long while before it went away.

@queen-of-deans-booty

@gone-to-fight-the-fairies

#moeyy's 1k fluff fest challenge #Sam Winchester x Reader #Sam Winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #spn fandom #Sam Winchester fluff

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bnhaquirkzine · 8 years ago

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Hi! So it's not necessarily a question about this zine, but I figured since you both have experience you seemed to be good people to ask... what advice/info would you give to someone interested in organizing a zine? For instance, how do you fund them, since printing can get rather pricy? How do you decide the number of writers/artists? Sorry if you'd rather not get into it, and thanks for your time anyways!

Hey Anon!

We welcome all zine-related questions and queries! :)

The answer is quite long and detailed. Okay. SUPER LONG AND DETAILED. I AM SORRY but I hope it helps you out!

I wish you all the best for the zine you wish to organize and hope it does super well and you have fun with it. :)

If you have more queries/questions you can contact me personally and we can talk one-on-one too! Happy to help! ^^

Thank you!

- mod aish

1. Have fun with it. No matter how intimidating it looks/is, how stressful and nerve-wrecking it can get, the ups and downs, whatever, try to enjoy it to the fullest. ;)

2. Choose the topic of the zine. Fandoms, original, any-content, theme-related, rating, etc. RESEARCH. RESEARCH. RESEARCH.

3. Know about the target audience as it will help you estimate the avg. response and you can decide if you wish to go forward with it right away or hold it for a while longer.

4. If its your first project, I’d 100% recommend starting off slow and little. Invite your friends or artists you like to take part in the zine, keep the participant number in range to 10-15. This is because, irrespective of your sales, chances are high that you can compensate the participants by sending them their own copies. THAT’S IMPORTANT.

5. In general, an ideal size of the zine is A5 with 24-30 pages. It can be more or less, it entirely depends on the organizers.

6. If you decide to do a non-profit charity zine, its best you refer to organizers who’ve done it similarly to help you advise how and where to send the money, which charities are legit/scam, etc.

7. If its a for-profit zine, you can either split the money per page (artists get money/page they’ve illustrated) or divided it equally between the no. of artists (irrespective of how many pages an artist creates.)

8. Its up to you if you wish to take a little % for yourself as you’re organizing the zine, will get it printed and shipped. It depends on an individual but there are zines where the organizing team also takes a %.

9. PLEASE PRIORITIZE COMPENSATING YOUR ARTISTS-WRITERS WITH THEIR OWN COMPLEMENTARY COPIES OF THE ZINE. INTERNATIONAL SHIPPING INCLUDED. (physical or digital, depending on the zine type!)

10. Be as organized as possible! Make plenty notes, communicate a lot so that everyone is in the loop, be as open as you can about it. This will also help your fellow artists-writers know a little about the process it takes with organizing a zine.

11. Respect their wishes if they wish to remain out of the loop. Be kind. AND PATIENT. Don’t rush things.

12. Always keep an extension ready. Like, just take an est. of 7-10 days with deadlines and the whole schedule.

13. Things can and will go wrong. Try to compromise, adjust and overcome it.

14. If you are going to get the zines printed, its best you first try and find a local printer in your area. Ask, Printer-san if they get books/magazines printed or not. If yes, browse through the multiple page types/qualities and ask about the price too. Depending upon this, choose the paper quality suitable for your zine. If its 30-40 pages, you can have a more thicker paper, but if it exceeds 40+ its best you choose a lesser thick paper. Gloss/semi-gloss is idea. And looks pretty.

15. Usually, printers will print if you give them an ideal quantity/batch, be it 25, 50, 75 or 100 copies. Otherwise, its also possible they can get a single copy printed too. Try to bargain :’) and get it as low as logically possible but listen….this is how they earn too, so ask for the min. production costs per batch size (25/50/…)

16. If not a local printer, online is the way! You can easily go through various websites which explain paper quality/quantity/size/price, etc.

17. Once you can get an est. price of a SINGLE ZINE, try and find shipping est. for locals and international customers. This will help you determine an est. for the production and shipping costs of a SINGLE ZINE. And then you can multiply it with as many zines as you wish to/hope to sell.

18. Once you have an est. production and shipping value of a single zine, you can determine the RETAIL price of the zine. (How much to sell it for?) Be up-to-date with the current costings of other zines too and price it accordingly. It isn’t fair to a customer if you oversell it, unless that is an only option and it isn’t fair to the creators if you under-price it, especially if its a for-profits zine. THIS ENTIRELY DEPENDS ON THE PRODUCTION AND SHIPPING COSTS OF THE ZINE.

19. Ask yourself if you, YOURSELF, will be able to buy YOUR ZINE at $X or $Y and go with it. (Don’t overprice-underprice it!)

20. Keep a detailed list of all the budget being spent, printing the zines, shipping them, shipping materials (envelopes, tape), etc.

21. For an art-only zine, its important you pay attention to how many artists will contribute a single page submission or multiple page submission, etc. This will help you know how many pages the zine will be.

22. For a zine with writers, choose a word-limit and stick to it! When you have the layout of your zine ready, make a mock page with the fic in it to know which font style you wish to use, the size of it, spacing, etc.

23. Try to reach out to people who have organized a zine before and request for their help. It’s the best as they can guide you well and this way you can make newer mistakes, instead of making the old ones. LOL. I AM SORRY BUT REALLY THAT’S TRUE.

24. OH! YOUR STORE! Where do you wish to sell the zine?! Tictail, storenvy, etsy. That’s up to you!

25. Also, keep a margin est. of the online fee deduction which stores and PayPal do. So that your own budget estimations are as accurate as possible.

26. Chances are you won’t break even (cover the production-shipping costs) and don’t lose hope. I will get back to you ASAP in case it happens with me. HOPE NOT. But I believe you will break-even if you price it well, promote it better and produce an awesome product.

27. Chances are you will do great! If so, CONGRATULATIONS!

28. Try your best to choose applicants according to their skill levels and not friendships. Really. It will be tough as heck…but right then you are the MOD, don’t half-ass it. If you can’t, make a zine with invite-only policy and ask your friends to take part in it. ;)

29. Schedule it in a way that you yourself can give it as much time as possible as YOU ARE THE ONE DOING IT FIRST. The zine comes to life thanks to the artists and writers…but you are an important PILLAR. Don’t over-exert yourself, take breaks, time it well, ask for help whenever you need.

30. Promote the zine well, be kind, be open to changes, but stick to your deadlines and schedule. Have as many discussions as possible and keep in touch with your whole team.

31. PLEASE BE POLITE. DON’T BE A RUDE-ASS NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS. Really. Be calm, even in crises. Take a break and think things over before you say/do something unkind. A zine is supposed to be a fun and exciting creation to bring together people from all over the world, different artists/writers, new artists/writers, customers, friends, etc. MAKE IT FUN. BE KIND.

I think I have covered many things. I can share more about budgeting, pre-orders, etc. but its best you contact me personally as I am too exhausted to add more to the list. I am sorry. These are the things which came to my mind like WOOOSH! If I have skipped a topic, let me know! If I remember something in the future….or learn something myself, I will update the list. :D

If someone strongly disagrees with a point, please know that these are 100% my own opinions, from my experiences and research.

#bnhaquirkzine #bnha qz answers #bnha zine #bnha #zine #mod aish #i went crazy #but i think i've covered many important things #phew #lol #i am sorry #but...i can't help it.

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