#I promise I’m not a creep he posts baby pictures every year for his birthday

[charleslee-valentine]

This guy turned 73 yesterday! Happy Birthday to Bill Moseley!! Had a chance to meet him and sit in on a panel. Super nice and I love the way his brain works. Go listen to his music if you’re a fan of his movies but haven’t!!

[writing-in-april]

Ghost Story

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Mood board is mine pictures were taken from Pinterest- Message me for credit.

This come from the wonderful @imagining-in-the-margins​ prompt list- go check her out she’s the best!

Warnings: One swear word- and if you’re super scared of ghost stories don’t read.

A/N: I’m really proud of this one! The ghost story is called whispers and I found it on the huffington post, it’s originally about Christmas but I changed it to fit Halloween (Even though it’s August- I’m just really ready for Halloween)

Masterlist

italics are the ghost story

——

“This is a story I do not often tell. I promise, sincerely, that this has scarred me for life and although I have looked into psychological explanations for what I heard and natural explanations for what occurred, they remain unsatisfactory.” Spencer’s voice cut through the air in a whisper. The pine green walls of our softly lit apartment gave me a sense of security that Spencer was actively trying to break as he relayed his ghost story.

It was nearly Halloween, the 28th of October to be exact, also known as Spencer’s birthday. Honestly it was the only reason I indulged in his request of reading a scary story, any other day of the year I would have flat out refused. So there I was perched on our leather sofa,  staring a hole into a slice of pumpkin pie that I had made for his special day trying to take my mind off of the story.

“When I was a child, I was scared of the dark. I swore to my mother I heard voices in it. They were not evil, but they were not familiar and so they scared me. It was not uncommon in the middle of the night for me to wake up and hear “whispers” as I would call them when asking my mom. She figured they were just “bumps in the night” and typical kids nightmare material. I tried often to explain to her that it was more than that; that they sounded different from one another the way people’s voices do. On some nights I would get so scared from these “whispers” that I would sleep in my mom’s bed with her.” I now understood why he was so eager to share a ghost story with me tonight, the story paralleled his own journey with his fear of the dark. We both had a shared sentiment of fear surrounding dark corners, but Spencer was far braver than I when it came to the dark, after all he saw the worst of humanity everyday at work.

“I should add at this point that when walking out into the hall to go to the bathroom, you looked directly down the stairs that would lead you into my living room on the first floor (as my mom’s bedroom was on the second floor). On one such night, around Halloween, I awoke and felt the need to go to the bathroom. I walked out from the door and distinctly heard the phrase “Look!” and to my astonishment, an orange light, almost like a spotlight, was cast upon the wall at the very bottom of the stairs. The light had no other source, it was by itself, and I was transfixed by it.” The inflection that he had adopted to tell the story chilled my bones, making me feel as if I was a skeleton in the dead of winter.

The pumpkin pie was no longer enough to stare at so my gaze wandered to the knickknacks that adorned the apartment. The spotlight in the story eerily mirrored the decorations we had strung up, the string of pumpkin lights basked us in an orange glow aiding in the creepy persona Spencer had taken up. Puppets in white shrouds, freshly carved jack o'lanterns, and handmade black construction paper bats also furnished our home to give the appropriate mood for Halloween. Spencer and I had spent a whole weekend that he had off from work decorating our apartment to the nines. I detested the horrifying aspects of Halloween, but that didn’t mean I hated the holiday. I reveled in the fact that for one day a year I could be someone else, letting my imagination take the reigns of my life even though it was only for a night.

“Being a little kid, and it only being a few days from Halloween, I KNEW what this light was. IT WAS JACK SKELLINGTON!!!My parents had just let me watch a Nightmare before Christmas, he must be visiting! I was so excited I began walking down the stairs to greet him, picking up my pace after the second step as it began to creep off the wall and fade into the darkness in my living room.” My heart felt stuck in my throat as I sat at the edge of the couch, anxiously awaiting the dreaded jump scare that I could feel creeping up around me. No matter how formulaic ghost stories tended to be I was still tricked every time getting sent into a state of fright, my body always getting a stab of panic and a jolt of terror.

“That’s when I heard him. A very strong, masculine voice. Different from the first. Not at all like my father’s (not to say he isn’t masculine, it was just distinctly different). It said, “Stop! Right now. Go back up those stairs.” I listened, turned around, and what happened next I am not sure I would believe if someone had told me this same story. After reaching the top of the stairs, I heard a very loud CRASH”  As If on cue from Spencer’s voice a loud clap of thunder shattered through our curtained windows, the sudden sound sent me cowering under my burgundy plush throw which swaddled me like a scared baby. My shaking form didn’t even notice that the story had stopped or that Spencer had retreated into the darkness. My eyes peeked out from under the blanket, the apartment was full of blackness- the power must’ve gone out. All I could see was the pale moonlight creeping through the drapery as my eyes darted trying to locate Spencer.

“Spencer?” I murmured into the shadows- no one answered back from the depths.

“Boo!” Spencer suddenly popped up behind the couch causing me to nearly jump out of my skin.

“Fuck! Spencer Walter Reid!” I picked up one of our pillows, chucking it in the direction where I believed him to be hiding. His shriek permeated the apartment as he shielded himself from my wrath with what appeared to be candles. He must’ve retreated to find candles we had stashed in our bathroom when the power shut off.

“Most power outages will be over almost as soon as they begin, but some can last much longer – up to days or even weeks. Power outages are often caused by freezing rain, sleet storms and/or high winds which damage power lines and equipment.” He spouted off at me to try and quell my anger while setting down candles on the coffee table preparing them to be lit. From out of his pocket Spencer produced a disposable lighter- I always let him handle them because my fingers often got burned on them. Stroking the wheel, the lighter sparked to life lighting the apartment once more, soothing my frazzled state.

“I guess that’s kind of comforting…”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story?” The soft gleam of the candle flickered on my skin, illuminating the cringe that made its way onto my face.

“No thanks Spencer- I’d rather cuddle.” He flashed me a little stupid grin that I adored and joined me back on the couch. Spencer swathed the blanket around us settling into his position as the big spoon, the combined feeling of  my boyfriend and the velvet like blanket made me feel impervious to the outside world. I nuzzled against his neck sinking deeper into the sofa, letting the soft edges of sleep overtake me, Spencer had a way with cuddles that almost always immediately lulled me to sleep. Sometime later when our pumpkin pie had been long forgotten the lights flicked back on, the fluorescent bulbs combined with the still glowing candles lit our sleeping figures.

[dadsbongos]

Brother’s Keeper

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: idk The Veldt spoilers if you’ve never read it (it’s really fucking good), the parents suck and they’re emotionally manipulative Summary: Brahms likes to play with his baby sister. ~~~

“What a pouty little face you have,” Mrs. Heelshire pinched at her daughter’s cheeks, stretching them upward, “Come on, let me see a smile.”

(Y/n) swatted at her mother’s hands, “I don’t want to.”

Brahms adjusted his tie as best he could for the family picture, letting his father take over after a minute of fumbling, “She’s not going to smile; little brat.”

“Hey!” the three-year-old girl whined, lips pulling into an even deeper pout, “You can’t be mean and the birthday boy at the same time, it’s not fair!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re just upset your birthday isn't for five more months.”

~~

“I’m seven, I’m too old for dolls,” (Y/n) muttered, not wanting to mention why exactly she didn’t want the porcelain doll, “Besides, he’s too fragile, if I drop him he’ll die.”

Death was a new fascination with the young girl after the incident. Though, to be fair, most fascinations didn’t last four years nor did they start with the horrific death of your older brother.

“Nonsense,” her father grinned, taking the doll from his wife and holding it out to his young daughter, “he was Brahms’ favorite.”

Brahms was a word that had become similar to “fuck” in the parents’ minds. Off-limits by the punishment of spanking or grounding unless you were one of them.

“Oh,” she murmured, carefully taking the toy and holding it to her side, “I never saw him play with it…”

“Too scared to break the poor thing,” Mrs. Heelshire reasoned easily enough, “Named after him.”

(Y/n) looked at the glassy object, “Why do I need to have him?”

“You’re going to take care of him, Brahms would want you to,” Mr. Heelshire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead before leaving a small kiss to the patch of skin, “Be good to him, sweetheart, won’t you?”

Mrs. Heelshire nodded from behind her husband, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Brahms, would you?”

She glanced between her pleading parents and the doll, pursing her lips before hesitantly nodding, “Alright, I guess…”

~~

By the time 1999 rolled around and the only living Heelshire child was to turn eleven, there were no more friends to play in the house with. Emily, who in many ways had been an older sister to the girl, was murdered by some sick monster who lit the playhouse she was inside on fire. Well, maybe the killer didn’t light the playhouse on fire.

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?”

Instead, (Y/n) was left to play with her doll. With a party hat on her head, courtesy of the new grocery boy, Malcolm, she wandered aimlessly through the halls. Birthdays were no longer a celebration in the manor; unless it was Brahms’, of course. She held the doll to her hip, looking at the series of paintings decorating the wall; most of them portraying her big brother.

She frowned, settling a hand on the wall just below the largest mural in the hall. Her fingers brushed upon a small crevice dip in the split of colors in the striped wallpaper, brows furrowing at the ledge. She curled her fingers around it, beginning to pull when suddenly it popped apart from the wall. A panel opening up in the middle of the hallway, she looked down each end before climbing through.

Her eyes adjusted quickly enough, arms squeezing Brahms tighter to her form. She began creeping down the secret passageway, not noticing the sounds of her parents screaming her name.

A sudden turn and she took it. A curve in the path and she rounded it. Losing herself in the hidden walkways within her home. It was only when she realized how lost she was that panic settled in, “Mama…?”

She held Brahms even tighter, freehand leaving the doll to bang on the interior of the wall, “Papa! Mama?!” 

It was half an hour before the panicking parents found their weeping little girl hidden behind a panel close to the fireplace. She was crying into the sweater on her doll, cheeks heated in the force of her tears. Not even Mr. Heelshire’s gentle hugging and cooing could relieve her of the emotional aches.

“You’re to never go in those walls again, do you hear me?” her mother grit through clenched teeth.

Never? As much as (Y/n) wanted to be on board with the idea, she wasn’t sure about never being able to go in again. Maybe… maybe she just had to be older, more mature - yeah - that sounded about right.

“Just once more,” she immediately calmed down, now speaking through a raspy, whiny post-crying voice, “I won’t get lost this time, I promise.”

Mr. Heelshire looked over to his wife, “Just one more couldn’t hurt, she should learn about the walls, shouldn’t she?”

As soon as the words left her husband’s lips, Mrs. Heelshire shook her head, “Not a chance. Haven’t you read The Veldt? That’s how the parents die.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, glancing between her parents as tears began springing into the surface, “You guys will die if I go in the walls again?”

Neither parent confirmed it, though they didn’t deny it either, before sending her off to bed with Brahms. Leaving her to question what the walls were in the dark solitude of her lavish bedroom; empty winnings for a girl who felt guilty enjoying them.

~~

By fifteen, there was an influx of nannies coming in and out of the Heelshire home to care for a supposedly haunted doll. She wasn’t sure if she believed it but the messes and thumping and flickering lights were beginning to be too much to ignore. They all started after the wall incident - the second incident she could add to her fault - and she was forbidden from going back inside.

Panels were left open and soft, high-pitched whines ringing from behind them; it was more terrifying than alluring. 

With no more Brahms by her side, in the real body or in doll form, (Y/n) was left to wander aimlessly down the halls thinking about how unfair it was of her parents to rip the doll away from her. All due to the walls’ tunnels.

They handed her a memento to her older brother - they used her guilt; her fault against her - just to steal it away eight years later. She hated her parents for it, no, not her parents. Her mother. Mrs. Heelshire barely even let the nannies do their job half the time, she just wanted Brahms all to herself. She gave that doll a surplus of her attention and countless replacement caretakers and never even gave (Y/n) the acknowledgment of their shared grief.

Barely gave her the mind to say, “It’s not your fault.”

Whipping around at the frail whisper, (Y/n) peeked around every visible inch of the hallway to see if one of the nannies was following her or her father was finally ready to free her of guilt. Yet nobody was there, no mouths to whisper and no audible drafts to blame.

She turned back around and continued walking down the hallway, not as alone as before.

~~

“I’m nineteen, don’t you think I should, I don’t know, explore the real world?”

Mrs. Heelshire simply shook her head, “You can’t leave us!”

“I won’t be leaving!” (Y/n) tossed her arms out in a display of exaggeration, “I just can’t be in this house for the rest of my life!”

“So you will go eventually,” the older woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Brahms and now you.”

That made the teenager freeze. Nothing like the mention of her dead brother to make her question herself. She pulled back from the yelling match to judge and critique every inch of herself. Her leaving the nest wasn’t comparable to dying - and Brahms didn’t abandon them, he couldn’t control the flames. It wasn’t like he purposefully lit the playhouse on fire at his own birthday party.

No, but she could’ve stopped it. She knows she could have.

“That’s not fair,” (Y/n) muttered, though it sounded less like a genuine response and more like she was trying to point it out to herself.

“You know what else isn’t fair?”

“Don’t.”

“Having two kids and the only one alive wants to abandon you.”

Mr. Heelshire watched from the kitchen table, sipping on his afternoon tea quietly to give more space for the sound of his wife and daughter’s argument to permeate through the room. Through the room and into the walls where even the biggest rat hiding inside could hear.

(Y/n) rubbed at her arm, regretting her decision to even bring the topic up, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Heelshire cooed, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and pulling at any fat her fingers could get to in the pockets, “It’s okay. Don’t be so pouty, it’s alright.”

She didn’t bother pushing her mother’s hands away this time.

~~

(Y/n) silently dipped her paintbrush into a dollop of vibrant, cherry red on her palette, glancing over her canvas to the muse every so often.

A house can appear incredibly eased and soothed from the frontline and nobody would ever know that inside a family of four was being murdered. They wouldn’t know until the corpses were discovered and the extended family was beating at each other. Vultures flocking to the values left to them by death.

Maria, the newest in the line of nannies, was holding position rather well for somebody who’d never modeled before. Clutching Brahms to her hip with a bright, pearly-toothed smile.

“I saw a few of your works around the house earlier,” the black-haired woman spoke, “Impressive for only twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” (Y/n) strained a grin, she didn’t necessarily prefer silence - you could hear the walls whispering when it was silent - but sadly, her focus wavered with noise, “I just like to paint the nannies; don’t like to forget them so quickly.”

“Oh,” Maria awkwardly chuckled, “well, that sounds nice of you…?”

“Just a personal thing,” the young woman shrugged off before catching something in the frame of her eye, “You’re about to drop Brahms.”

“Shit!” the other woman murmured, readjusting the doll in her arms, “Thank you so much.”

“My mom will go crazy, I don’t want to watch her yell at somebody over nothing,” she pursed her lips, “Not nothing; just something small.”

~~

“Are you serious?” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at her mother, “You and Dad are leaving for a two-month vacation right before my birthday?”

“You’re turning twenty-eight, dear,” Mrs. Heelshire smiled faintly, “I think you’ll be fine, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and teach the new nanny how to properly care for Brahms.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, watching her father continue to pack his bags, “You’re really just letting her drag you out of town right now?”

“She didn’t drag me into anything, honey,” he sighed, whether he knew how much it hurt her feelings to hear that or not didn’t exactly matter.

“Fuck you,” she grumbled, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, the twenty-seven-year-old woman went into her bedroom, fully prepared to ignore her parents and the new nanny. Blissfully unaware of the pest in her walls, watching with sad eyes and wanting to see her smile.

~~

“Knock it off!” (Y/n) cried out to the man swinging the doll around - a protective instinct burning at her gut as she thought of him breaking it. She immediately regretted the harsh tone when Cole’s furious gaze snapped back to her, “Please… just give him back…”

“Watch it,” Cole threatened, holding the doll further away from her than before, “Pull any funny shit and I’ll break in your pretty little face.”

Yet another mistake against the brute, not that anybody but the secret rat was counting. The first, of course, being his arrival. The last, naturally, was bashing the doll’s head against the lip of a seat.

(Y/n) hiccuped wildly, her burst of tears nearly choking her as Cole shushed the room during one of Brahms’ fits. She’d experienced countless ragers with that doll to blame but this was the worst. Cole put a finger to his lips, commanding the people behind him into silence as he went to the wall, knocking a few times with his ear pressed to it. He went to the mirror next, grinning slightly, “There’s something- “

Before he could finish his sentence, the glass burst apart and forced him onto his back.

As Greta screamed and (Y/n) held her head in her hands in the midst of her hysterics, Malcolm called to the two women.

Large hands pulled onto the mirror frame first, then out came a fully grown man. Brahms Heelshire was alive - and he was big.

(Y/n) fell onto her ass, watching as her previously dead big brother stabbed Colt in the neck with a piece of his broken doll. Brahms lunged for Greta only to be beaten down by Malcolm and when the two were away; (Y/n) did not leave.

She crawled over to his sprawled out form, taking his shoulder into her hands and shaking him slightly, “Brahms…?”

He jerked once - then twice, then pushed himself up, taking a moment to look at his little sister before standing. In a fashion similar to when they used to sneak around the manor as children, he pressed a finger to his mask’s lips before running off.

~~

“I came back for you, Brahms.”

(Y/n) fiddled with her fingers as her older brother was swept upstairs by Greta, following after them like a lost puppy. As Greta pulled back the covers, (Y/n) felt her heart thump wildly in her chest.

Of course, it never helped when he threw a woman across the room.

“Brahms!” (Y/n) shrieked, latching onto her brother’s back and attempting to pull him off Greta, only succeeding when he fell back from his own stab wound.

Greta stopped at the doorway, turning to watch as the Heelshire girl cradled her big brother’s head in her hands in her panic-rich state, “(Y/n), come on. We have to go.”

Looking between Greta and her brother, (Y/n) felt the memories creep back up from the dip of her spine.

“Is that Papa’s lighter?”

Emily nodded slightly as Brahms watched the flame flicker, the little boy speaking up first, “I was interested in it, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

(Y/n) clutched at a lock of her own hair, “You better give it back or I’ll take it myself!”

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?” he scoffed before shooing her out of the playhouse, “If you tell Dad, I’ll break all your toys and cut up your dresses.”

She hadn’t told Father - she didn’t take the lighter.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) looked back to her older brother, burn scars on the visible half of his face and suddenly the guilt was rising to her throat again. Her hands smoothed over to the clasp of the mask, carefully unclipping it as Greta ran off to find Malcolm. A wicked sob racked her throat, her voice squeaking up soft and whiny, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A hand came up to brush her tears away, Brahms watching his little sister continue to cry, a small, childlike voice peeking through his lips, “Please don’t cry, (Y/n)… I don’t want to see you cry…”

Calming down only slightly, (Y/n) helped her brother sit up, “I’ll stay, I’m sorry.”

Brahms continued to watch his sister’s tears spill, “You’ll stay.”

It wasn’t a question, he barely even bothered to disguise it as such.

“I’ll stay…”

She didn’t really have a choice, not when her parents kept her under lock and key so strictly. But maybe they anticipated Brahms coming back; maybe they wanted her to have no independence so she wouldn’t leave her big brother.

Not that she’d be able to ask them.

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Pt.13]

Chapter:  Cassiopeia

Summary: Bucky and Y/n spill the beans to their friends about their not-date and, Ori asks her for a very special book.

Warnings:  Usual Astrophile fluff with a pinch of… angst? I don’t know. I don’t consider it angst.

A/N:   The bracelet mentioned is found on Pinterest. Link here.  Send me love because I’m needy, okay?? 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

Bucky hasn’t woken up late after spending all night on the phone with a girl since he was in high school but here he is, rushing around because he slept through his alarm after staying up till three in the morning talking to Y/n. She’s good at doing that to him, making him forget everything but her and Ori. Every time he’s around her his brain goes foggy and it’s getting harder and harder to remember a time before her. Bucky grins to himself thinking about her sleepy voice early this morning as he cuts Ori’s peanut butter and jelly into a star.

“Y/n, we should probably hang up. You’re drifting off, babydoll.” 

“I d-don’t need sleep. I’m fine. Did I tell you that Cassiopeia is my favorite constellation?” her voice slurred from sleep that’s calling her, her eyes closed and barely able to hold her phone up. 

Bucky chuckled as he watched her breathing start to even out through the small screen on his phone, “Yeah, you did. Go to bed, Beck. I’ll call you after my shift.” 

“Pinky promise?” She whispered, eyes remained closed but she was smiling.

“Pinky promise, sweetheart.”  

Bucky’s never been what he would consider lucky. Yeah, he’s had a few wins over the years. Some big and some small. His most significant being his baby girl and he wouldn’t trade Ori for all the good fortune in the world but, he’s never been one of those guys that simply fell into the good stuff. He’s never stumbled into a new job because he was in the right place at the right time or happened to work with the love of his life. Bucky’s never been the guy that won the big-ticket raffle. He’s never had started with a straight flush in his hands on poker night. 

Then Y/n walked into his life with stardust sprinkled book pages, lemon pancakes and a heart that could start a raging fire if he let it. Something changed in his destiny the day he met her. It was a soft, simple sort of change. One you miss if you blink too many times. It wasn’t some big moment that led them here. She didn’t do anything that could be written in the lines of a song or played on screen for thousands to see. Their late-night talks would never be recited by others in sweetheart whispers, but he would take their story over any sonnet or ballad. 

It’s funny how it all happened. Bucky is the same man he was when they met, but there’s something about having her fingers weaved in his that makes him feel like he can be a better man; for her and Ori. It was a simple fall. So simple, he never noticed she was taking little pieces of him every time she said his name, every time she read to Ori or made his girl smile. It was just books and giggles and pancakes, and then, it wasn’t. In the blink of an eye, every laugh made him lighter, every phone call took another piece of his heart, and every touch changed the way he pictured his future. 

Bucky never planned to fall for her. He had no plans to fall in love and never thought luck would be on his side when he did, but his heart left his chest months ago without notice, and it’s been resting comfortably next to hers. 

And he never wants it back. 

Ori skips into the kitchen bringing Bucky back to the frenzied reality of his morning. His daydreams were much more beautiful to live in, but they are late, and if he doesn’t hurry along, he will never get to work. Ori climbs up onto her designated stool. Even she could tell they are late. Super, duper late as Y/n would say. Y/n doesn’t spend the mornings with them (with a birthday exception), but if she did, that’s what she would call their morning. 

She sends Bucky a quick ‘morning daddy,’ and grabs her fork, but her smile slowly fades as she looks down at her plate. This isn’t her usual breakfast. Ori knew something was off when she woke up this morning, but this? This is… this is… totally awful! 

“Eggs, daddy? They are bad luck!“    

Bucky groans and looks at the near-empty pancake container. He forgot about that, eggs always mean a bad day. His eyes travel to the clock above the stove, he just doesn’t have the time today. They are already an hour behind, and that meant he had to check Ori into the front office, making him even later for his shift. He walks over to his scowling daughter and presses a kiss to her forehead in an attempt to soothe the angry wrinkles set there.

"Comet, baby, they are just eggs. I need you to eat, yeah? I’m running really behind today, but I promise I’ll pick up stuff for pancakes after my shift." 

Ori sinks down in her seat and pushes the eggs around her plate. "Okay, but today is gonna be a bad day,” she grumbles sourly.

---------

What was it about working in an Elementary school front office that made people so grumpy and forgetful? Bucky has been in that front office over twenty times since Ori started Pre-K, and the lady at the front desk still acted like she didn’t remember him. He’s had to introduce himself to her every single time he comes into the front off. How many little girls are named Orion in that school that she can’t remember his name? 

Thanks to Ms.Forgetful, he was an extra twenty minutes late, and Steve gave him the look. Bucky hates that look. As if Steve has never been late before? Bucky recalls a time when he was strolling in late nearly every day with a dumb grin on his face and a smirking Sam following close behind. 

At least it turned out to be a slow day, and nothing was burning down. 

“Hey, so, uh,” Bucky stammers, propping his feet up on the chair in front of him and tosses his piece of bread onto his plate. “Can you guys keep Ori this Thursday? I’d ask Nat but thought you two could use the practice." 

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t take the bait the same way Sam would. 

"I don’t think watching my Five-year-old niece will be practice for when we adopt a baby boy, but you should know that you don’t have to ask. We love having Ori over." 

"Why we gotta watch her?” Sam asks, a sneer on his face as he nudged the brunette's boots with his own from across the table. 

“Sam…” Steve sighs heavily. 

“I’m just askin’ is all! You got a date or just need a night off?" 

Bucky’s gaze flicks back and forth between the two men, and he finally deflates with a massive sigh. He may as well confess and let them get it out of their systems now. It would be less embarrassing that way. 

"I asked Y/n to come over, and I’m cooking her dinner. It’s not a big deal so let’s not make it a big deal,” He adds the last bit as his eyes land on Sam. 

"No big deal?” Sam screeches as he flies out of his chair towards Bucky. “This is huge, man! It’s taken you long enough to ask her out on a date. You’ve been talking for what six months now?" 

"Three and a half,” Bucky is quick to correct. 

Sam’s grin widens because of course, Bucky knows precisely how long they have been talking. Sam wouldn’t doubt he has it down to the minute. “Yeah. Right. Three and a half months. I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives waiting for you to get a damn clue, but you finally got your head on straight and told her how you feel!” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably in his chair making Sam’s grin fall, “Oh, for Christ–” Sam groans with a shake of his head. “You didn’t tell her how you feel did you?”

"There’s nothing to say. I don’t– we are still –” Bucky blows out a breath and sits up bolt straight. “It’s not a date, okay? I didn’t say the word date when I asked her to come over. She probably doesn’t even think it’s a date. We have done movie night plenty of times before and it's never been a date.”

"What did you say?” Steve prods before Sam has a chance to speak up. Bucky gives a slight shrug and meets his eye over the table, “I asked if she wanted to come over to watch a movie. I told her I could make dinner and that it would be just the two of us." 

"That’s a date!” Sam shouts excitedly.  

Steve dips his head to the side and smiles, “Sorry, Buck. I have to agree with my better half on this one. Sounds like you asked her on a date."  

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but their zone lit up a call, and there was no time to yell at his dumb friends, they had work to handle. Even if they didn’t, Bucky had no idea what he was going to say because hell if his heart wasn’t praying it was a date. 

------- 

"Hey, there, librarian.”

Y/n wrinkles her nose at the nickname as Natasha walks into her office. She hasn’t seen Natasha since Ori’s birthday party. A twinge of guilt creeps up her chest because Natasha no doubt knows Y/n and Tony broke up, and she didn’t hear it from Y/n. Not that she has to tell Natasha everything. Still made her feel guilty. She slowly sits up and peeks out the large window in her office to find a head of bouncing curls bobbing through the children’s section. 

Good. That would give the adults a minute to talk.

"I’m not a librarian. I own a bookstore. There is a difference." 

"Is there?” Natasha asks and leans against the edge of her desk, chuckling at the look of annoyance on her friend’s face and the serious tone in her voice when she replies, “Yes, I don’t have a degree in library sciences, and I don’t work in a library. I sell books– you’re teasing me, aren’t you?" 

"A little bit,” Nat confesses. “So, what’s new with you? Skip the Tony part. I heard that news from a chatty blonde and his husband.”  

"Um, well…” Y/n’s eyes dart back out to the main floor. She wants to make sure Ori is not within earshot when they speak about a certain new development. “I think Bucky asked me out on a date but now that I’ve had time to think about it I feel like it’s unlikely it’s actually a date.” 

Natasha snorts and crosses her arms over her chest, "It’s very likely it’s a date, but why do you say that?" 

"It’s a movie at his place, and he offered to cook, and Ori is spending the night at Steve’s. I don’t know. It’s probably just a friend thing. How many times have we done a movie night since we met and it was never anything more?" 

Natasha is quick to refute every flimsy reason she just put forth, "How many times did he cook you dinner on these movie nights and when has Ori not been at the house?" 

"Never,” Y/n squeaks. 

“It’s a date,” Natasha confirms with a smug grin as she hops up onto Y/n’s desk. She spots something interesting resting on the corner by the picture Ori drew for her. She leans over and grabs before Y/n can stash it away. It’s two bracelets, thin black leather cord with a small silver star in the middle attached to brown paper.

It’s one of those wishing bracelets. They have a special saying and usually made with a certain person in mind. Mother, sister, boyfriend or best friend. This sounds very much like something Y/n would pick out for a certain dark-haired, blue eyed single dad.   She reads the label and her grin widens.  

Pinky Promise. I promise to wear this, so I never forget how lucky I am to have you. Close your eyes and make a wish, tie this bracelet to your wrist. When the bracelet falls off the wish you made will come true. 

“Did Bucky give this to you?” 

Y/n leans back in her chair and shakes her head, quietly admitting where those actually came from, “Um, not exactly. I bought that. As a gift. For Bucky. I thought – Well, we say pinky promise to each other. Did you know that? Anyway, we do, and when I saw it, I thought of him. It’s kind of our thing, and well, it had a star. I doubt he’s going to wear it, but yeah, it’s for him.”

Natasha hands it back over to Y/n who clutches it to her chest. 

It’s cute, and Bucky would definitely wear it for you. It’s pretty clear he would do just about anything for you.” Y/n tightens her hand around the bracelets and ducks her head to hide her smile from Natasha, but the red-head caught it. 

She will let it go this once.

“Y/n?” Ori asks from the doorway, nervously tugging at her braids. “I can’t find a book I want.” 

Y/n chuckles and slowly stands up not before putting her trinkets back in their rightful place by Ori’s drawing. She holds her hand out to take the little girl’s and follows her out onto the main floor. 

“What are you looking for?” Y/n ponders aloud, trying to mask the confusion in her voice as Ori leads her away from the children’s books. 

"A book about love?" 

Y/n grins and drops to her knees in front of Ori pulling the little girl to a stop, "Why? Are you in love, my starlight?" 

Ori doesn’t smile like she usually would, she simply shakes her head and whispers,  "It’s for daddy. He needs help. He’s good at loving me, but I don’t think he knows how to say when he’s in love.” 

It felt like someone had reached into Y/n’s chest and ripped her heart out. Bucky is in love with someone else? She can’t breathe. He’s been dating someone this entire time, and she didn’t even know. She was right all along Thursday night isn’t a date and Natasha is wrong; for once in her life. 

But why did it have to be this she was wrong about?

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Ori whispers watching her carefully. 

She focuses back on Ori and forces a smile the young girl would believe, “Yeah, starlight. I’m okay. Um, I’m not sure I have any books like that here, but I will keep an eye out and maybe order some, okay?” 

Ori nods and wraps her arms around her neck in a tight hug, “I hope so. We can’t wait forever, right?” 

Y/n swallows the lump in her throat and wraps her arms around Ori, giving her the biggest squeeze she can muster while her heart is breaking in her chest. 

“Right, starlight. We don’t wanna wait forever.” 

--------

The call wasn’t anything too serious. A car accident and only one of the drivers were hurt. There were small cuts, a few scrapes, and bruises, but everyone made it out okay. No jaws of life needed, and everyone is making it home to their loved ones tonight. All in all, it was a good call in Bucky’s book. It did push Bucky thirty minutes past the end of his shift though. Apparently being late is the theme of the day. Now he’s scrambling to get his gear put up, and get his bag together. He’s itching to see his bright-eyed comet, and he might have a call or two to make. 

"There a reason you’re trying to rush out of here?” Sam teases with a soft chuckle. “Got a pretty girl waiting for you or something.”

Bucky wants to be mad. He really does. He wants to tell Sam to fuck off because he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Things between him and Y/n aren’t like that, and he can shut his mouth, but Bucky can’t. He can’t bring himself to feel anything close to that thanks to the way his heart is beating, frantic and heavy. It’s about ready to crack his ribs with the way it’s thumping against his chest. All he can do is grin because, yeah, he’s got a pretty girl with a kind heart waiting for him to call and Bucky’s never wanted to see her face as badly as he does right now. 

His phone chimes. A message from Y/n, as if she knows he’s slowly fading away from the distress of not seeing her since last night; he misses her that much. 

But the message is not what he expects. 

[Beck]: Hey, I can’t make this Thursday. Something came up.  I’m really, really sorry. Maybe we can reschedule? 

Bucky’s heart slows as he reads the words over again. One more time just to make sure he’s reading it right. His world darkens; suddenly lemon seems too sour, the stars have dulled and those starry book pages are too tattered to read. He tosses his phone in his bag and slams his locker shut, silencing the soft murmurs stirring around him. 

 “Don’t worry about Thursday, Sam. Something came up.” 

Sam watches Bucky stalk to his car and looks back at Steve. He’s never seen that look on Bucky’s face before, absolute disappointment and it stung all of them.

 Bucky should have known better than to think– None of it mattered anyway. It wasn’t a date. It was a chance to see if she really felt something more, but if she realized she didn’t, it was better Thursday night didn’t happen. Besides, they are just friends and friends cancel sometimes. He isn’t mad at her. He could never be mad at her. Just… disappointed he wouldn’t get to spend the night with her. It’s no big deal though. Something could have come up. She doesn’t tell him everything. 

They are friends. Just… friends. 

After all, Bucky has never been one to just fall into the good stuff. 

Previous // Next 

[sparkie96]

😍

(I don’t remember what the emoji stands for, mainly because I lost the prompt post, so I’m just gonna wing it with an idea. Spoilers: It’s going to be apart of a future VergilLeon and Chreon A/B/O Dynamics Fic called: “Heir of Vergil”) 

“Chris, could you grab the candles over there?” Leon asked, “Your left...Chris, your other left.” 

The Alpha looked around the counter but gave an “Ah!” as he finally found what the Omega was looking for. Chris handed them over, careful not to bump into the bump growing on the front of the agent. Leon thanked him, placing the royal blue and gold “16” on top of the birthday cake. 

Claire came into the house with another empty tray, said tray having once been filled with snacks, “I think it’s cake time, cause we’re almost out of pizza and pretty soon those teenagers are going to eat the boxes. Especially Nero, because of his, well, gifted metabolism.” 

Jill came rushing into the house not too long after, informing Chris and Leon that they were officially out of pizza. Chris chuckled as he lifted the sheet cake, telling Leon to go ahead of him. Sherry and Jake rounded up the rambunctious teenagers, telling them it was time for cake and time to sing “Happy Birthday” to the birthday boy.  

Leon couldn’t believe how fast the years had gone by, unable to believe that Nero was sixteen years-old. That it had been sixteen years since Leon made that deal with Vergil back in Raccoon City...but he hadn’t come out of it empty-handed. The man helped him save Sherry and Claire, and then later Claire and Chris after praying for anyone or anything to give him the power and strength to help his friends and loved ones. He had managed to give Leon some of his invulnerability, strength, and speed when he marked him. Not only that...but all Leon had to do was give him an heir...a bouncing little boy who turned sixteen today.

The Omega smiled as they sang “Happy Birthday” to Nero, the white-haired teenager laughing as his friends, Nico and Kyrie, held him by the arms. Nico holding his left while Kyrie held his Demon looking arm, swaying him to the song. His other friends gathered around the table, singing along as Jake and Sherry led. 

Chris wrapped an arm around Leon, watching their son blow out the candles. Leon had to thank the Alpha, his mate now. Chris had come into his life when he was pregnant with Nero, having helped the older man locate his lost sister. It wasn’t until later on, when Claire had formally introduced them a couple years later, did he and the Alpha get together. 

Nero had been about four or so, and Leon had been a bit nervous due to how different Nero was from the average baby. Especially because Nero always had the Devil Arm and white hair and occasionally, especially during a tantrum, his little eyes would glow. Nonetheless, Chris loved the pup like Nero was his own, and Nero grew up most of his life with Chris as his Dad…

...until Nero turned ten and Vergil had visited for the first time in a long time. 

The half demon visited every Birthday since then, but never when there were crowds of people, so it wasn’t a surprise that Vergil wasn’t here now. The demon was probably waiting somewhere secluded until either everyone went home or...Leon shivered as a particularly cold breeze passed the pregnant Omega, causing him to hold his arms. He looked toward Nero, who’s eyes glowed blue for a moment before looking toward the house. Leon followed his gaze and turned back to look through the picture window, an ominous shadow standing in the living room,

He was already waiting in the house. 

“Mom?” Nero asked, his friends already digging into the cake, looking toward Leon, “I think...there’s someone in the house.” 

Leon nodded, telling Chris to wait there for a moment. Chris nodded, the Alpha already knowing who the figure inside was. The Omega called Nero, asking him if he would help him with something inside. Nero nodded and excused himself from the table, following after Leon. Chris told everyone else not to worry, that they just had to make sure the cat was inside and hadn’t gotten out. 

“Vergil?” Leon called, opening the back door and going in ahead of Nero, keeping the teen safely tucked behind him. The shadow wasn’t standing there anymore, “I know you’re in here...we saw you from outside...you here for your yearly visit?” 

“Would there be another reason to grace you both with my presence?” A cool voice said from the kitchen, Vergil standing against the counter and picking at the fruit sitting on the counter, glaring at the pizza boxes on the counter, “Humans...I never understood your infatuation with the high caloric and greasy foods.”

“It’s his sixteenth birthday and he wanted pizza.” Leon deadpanned, “I’m surprised you showed up when there are so many people outside.” 

“Yes, well. I am on a busy schedule.” Vergil hummed, pulling away from the counter before looking down at Leon’s stomach, “...I see you and Christopher have been busy...growing your little family.” 

“We have…” Leon said quietly. 

Vergil turned to Nero, “And what are your thoughts on this, son? To know that they’re going to replace you with a child that it both theirs?” 

“They’re not going to replace me.” Nero said, “Chris and Mom both love me and I’ve wanted a little brother or sister for a long time...and at least Chris stuck around for me when I was growing up.” 

“Nero.” Leon scolded lightly, Vergil simply laughing in amusement, “Vergil may not be the most...rational man, but he is still, biologically, your father.” 

“It’s fine, Leon.” Vergil said, waving the Omega off, “He’s allowed to speak his mind...and in response to your statement, Nero, I’ve better things to do than raise a child.” 

“Oh, yeah? Like what, asshole?” Nero asked angrily, eyes and arm glowing a menacing blue.

“Nero!” Leon scolded once more. 

Vergil smirked at the younger, calling him temperamental, much like the thick-headed Alpha outside. Leon gave him a look, asking him to just say “Happy Birthday” and to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of. 

Vergil approached them, Leon standing his ground as the Alpha towered over him and Nero both. He explained that he was not here to say Happy Birthday...but he was here out of the kindness of his heart. That he was here...because there were bigger threats coming, advising Nero to be wary of Kyrie...and telling Leon to not let Chris go to Mexico in pursuit of an arms dealer. When both questioned him, he told them both that he was not going to repeat himself. 

Nero pursued him, Leon right behind the teenager. Nero went to grab his father’s wrist, to demand to know what the hell he was talking about until Vergil turned and snatched him by his Devil Arm. Leon grabbed the chef’s knife from the drawer, switching his hands and holding it to the older man’s throat. 

“Let him go.” Leon growled. 

“You can’t kill me, Leon.” Vergil said softly, voice full of amusement, “But...I admire your enthusiasm.” 

“Let him go, Vergil.” Leon commanded once more, blade pushing against the man’s throat. 

Vergil looked from Nero to Leon, a smile creeping on to his lips once more, “...very well,” he sighed, letting Nero go, “He isn’t strong enough anyway.” 

Leon kept the knife pointed at him, pulling Nero behind him and shielding his son with his own body, “You said that the last time...what are you talking about? Not strong enough for what?” 

Vergil hummed, pulling away, but not before caressing Leon’s cheek with the back of his hand, seemingly admiring the Omega, “...in time...you’ll know.” Vergil looked to Nero, “...both of you.” 

With that, the Alpha disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

Nero held his wrist, not in pain, but more so out of confusion. Leon checked him over, asking if he was hurt or if Vergil did something, but Nero shook his head. He asked the Omega what his father had been talking about, about the whole Kyrie and Chris going to Mexico thing, but Leon didn’t have an answer for him. Leon put the knife back in the drawer. Nero then asked if Vergil planned on taking him away from Leon and Chris.  

Leon gave him a sympathetic look, shaking his head as he pulled Nero into his chest, “No...I won’t let him. I promise.” 

“...What did you see in him to begin with? And why let him back into your life?” Nero asked, “Can’t be his charming personality.” 

Leon chuckled, “Believe it or not...he wasn’t always like this. Deep down...he’s still in there...and I know, had things been different...he would have stuck around for us. He plays it like he’s some cold-hearted bastard...but he cares.” 

It was just Vergil’s obsession with power and “becoming a god” that scared the Omega, and made him dread these visits. 

“C’mon,” Leon said, gently guiding Nero out of the kitchen, “Let’s go get some cake and open your presents.” 

[t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o]

Broken Promises

Pt. 4

I hope you enjoy this part, let me know what you think eh?

Warnings: I think a few swear words

~T-Rex 💕🦖

3 weeks, 3 weeks is all it takes for Shawn to become really homesick. He’s watched all of the videos saved on his phone. He’s scrolled through pictures, even posting some throw backs on Instagram.

Now he’s currently looking at you through a computer screen, gazing as you watch your son. The little boy sitting in the middle of the living room playing with his blocks.

“Why is he still up babe?” Shawn asks you, running a hand through his hair.

“Hmm? Oh he’s just being fussy, I think he’s getting ready to cut more teeth. Isn’t that right bubba?” You ask smiling at the little boy before looking at your fiancé.

He smiles at you sweetly, wishing he could be with you. Spencer lifts his head at the sound of Shawn’s voice, making grabby hands at the laptop. A whine coming out of his mouth around his pacifier, frown etching onto his mouth.

“What? What’s up Spence? Oh my god...Shawn! Shawn!” You gasp, flipping the laptop around to show your son on shaking legs. Shawn shoots up in his bed, smiling widely.

“Keep talking.” You whisper, tears filling your eyes as you look at your youngest. Heart squeezing in anticipation of his first steps ever.

“Hi bubba! Oh my god look at you! You’re getting so big!” Shawn coos at the screen, watching as Spencer takes his first two steps.

Before toppling to his hands and knees, giggling as he looks at his father. You set the computer on the coffee table, lifting your son up.

“You took your first steps! Mama is so proud of you!” You say dancing around the living room with him, getting him to squeal. Shawn laughing giddily as he takes a video of you on his phone.

“Mama? Wha’s happening?” Stella asks sleepily as she steps down the stairs. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, her hair a mess in its French braid.

“Stells! Spencey took his first steps!” You crow excitedly, she smiles widely. Swinging your son around a bit on your hip, his little fingers gripping your shirt.

“Spencey!” She yells happily, running to you so you can lift her onto your other hip. Shawn’s smile falters as he gets hit with the realization that he’s missing out on another big thing.

“Daddy!” Stella says happily as she sees him in the computer screen. Leaning in your hold to look at him better, showing her small front teeth.

“Hi bunny!” He responds, putting a smile on his face. You crouch down in front of the camera, smiling breathlessly. Shawn returns your sweet stare, eyes flicking over you three.

“I’m gonna see you guys really soon.” He states, both of the kids resting against you as their adrenaline wears off.

“We know, we’re proud of you back here. So so proud of you bubs.” You say to him, getting a light flush to form on his cheeks.

“I love you guys, go get some sleep eh?”

“I love you daddy!”

“I love you too honey, go and play your heart out for them.” You both smile before the three of you blow kisses.

~few weeks later~

“And look at Miss. Stella Rose, is measuring in this corner at 37 1/2 inches! Which is almost two more inches since daddy left!” You say smiling as you kneel next to your little girl, holding a tape measure next to her head.

Haley holding your phone and video taping. Stella wraps her arms around your neck tightly squealing happily. A wide toothy grin on her little face as she looks at her aunt.

“I’m gonna be as tall as daddy!” She states, you laugh softly and nod your head. Arms circling around her waist as you stand up.

“That would be a sight eh?” You respond looking at Haley the both of you chuckling still.

~few hours later~

“Did you get the video?” You ask, moving around the house as you FaceTime Shawn. Shutting off lights, setting the alarm system, and double checking the door.

“I did...she’s getting so big.” He murmurs a hint of sadness in his tone. Eyes downcast to the crisp, white hotel sheets underneath his body.

“She’s convinced she’s gonna be taller than you now.” You tell him, striving to get a smile on his face. Heart hurting as his expression gives him away like usual.

“Yea? Well she’d have to grow a whole bunch more.” You smile and nod a bit, climbing into your usually shared bed. Pulling the navy blue comforter up to your chest.

“Mm I can’t wait to see you.” Shawn says smiling as he looks at you, the gentle glow of your lamp casting over you. Admiring the way your glasses rest on your nose, skin looking healthy and glowing, your lips plush and kissable.

“I can’t wait to see you either honey. I’ve missed you a lot.” You admit, biting on your lower lip. He frowns a bit and nods his head in understanding.

“Just three more week.” He tells you, keeping the butterflies in his stomach at bay as he thinks of his true plans.

“Mhm just three more weeks and I get to lounge in the sun with you while drinking a glass of wine.” You state getting a laugh to leave his mouth.

“I would fucking love that.” He murmurs, you smile again and sigh happily.

“So I’ve been thinking.”

“Yea baby?”

“What if we just get married? No big ceremony, no huge reception, just us and our babies. Our families and that’s it, we can throw a party later.” You say, laying back in your pillows.

“Mm I think our parents would kill us...our mums would definitely hang us.”

“Yea I guess they probably would.” His chocolate eyes analyze your face, before he sighs softly.

“You’re gonna be my wife...I’m not losing you anytime soon. I’m not leaving you, I’m not seeing anyone else while I’m away. You’ve got a third of my heart baby.” He tells you, trying to squash your insecurities.

“Well I mean...there are really good looking models in...where are you...Australia...yea Australia this time of year.” You state, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“But none of them are you.”

“But none of them have stretch marks on random places of their bodies, they haven’t carried two babies, they also probably shave more often than I do.” Shawn listens as you go on about your little ‘imperfections’.

“Baby...baby...honey!” He says a little louder each time, effectively getting your attention.

“I love each and every one of your stretch marks, because those marks are from life. They show just how much your body has been through. I fucking love that you’ve carried two of my babies, because without you they wouldn’t be perfect. And honey...I don’t give a fuck about your body hair.” He promises, seeing the flush start on your neck and ears.

“I love you sweetheart, I don’t want some 19 year old model who hasn’t been through anything. Who hasn’t experienced the best parts in life. I want you, my partner in crime, my best friend, and my soulmate.” You feel the tears well up in your eyes.

“Shut up Mendes...gonna make me cry.”

“Hey...you’re gonna be a Mendes real soon too. Can’t keep calling me that.”

“I will call you Mendes until the day I die, it is what I’ve called you since we were 15.” He chuckles softly and shakes his head, looking up as Andrew comes into the room.

“I love you baby.”

“I love you too S, go and smash the show.” You both blow kisses before hanging up. You sighing softly and laying back on your pillows.

Feeling like that love sick 18 year old again, with a giddy smile on your face you fall into a sweet dreamland.

~2 weeks later~

Shawn slowly slips into the house, setting his bags and guitar case down by the front entrance. Before creeping up the stairs, checking his phone to see the time. ‘3:38 am’ displaying back at him, smiling to himself he continues his journey up towards you.

“Baby...baby wake up.” Shawn whispers as he sits on the edge of the bed, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Mm no Hales I just fell asleep please go away.” You mumble batting at the hand on your shoulder with a quiet whine. Trying to tug the blanket up your bare shoulder more.

“Well I’m not Haley...but I can go away.” Shawn says chuckling, your eyes crack open.

“Shawn!” You gasp sitting up as fast as you can, almost getting tangled in the sheets. Fighting against them to get to his body.

Your arms flinging around his neck, pulling him in as tight as you can. He laughs softly and hugs around your waist, kissing your head.

“Surprise baby! And happy early birthday!” He coos sweetly, nuzzling close to you. He feels tears soaking his shirt, before he’s detaching you from him.

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong? Oh my god!”

“I I’m so happy that you’re here, we’ve never spent a birthday apart. And I I missed you so much.” You cry, wiping at your face to no avail as more tears come flowing. He cups your cheeks, pulling you in for more kisses.

“Oh honey, you scared me! Don’t do that!” He says laughing softly and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“How did you come home early?” You whisper, holding onto his biceps. Not wanting their to be any space between you.

“After Spence’s party I moved some things around with Andrew. It didn’t get finalized until a two weeks ago though. But I’ve got the next two weeks off, and I’m taking you on vacation with our babies.” He tells you, brushing your hair back gently.

“I love you...I love you so much. I don’t need a vacation. You being home is more than enough.” You murmur pulling him in for a much needed kiss, his body following yours down to the bed.

“Baby...we’ve gotta pack you guys up. Or we’re gonna miss our flight.” Shawn murmurs, your lips dragging down his jaw. His breathing stuttering in his chest as he feels his stomach clench.

“Are you really saying no?”

“Oh no...I’m taking full advantage of the fact that both of our families will be there.” He responds shaking his head, you smile softly as you look up at him. Before he leans in and kisses you again, smiling against your mouth.

“Stella! Stella baby wake up!” You coo, gently rubbing her back. Now fully clothed in a pair of leggings and one of Shawn’s merch sweaters.

“Mm mama I’m tired.” She mumbles curling into herself more.

“But bunny...daddy’s home.” Shawn says from the doorway, holding a half asleep Spencer in his arms now. She looks up, before she her eyes widen comedically rushing to get out of bed.

“Daddy!” She cries, lifting her arms up and letting Shawn pick her up. Both of his babies cuddling into his neck, Stella’s face split into a large grin.

“Mama he’s home! Daddy’s home!” She tells you excitedly, you smile and rise from her bed.

“Yea baby he’s home!” You reply, sharing a fond look with your husband.

“Alright I think we’ve got everything.” You murmur looking around at the four suitcases in the front room. Just as Jake’s truck pulls up, headlights flashing in through the windows.

“We’re good baby, we’ve got everything. Let’s get going eh?” Shawn asks smiling as he lifts Spencer’s car seat. Stella holding her own little princess backpack. Star sticking out of the top of it, while Spencer holds his lion.

“Yea I’m good, hi Jake.” You say smiling at the body guard once you’ve opened the door.

“Alright family lets get going!” He cheers, grabbing three of the bags while you grab one. Leaving Shawn with the kids, watching him carefully walk out.

Holding Stella’s hand and helping her jump down the stairs. Before you pull the door shut behind you, locking it and following your family.

~vacation time~

“Shawn...this is beautiful.” You murmur looking out at the view of the ocean from your balcony.

“Mm not as beautiful as you.” He replies, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your collar bones. You snort softly and shake your head a bit, smiling to yourself.

“I think they are conked out for a little bit at least.” Shawn states looking back at your two sleeping children. Spencer in his playpen, pacifier next to him. Stella in the twin sized bed next to the queen. Her bunny stuck under her arm while she lays star fished on the bed.

“Oh yea I’m sure they are.”

“I’m pretty tired actually.” He says, guilt sleeping into his voice.

“Mm me too.” You look up at him, gasping as he leans down and kisses you. Hand coming up to cup your cheek, rubbing across the bone gently.

“I fucking love you so much.” Shawn whispers, pressing your lower back into the railing.

“I love you too...you big goon.” You tease, slightly breathless from his kisses.

“And we are gonna spend your birthday right.”

“After a nap...or I’m not going anywhere.” He chuckles softly and lets you turn him to go into the bedroom. Both of you stripping to your pajamas. Before crawling into bed, his body nestling up behind yours. Arm slinging across your waist, nose nuzzling into your hair.

“Missed you so much.” He mumbles, sleep already heavy in his voice.

“Mm missed you too honey.” You reply, fingers interlacing with his. He moves his hand to cup yours, gently running his thumb across your engagement ring. Smiling softly to himself as he nestles closer to your body heat. Drifting off to the sounds of your soft breathing and the ocean outside.

[weblistposting-blog]

New Post has been published on Weblistposting

New Post has been published on https://weblistposting.com/after-40-years-i-finally-tracked-down-my-useless-brother/

After 40 years I finally tracked down my useless brother

For most of my existence, and I’m 50 now, one piece of statistics approximately my brother had blocked all others. “dead” have become the barrier; a restraining wall.

Nicky’s deadness became his defining characteristic, even though he have to have had others: he changed into 9 when he drowned. I was eleven, his closest brother through age, but to contain the grief I had dismissed his individual as provisional. He became a baby. Now he became useless. Nothing more to look here.

In death, Nicky thinned and dwindled. He became timid, prone, too vulnerable to preserve his preserve on life. loss of life saved his mouth close, a meek and unassuming boy barely worthy of the word. As a circle of relatives, we didn’t speak about him and waited for silence and time to wear him away.

It becomes any other loss of life that delivered him again. whilst my dad died, all of sudden I had to get admission to a few steel filing shelves inside the alcove in the nook of his have a look at (formerly hidden behind a roll-down display, also locked).

My first instinct, or hope, become that surprising keys might open up a hidden internal life. I’d seek thru my dad’s files and find a secret shrine to Nicky, evidence of emotional craving concealed for decades some of the correspondence and credit card statements. No such tortured soul emerged. What I did discover, in the bottom drawer of the furthermost cupboard, became an inexperienced plastic bag.

Nicky’s documentary relics, which includes they have been, comprised a package of faculty reviews and a vinyl-blanketed ring-binder of commiseration letters. There was additionally a certified copy of an entry of demise, signed via the Cornwall registrar. I positioned the dying certificate aside, to glean what I ought to from the paperwork left in the back of.

Before everything, the letters of condolence weren’t plenty assist. The boy they described felt as not likely as my useless, passive version of nine-yr-old Nicky. The letters reached for the opposite intense, summoning a high-quality powered small boy with “special gifts … so earnest and enquiring”. Nicky turned into “a vivid, handsome boy with a lovable experience of humor”. Apparently, “everything Nicky did he did nicely, be it a game, paintings, his track, or just kindness and exact manners”.

Perhaps he changed into and Maybe he wasn’t, but, slowly, choosing through the bones of praise, a surprising emotion began to make itself felt: resentment. I resented my dead little brother, however no longer because he became “brilliant”, “proficient”, “extremely kind” and “a brilliant conversationalist” (a 9-year-old boy!). no longer even due to the fact he becomes dead. I realized or remembered, that at some distance side of the wall we were opponents. And now not in a great way.

The forgotten fact struck me like a revelation. I grew to become to the college reports, greedy for word of Nicholas Beard, and first of all his teachers appeared to confirm what I had examined inside the letters of sympathy. In 1974, Nicholas becomes “a promising student” who advanced right into a “pleasant and capable boy”. through 1977, he “continues to do nicely, and his future looks brilliant”, at which point I was relieved to look a sample of doubt creep in. Aged 8 and a chunk, my brother changed into “a little overconfident”, even though he did have his motives. via 1978, the year of his loss of life, he becomes first in every difficulty besides maths (wherein he came fourth). First in French, records, geography, scripture, all first. First in English, and that’s my problem, in which “he is never glad until he is pinnacle!” No marvel he had a “relatively conceited way”.

He turned into “a natural cricketer, above common”. I’d blocked that out. My little bro Nicholas had been a brainbox with an expertise for the game. All and sundry who had shared his early life, as I did, should on mirrored image have remembered that this was so, simplest I’d by no means took the time to reflect. Nicky turned into “active and properly coordinated, and continually offers one hundred% effort”.

I used to be after him now, and I too may want to installed a hundred% attempt. I went attempting to find greater evidence, for random images in forgotten corners of attics. Whenever I discovered him, my first response changed into often condescension. Nicky turned into marooned inside the 70s. He wore brown sandals and a nylon petrol-blue polo neck. His garments have been a unique catastrophe at own family activities, including a crimson and blue striped waistcoat, or a crimson-checked blouse with a simple blue tie. I had the identical outfit, however, I grew out of it.

Regularly, I collected a Nicky image series. All his existence changed into right here: he crawled, sat, splashed inside the tub, toddled about with a cushion on his head. His tricycle, his seventh birthday, Stonehenge, the paddling pool out the again on a summer time’s day, complete diving under in 10 inches of plastic Barrier Reef. He just turned into. He lived.

One precise photoactivated a reminiscence. 4 brothers on vacation, wearing anoraks, arranged for the digital camera on a disused metallic railway bridge. Someplace in Wales, at a wager. Nicky is pretending to unfasten a rivet on a girder, as though he’s difficult at paintings. Absolutely everyone is looking at the digicam besides him and me, because Nicky is getting to his rivet and I’m looking at Nicky, slyly, face to the digital camera, however, eyes sliding meanly to the right. I want to hide my spiteful sideways glance at something it’s far he’s doing, but the image doesn’t lie.

I hated Nicky’s pretending. We were a circle of relatives group posing for a picture and Everybody who saw it later need to recognize, honestly, that my more youthful brother was no longer a qualified engineer.

My nasty appearance, and the sick will at the back of it wasn’t an isolated incident. In every other image, Nicky turned into “jogging” out of the ocean, but I should see for a fact he wasn’t. He changed into status still, most effective pretending to run. He turned into “mending” his upturned bicycle, only he didn’t realize the primary aspect approximately motorcycle mechanics. He was eight. What he became absolutely doing was drawing interest to himself, making sure he became the only within the photograph. I resented his displaying off, his attention searching for, and I was hyper-alert to his plays due to the fact I favored to apply them too.

My wall of demise had offered a much less complex soreness than this fact of competition with a threatening and successful rival, who became also my more youthful brother. Hamming it up within the snapshots, Nicky had been searching in advance, imagining the print in a body on an outstanding mantelpiece. He turned into making calculations approximately the future, to further his interests. He becomes self-conscious and had thoughts of his very own.

again then, I hadn’t wanted him to catch me up. I favored him as a bit boy who belonged with other little boys, while I fancied myself almost one of the large boys. His growing up endangered my repute. Bluntly, at that degree in our lives, we didn’t like each different, after which he died. no longer long before, I’d punched him in the face, and that I recall the feel of his nostril-bone in opposition to my knuckles. I recall disputed sandwiches and broken Lego and global struggle three. He just kept coming. Fuck off, Nicky, I leave out you greater than I ever stated.

For too a few years, I’d desired to prevent his loss of life and look no similarly, due to the fact death made a simpler memory than the circle of relatives. Ultimately, albeit almost 4 decades later, the denial subsequently lost its grip. Nicky’s forcefully lived existence, however quick, refused to live repressed. He gave 100% and changed into in no way satisfied. Every person stated so, and a boy like that became constantly going to make it lower back. He took his time, and death delayed him, however finally he caught me up.

• The Day That Went Lacking by using Richard Beard, approximately the death of his brother, is posted with the aid of Harvill Secker, £14.99. To order a duplicate for £11.24, visit bookstore.Theguardian.Com or name on. Unfastened United kingdom p&p on orders of greater than £10, online only. Cellphone orders min p&p of £1.ninety nine.