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topsytervy · 3 years

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Scotcharoos ~ Pope Heyward

Blurb: you decide to make some of your grandma's scotcharoo bars with a little bit of help from your boyfriend, Pope.

Word Count: 1,273

Warnings: swearing, grammar/spelling mistakes, i think thats it

I'm going to add this just in case you don't know what scotcharoo bars are. They're basically just rice krispie treats but you add peanut butter in with the rice krispies and top it with a mixture of melted chocolate chips and butterscotch chips. A very poor and vague description but that's all they are. Nothing really special about them but everyone in my family (myself included) go absolutely nuts for them and I wrote this cause my grandma just sent me a chunk of scotcharoo bars from the batch she just made.

~~~~

Pope looked over your shoulder as you poured in the mixture you just brought off the stove, a confused look on his face. “What exactly are these again?” Your boyfriend questioned.

“They’re scotcharoo bars. My grandma always makes them. It’s basically kind of like peanut butter Rice Krispie treats with chocolate on top.” You explained.

You had practically grown up with scotcharoo bars and it was usually something your grandma made at least two pans of since everyone in your family always went back for more. Tears were often shed when you were a child cause everyone always seemed to nag them before you could get one and if you did, by chance, happen to get one, one of your older cousins snagged it from you, using the same ‘they’re bad for your teeth, we’re doing you a favor’ excuse every single time.

Not anymore though because after an hour and a half on the phone with your grandmother and a very casual ‘I haven’t had scotcharoos in so long’, you had a package in your arms a week and a half later containing, not only the bars themselves but your grandmother’s recipe as well.

Take that cousins.

So now here you were, spatula in hand as you poured the Rice Krispie cereal into the metal mixing bowl you had down.

You handed Pope the bowl. “Can you mix this together please while I get the chocolate and butterscotch chips and start melting it?”

Pope nodded as he took the bowl from your hands, beginning to mix the ingredients together.

You grabbed the butterscotch chips and chocolate chips, pouring them into a microwavable bowl before putting them in the microwave for a minute.

As Pope continued mixing, you pulled out a pan and buttered it well.

"You eat these a lot growing up, sweetheart?" Pope asked, looking at you.

You nodded. "Every holiday and birthday, scotcharoos were there. There was never one left in the pan because they were either all eaten by the time you went home or you were taking some home with you." You smiled at the memories brought back by making the simple recipe.

Pope smiled. "Well, I can’t wait to try them."

You grabbed a fork as the microwave beeped, stirring the chocolate and butterscotch mixture before putting them in for another minute, figuring that it would be thoroughly melted after that.

"I have one last bar my grandma sent me that you can have a piece of." You offered, walking towards your counter.

Pope feigned shock. "You would share a dessert you love so much with me?" He teased.

"Unless you don't want it, then I'll just…" You trailed off, bringing the treat closer to your mouth.

"No. I'll take it. Save you from a cavity." He placed the bowl down and grabbed the bar from your hand.

He couldn't lie, it did look rather delicious, and listening to you rave about it all the time constantly made him wonder what these infamous treats taste like.

He took a bite as you picked up the bowl, mixing the Rice Krispies in a little more.

"You know what? These aren't half bad." Pope nodded, taking another bite once he swallowed his first one.

You took the bowl over to the pan and spread the mixture out, patting it down as you nodded. "It honestly wasn't a family get-together unless these bad boys were there. I'm pretty sure half my cousins only showed up to see if the scotcharoos were there."

The microwave beeped and Pope went and grabbed the bowl handing it to you as you grabbed the spatula.

"Thank you," You pecked his lips as you took the bowl.

You stirred the chocolate and butterscotch again, making sure it was all mixed up and melted before pouring it on top of the Rice Krispies, spreading it as evenly as you could with the spatula.

"And now we wait for it to all cool and set." You grinned once you were finished, holding the spatula out towards Pope. "Wanna lick it clean?"

Pope took the spatula from your hand. "Hell yeah."

You giggled at his excitement as you picked up the pan and brought it to the fridge to hopefully make the treats cool down faster.

Pope gathered up the dishes and brought them to the sink, filling it with warm water and a little dish soap. He turned and leaned his back against the counter as he waited for the sink to fill, watching you as you made room for the pan in the fridge. Once you were sure that nothing would fall out, you stood up straight and closed the door, turning to face your boyfriend.

“They should be ready to eat soon.” You told him, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Yeah. You’re gonna eat a meal first though. By the time you’re done with your food, dessert will be ready.” Pope pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Well, I made dessert so that means you get to make lunch.”

Pope shrugged. “Easy, peasy, m’lady.”

“Oh, really? What are you going to make?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Mac and Cheese.” You laughed at his answer and he grinned. “I said it was easy peasy.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Mac and Cheese is pretty easy peasy.”

****

After your lunch, which consisted of mac and cheese with little pieces of a hot dog thrown in it, you got up and walked over to your fridge, pulling out the pan of scotcharoos and grabbing a knife. You cut them into squares before grabbing two pieces from the pan and walking over to Pope, handing him one.

“Why, thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” You smiled as you kissed his forehead before taking a bite of the treat.

“I’m going to be honest,” Pope told you, “Still good but not as good as the piece you had me try.”

You nodded. “I agree 100% but, in my defense, my grandma has been making these for god only knows how long and this is my first time making them.”

“Fair point.” Pope popped the rest of the bar into his mouth. “After a few more tries, I’m sure they’ll be as good as your grandmas and we’ll be serving them up at Christmas parties as well.”

“Oh? We’ll be serving them? So you’re going to help next time?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I always help in the kitchen.” Pope defended himself.

“Yeah. Help make a mess.” You laughed and Pope’s jaw dropped.

“Clearly you’ve never cooked with John B or JJ. I swear to god, JB once got egg on the ceiling. Like, how does one do that?”

You shrugged. “Talent.”

Pope rolled his eyes. “My point is, I am very helpful in the kitchen. You just like picking on me.”

You grinned as you sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, your half-eaten bar in your hand. “Of course I like to pick on you. You’re mine to pick on, Pope.”

It was Pope’s turn to laughed as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed and that’s when you felt your bar get snatched form your hand. Your eyes snapped open and you saw Pope pop the rest of your treat into his mouth, humming at the taste.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “That was a dirty move on your part.”

“And I’m sure you’ll get me back at dinner when you steal some of my food so think of this as a pre-payment for what you take off my plate later.”

~~~~~

#pope heyward #pope obx #pope outer banks

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thistangledbrain · 3 years

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Day 19 & 20!

Day 19 - “I hate it when...”

As you’ve gleaned from prior posts, I hate it when you forget autism is a developmental disorder and not an intellectual one. We are so. Fucking. Tired. Of being treated as lesser, or like we don’t understand what you’re saying to us.

Outside of the reactions to others’ behavior, though, I have some personal “I hate it when”...I’ve let you into my mind and told you what I appreciate about how my brain works, but there are things I don’t like, for sure.

I hate that personal stressor things trigger a toddler-like need to SHUT DOWN. Like writing this blog, for example...the vulnerability I feel usually leads to a need to go to sleep for a long time, once I’m finished. Or after a long day socializing. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to engage my brain anymore, I just need to shut all systems down and sleep. Especially if there’s been a meltdown (meltdown—->shutdown)...and oh boy do I hate meltdowns. They’re really rare, thank dog.

I hate that my executive function is an absolute bag of ass. This is probably the biggest thing I would change. It got infinitely worse when my disability got bad (EDS), for some reason. And it drives me up the damn wall.

I hate my low function days/moments. It’s like my brain just won’t kick into gear, or the gears and wheels are rusty and grinding, & it’s rather anxiety inducing. I usually “hide” on my low days, sometimes in my darkened bedroom, and watch favorite shows or movies, or get lost in a good book - if I can. On low days I find myself re-reading crap constantly because it’s not making any sense, so I’ll even avoid complicated recipes...I have no idea why these days/moments happen, but boy do they piss me off/make me anxious (that’s kind of the same thing for me. My anxiety nearly always manifests as anger). On my low days, you’ll see (if you were a fly on the wall, because I suppress this even around my own family), me walking in tight, anxious figure 8’s and flapping my hands in a distressed way, as I anxiously try to mentally kick my brain into gear. (It doesn’t work, but it IS a little soothing. And my dogs are SO sweet...they gather around me tightly and just seem to know I need them.)

🤷🏻‍♀️ There’s probably more I could expound on that I don’t like, but writing this one has been pretty distasteful. I try not to dwell on things I hate anymore, so I’ve put this entry down multiple times and come back to it when I’m in a decent frame of mind. I think I’m tired of talking about it now, so I’m gonna just stop talking.....

Which is a good segue into Day 20 -

————————————-

“Communication”

Ahh communication. This entry will be long, because I have a lot to communicate LOL....

Personally, I write far more coherently and eloquently than I speak. My brain goes too fast...I often trip over words; my brain’s three steps ahead of what’s coming out of my mouth and I get scrambled sometimes. I can also take the time to think about what I want to say/HOW I want to say it. Like many autistics, I’m a blurter. LOL...I am constantly trying to remind myself, just because I think it, doesn’t mean I have to say it. This gets a LOT of us in trouble...one of my most memorable examples is, I *loudly* blurted “that’s BULLSHIT!!” in a church one time. (I was speaking on how my devout Methodist grandmother, who regularly takes communion at her church, was not permitted to receive communion in a Catholic church, merely because she isn’t Catholic, despite the fact that this woman is all about some Jesus & a devoted churchgoer - not just on Easter and Christmas.) In my defense, it WAS (IS) bullshit. I just didn’t need to practically yell that in church. As you can imagine, it was like a needle scratching across a record & everyone turned to stare. (My poor husband rescued me.) 🤦🏻‍♀️ Sigh. It’s a good idea to keep me out of most church services.

I am rather famous (infamous?) for calling bullshit straight to someone’s face, BLUNTLY. It’s out of my mouth before my brain’s “tact gatekeeper” I’ve spent over a decade trying to train is even half awake at his post (it’s a him because my husband is the one who taught me how to use tact in the first place. And it’s a him because said “gatekeeper” is lazy and falls asleep on the job all the time 😆). Have you ever just blurted your honest thoughts and heard shocked gasps or someone just busts out laughing? Yeah. That happens to me regularly. Or uncomfortable chuckles and someone will blink a few times and say, “oohhhkay, well, you could said that a different way.” (My old response to that was, I’m not responsible for what your reaction is to what I say...you’re in charge of your own feelings. I *understand* now how irresponsible and unfeeling that is, and I try to keep that in the front of my mind, even when I’m frustrated and nearly burning up with the desire to speak my thoughts in their raw form, but this is routinely an area I struggle to adapt to...and I am very sorry when I hurt someone I care about.)

On the other side of this same coin though, this is a trait my friends respect deeply, because I’m not cruel hearted or anything. You always know where you stand with me, and I’m the last person to try and lie to you. I SUUUUUCK at lying. And on the rare times when I do, I usually end up eventually telling on myself (this drove my older stepsister NUTS when we were kids, because she liked to do lots of sneaky things, and I don’t have an inherently sneaky nature LOL...so “DO NOT tell momma” was a *serious* risk for her, if she let me tag along 😂). Lying to someone just feels disgusting. Oily. Shameful. I hate lying. Plus, my short term memory is a grabasstic bag of CRAP, so there’s a good chance I won’t remember the lie and get caught anyway. 🤷🏻‍♀️ My boys also suck at lying or hiding stuff, and generally prefer not to...but I also give them a safe forum to be honest. (I’m sure there’s LOTS of crap I don’t know, but you’d be surprised how much they DO tell me.)

Another thing with me personally is that I go mute sometimes. I’m not being deliberately obstinate. I’m not REFUSING to speak in those moments...sometimes I literally can’t, and the effort of doing so will make me gag, or even projectile vomit. Sounds very dramatic, doesn’t it? It is. (And it annoys the SHIT out of me.) There’s not a fucking thing i can do about it. The movement of my tongue in my mouth will literally begin to trigger my gag reflex, and if I try to power through it, I’m rewarded with my lunch returning to the surface anyway, regardless of my desires, and sometimes rather unexpectedly & violently. USUALLY this happens when I’m uber stressed, but sometimes it seems kind of out of the blue & catches even me off guard. If this happens but I still have something to say, I start texting instead, and explain. Most people - especially my hubby - are very kind when this happens. (I don’t want your pity, I just want you to switch to written communication for a minute until I can figuratively kick the fuck out of the engine in my “speaking center” and get it to work again.) Other times, I will literally get tired of talking. Like my mouth and tongue - and somehow, the “word forming” part of my brain feels physically exhausted (weird, I know, but I also spend the vast majority of my life silent - I am home alone all day, hate talking on the phone, and simply don’t speak much, by choice. So maybe it is actual “mouth fatigue” 😂😂😂 - I’ve stopped eating before because I just got tired of chewing, too, even though I’m still somewhat hungry. 🙄) I am usually *perfectly* happy to keep listening! And I’ll stay engaged in the conversation usually. I am just...done audibly talking. I’ll literally say “my mouth is tired of making the sounds now, but please keep going”...but I think my husband is the only one who doesn’t find this unusual, and rolls with it. It usually happens after a long, animated conversation...instead of winding down, though, it just..stops. If I try to keep going, cue the gagging. I can stay engaged in the conversation if you let me start writing/typing instead of speaking, for my responses. So that’s a “fun” little trait of mine that many neurotypicals find unsettling. Please don’t take it personally. My mouth just doesn’t want to make the words anymore - and I’m probably mostly done adding what I needed to add to the conversation anyway. I’m a great listener when this happens, though. 😆

Communication is a really interesting thing with all of us, because it’s a struggle on one level or another. I will tell you, it’s a frequent topic in my groups. “WHY CAN’T NEUROTYPICALS JUST SAY WHAT THE FUCK THEY MEAN?!?! 😩😩😩” I’m dead serious - you might think, because we’re sensitive (generally), we can’t “handle” it? You’d be so very wrong. What we can’t handle is when you dance around a subject or we have to try and translate what you just said to us (which most of us are not that good at). Just fucking say it! Nine times out of ten, you’ll just get a look of dawning realization and a “oh, shit, okay” response. We can handle it. Just. Say. It. We’ll respect you a lot more in the morning, LOL 😆

I think every autistic has some sort of beef with neurotypicals when it comes to communication (as I’m sure you have yours with us, obviously).

You guys operate under some weird ass rules that we simply don’t understand - especially if you don’t tell us those rules & just expect us to know. Like, if my husband hadn’t patiently taken years to show/teach me how the way I said certain things were hurtful, I would still be in the “yeah she’s cool but she’s kind of an asshole” territory. (I still struggle to grasp this, or at least it still frustrates me....truth is truth, whether it’s an ironclad general fact or your own personal truth - and yes sometimes the truth hurts, but like...I don’t pin any responsibly for that on the truth teller, if that makes sense?)

Working in rescue also helped hone my ability to speak “neurotypically” to others - I work with a LOT of women, and boy do a lot of them NOT appreciate when you bluntly tell them what you think. Men on the other hand....

I know *lots* of autistic women who prefer friendships with men, largely centering around this communication thing. We hurt men’s feelings a little less regularly than other women’s. I know I was like that, until I got a little more used to how I have to modify my communication with most women (but that annoys me, I’m gonna be honest - it annoys my Autie friends, too). The only time I am as starkly blunt as I used to be, is when speaking to my female Autie friends (because they can handle it), or most of the dudes I’m friends with. But if my message is getting “lost in the sauce” and you’re not getting my point, I usually give a frustrated sigh, WARN you that I’m about to tell you flatly what I need to say, because we aren’t getting anywhere, and just say it.

Yes I am the friend who, when you gush on and on about your new back yard bred puppy, talking all about how you’re gonna breed him when he grows up, is gonna flatly say “he’s not breeding quality”, if they’re not. Then I’m gonna ask you why you want to do such a thing, given that you’re aware of the massive load of rescue dogs (PARTICULARLY Great Danes and Cane Corsos) - and probably beat your argument down every step of the way. That doesn’t always go badly though - one of my closest friends was considering breeding their dog, and while it was a beautiful dog, it was not one that should reproduce (from an “improve the breed” perspective). We barely knew each other, but I gained a reputation for being kind but starkly honest...and I knew what I was talking about...and now I have this person’s deep respect, and they have mine (because they listened and did the research I asked them to - and did not add to the breed population). So it’s not *always* a trainwreck, because the people who end up respecting how I communicate, usually end up VERY close friends. AND I WANT THAT IN RETURN, which is refreshing for a LOT of people. I want your dead honesty in return - PLEASE. It’s so much easier for me to process and accept. For example, my house is almost constantly in some sort of disarray. I have one friend who will come in and go, “girl. I almost can’t breathe in here - this clutter is too much”(and then she offers to help me tackle it!!).

Or, fairly recently, “oh my god those curtains are so horrible, I hope you’re getting rid of those when you redo this room.”

“But I MADE those curtains! I love that print!”

“Ugh. No. They’re terrible. Get rid of them.”

My feelings were not hurt in the LEAST (I of course had a flash of “you bitch, I was so excited to find that print and I MADE THOSE, ya jerk” 😂). At first I said, “well you’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with my shitty curtains, because I like them” 😂, but then as I was redoing the room, I took them down...and it DID look a lot better, so I left them down 😂😂😂....

So I guess my point with all this is: every autie I know deeply wishes you’d just fucking spit it out. We WILL often miss or misinterpret the point if you “fluff” it too much (around my neck of the woods, we call it putting too much gild on the lily, though I’ve never understood that one. Idk if a “gilded lily” is/was ever a thing, why anyone would gild a lily in the first place...LOTS of us struggle with colloquialisms that don’t make literal sense. 😆 Recently a friend was baffled over “shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which fills up faster”, and fully half of the respondents to her post were people baffled by why anyone would shit in their hand - I and a couple others had to explain, and it just ended with them going “well that’s a fucking stupid saying anyway, and wishes aren’t things you can put in your hands, either” 😂😂😂...but I’m from the south, and these things are just part of our vocab. MOST of them are easy to grasp for me, like “nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs”, because I immediately picture it and can grasp the meaning. But others I don’t get - the gilded lily is one LOL)...

We are LITERAL AS FUCK. It’s why we ruin lots of jokes, too. My poor husband is the dad joke king - and I ruin fully 1/3 or more of his jokes by being too literal (which he also finds amusing, so that’s good). Sometimes we realize we’re ruining the joke but we don’t care, because it’s dumb, or we just .... can’t....HELP IT. 😩😂

Jeez, I could almost write all day about autistics and communication LOL!!

But to summarize (and not succinctly, sorry), I guess, for me and many many others...we are often blunt, direct, almost painfully honest, and very, very literal. Your unspoken rules of communication absolutely go over our heads, unless you - yannow - *communicate* and explain them. We’ll probably tell you those rules are stupid and exhausting, but we will TRY and stick to it as best we can. But see, we literally have to think about every single word that comes out of our mouths, because we communicate far more directly than you weird fuckers do. And it is literally actually exhausting. It’s not an easily natural thing for us to adapt to, your weird way of saying things but not saying what you really mean. You’re wasting a LOT of words there, sir, and we are now getting obsessively confused over why you would do such a thing. 😂 It’s also why I keep getting banned from Facebook. My recent one was because I said - in one of my Autie “safe” groups, where I should be able to just say what I mean - that I tend to punch or want to punch people who deliberately startle the shit out of me. We were talking about how stupid April Fool’s Day was, and how we hate pranks. Three of us got banned for 30 days for just...well. Facebook called it “incitement of violence”. 🙄🥺🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼🖕🏼

But I haven’t met - yet, maybe? - an autistic person who is cruel natured - not one of us gets any joy from being a bully type. WE feel everything on a higher level, so we kind of assume you do, too...you might think, “then why are you such an asshole?!”, but it’s simply that we - or every Autie I know, anyway - struggle to grasp how directly communicating your feelings is so fuckin hard or hurtful for y’all. I think anyone struggles to grasp something they themselves don’t experience. All you have to do is explain, though, and keep guiding us towards communicating in ways that we both find acceptable. I mean we’re champs at accepting all manner of different human - regardless of race, sexuality, and so on - but the communication is one area that frustrates the ever loving SHIT out of most of us, because it makes so little logical sense why anyone would say a bunch of useless words that muddy up their intent.

My closing advice? Help Your Pet Autie ™️ (this is absolutely a tongue in cheek term btw) understand how you’d like to be communicated with, and guide us. BE SPECIFIC for fucks sake - we suck at guessing what you might want, and it’s so frustrating that we’ll often just stop communicating at all. Instead of saying “it hurts me when you say this”, try saying “the WAY you said this hurt my feelings because of ____. Maybe you could put it like this instead” (or, “you know, you should really just keep shit like that to yourself”) and *give examples*. Don’t expect us to come up with different ways of saying shit, because we don’t understand what it is specifically you want, and it’s not very logical, therefore it’s not “natural” for us. Plus, everyone is different. I can’t talk to one of my sons the same way I can talk to the other, without certain negative reactions. Give us a chance to know your needs - we DO CARE!!! - but be CLEAR. I know in your world, tact is a big deal, but MOST of us will miss the fucking point if you’re too tactful (and when we misinterpret, we always err on the side of worst case scenario, and make the issue wayyyyy bigger than it should be. Being clear is soooo important).

And hey. Maybe it’ll help clear up some communication in other areas of your life. Being clear isn’t a license to be a fucking asshole; nobody’s giving you a license to unleash on everyone about how much you can’t stand humans...if WE hafta be quiet about that, so do you lmao...fair’s fair. 😆 But quit hedging and hinting and hoping we will pick up on the whatever your grievance is - because we won’t. We’ll just know you’re unhappy, and start panicking over guessing what we did wrong, and just shut down, because we have no idea.

Just. Fucking. Say it. 😘

#asd #autism #autistic #acceptance #awareness #actuallyautistic

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luv4fandoms · 5 years

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Christmas Angel (Spn Gabriel X Reader)

@freakygirlforeve7-blog-blog. Suggested

So sorry this took so long, my house got a bit busy working on Christmas gifts and for some reason this story took me a bit to actually come up with lol. But I hope you enjoy it! 😊

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Words: 2,355

You wiped your eyes while you wandered around, the light snow falling softly, dusting your hair and shoulders as you called once more for your dog. How many years would this happen? How many more loved ones would you lose? You felt cursed, afraid that you were simply meant to be alone. The first year had been your grandmother, the next year, your beloved family cat (C/N), then your grandfather, then your oldest dog (D/N), then your aunt, and now your other dog (D/N), every year around Christmas you always lost someone close, and the weight of it crushed even the smallest spark of "Christmas spirit".

The holiday was done for you, long since lost it's magic, and you dreaded it every year. Sighing, you sat down on a nearby park bench and tried to warm your hands. You had been looking for (D/N) for days, and still no trace of them, it was like they just vanished into thin air. While lost in thought, you hadn't noticed the stranger approach the bench, so it started you when a voice spoke up.

"Why so down sugarplum?"

Looking up you were met with the most beautiful whiskey eyes.

"Oh...Um" you started, but couldn't find the words and couldn't break your gaze. He quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk gracing his lips while he watched you fumble for a sentence. Finally you seemed to find the willpower to stop staring and instead look at the ground.

"My dog is lost...So I'm out looking for them" You replied, fighting back the tears, you didn't need to break down in front of him.

"Awe I'm so sorry sugar, how long have they been missing?" He asked, looking up at him again he looked genuinely concerned.

"A couple of days, I'm hoping...Since today had been the first day it snowed" you trailed off, not wanting to even voice your concerns, though, the way your life was...You knew that was the most likely of outcomes.

"Why don't I help you look for them?" He offered after a moment.

"Oh no it's ok really"

"Nonsense buttercup" he dismissed you, before adding.

"Besides, with two people we're bound to find the pooch sooner right?" He smiled, you finally took a good look at the man; he looked like he was maybe in his early thirties, light golden brown hair, whiskey colored eyes, a gray t-shirt, leather jacket and blue jeans...honestly...He was hot.

"I suppose you're right" you smiled back, standing from the bench.

"I'm (y/n)" you smiled

"My dog's name is (D/N)"

"Gabriel" he replied, coming to stand beside you.

"Let's start our search for the infamous (D/N)" he added with a wink and held out his arm for you. With a smile you took it and the two of you began your search. He asked you where you usually take your dog after the park, you replied with your old house, having grown up in that neighborhood, you still knew a lot of people there and visited often. While you both made your way towards the neighborhood, Gabriel made small talk, asking things like what kind of music did you like? Favorite foods? Simple things, you also found out he worked at a local college.

"So how come you moved?" He asked once you entered the neighborhood and began looking around for (D/N).

"My parents and I lived there with my grandma, it was my mom's childhood home, but after my grandmother passed, my mom said it was too painful living there...So we moved" You explained, remembering how your grandmother had been the first in this long line to pass.

"I'm sorry for your loss" he spoke while running his thumb over the hand that was still wrapped around his arm, surprisingly it helped hold back the tears.

"How long ago did she pass?"

"Six years" he nodded, both of you falling silent as you continued to walk, still searching for (D/N). You stopped a few moments later, looking up at the old house that held so many memories. You remembered growing up on that porch swing, taking the stairs inside two at a time much to your mother's worry. You remembered playing hopscotch on the driveway, coming home from school, learning to drive here...even having your first kiss on those very same front porch steps.

Gabriel dragged you from your swimming thoughts with a tap on the arm, looking over at him he pointed to the front gate which was open.

"I take it no one lives here soo...Worth a shot right?" He asked before pulling you into the yard to check around the house.

"I bet you always had a lot of fun around this time of the year" he stated from in front of you, still walking along the house.

"Why would you guess that?"You asked, honestly confused, he simply shrugged. Before answering.

"You just seem like the type who likes Christmas is all" he looked back at you with a smile, and in that moment you wondered if he was being honest, or teasing you about your sour disposition. But his words did bring back more memories, ones of you, your mother and grandmother all in the kitchen baking cookies and pies. It was something you all loved to do, and it became a tradition around Christmas time. You used to joke and say that you were going to grow up and become a baker...But lately you didn't have the drive to do much of anything...Feeling like it wouldn't even matter in the end. As you finished rounding the house, your shoulders slumped, still no sign of (D/N). Seeing your saddened expression, Gabriel rested his hand on your shoulder, causing you to once again get lost in his gaze.

"Hey, we still have plenty of daylight, let's keep looking" he smiled, you gave a small smile back before you both continued on your way, you explained that you would also walk (D/N) into town sometimes, so you both began walking towards town. Gabriel started up the simple conversations once more, it surprised you how easy it was to talk to him, like he was an old friend, it also surprised you how comfortable you were around him, a stranger you had only met earlier that day. He was the jokester type, that was for sure, and he could easily put a smile on your face which he seemed to enjoy doing because every time your laughter would die down you would catch him staring at you, a small smile on his own lips.

"Come on! You have to have some big plans for the future. I know! An actress, no no, a model, ya know, why not both?" He teased after you had stated that you didn't know what to do in life.

"I don't see either of those things in the cards for me" you gave a slight laugh, eyes looking forward at the lighted window displays inside each shop, the sun had set only a little bit ago, and now the town was lit by joyous Christmas scenes.

"Why not? You're beautiful enough" he replied, catching you off guard and your cheeks to reddened not just from the cold. Your eyes met his whiskey ones again, though this time the twinkling lights surrounding you both made them constantly shift between whiskey and honey, and you found yourself getting lost in them just as you had that morning. Gabriel was so far, as cliche as it sounded, what you had always looked for in a guy, sweet, caring, a sense of humor, and very easy on the eyes. There was this strange pull to him, and an odd sense of safety and...home...That you hadn't felt in a long time. But the nagging reminder of your unlucky life had you looking away, already knowing that the two of you wouldn't work, you were doomed to be alone if fate had anything to do with it.

"Thank you, but...How my life is…Nothing good will ever come my way"

"What do you mean (Y/N)?" He asked, the first time he used your actual name all day. You sighed, unsure if you should unload all this emotional baggage on him, but one look back at him brought back that sense of safety, like you could tell him anything and he would make it better. Looking down at the ground you started.

"You were wrong...When you said I looked like someone who liked Christmas...I did, at one point. But after everything..The first year I lost grandmother, the next year, the family cat (C/N), then my grandfather passed, then my oldest dog (D/N), then my aunt died, and now (D/N) is missing, every year around Christmas I always lose someone close. So that's why Christmas has lost its luster, and that's why I don't see anything good happening for me in the future...Fate doesn't like me very much." You sighed, never once looking up at him...You wouldn't be surprised if he left, he would probably fear for his own life, after all, you were like walking bad luck. So when he grabbed your hands, you quickly looked up, seeing that small smile on his face.

"Screw fate, you've had some horrible things happen, and for that I really am sorry, but if there is anything I have learned from living amongst people...in this town" he laughed.

"It's that people can change their lives at any moment, no matter what plans some divine cosmic being has in store for them" he stated, and even though he still had that smile, the conviction in his voice made him seem like he knew much more than he showed.

"What did you always want to be?" He asked, confusing you as you looked at him, tilting your head slightly.

"You said no to model and actress, though I still think you could absolutely do both" he stated with a wink.

"So what did little Y/N always want to do when she grew up?"

"I...wanted to be a baker" you answered, blushing slightly at the awed expression he gave you.

"You are even more perfect than I imagined" he whispered causing you to laugh.

"Then be a baker! Look!" He dragged you over to an empty shop.

"This could be yours, I can see it now Y/N's tasty treats" he motioned across the glass, earning another laugh from you.

"You seem like a strong and stubborn person, don't let some silly little thing like fate stop you sugarplum" he stated, returning to your side, you looked at him again, getting lost in his gaze for what felt like the millionth time that day, the smile never leaving your lips as you asked.

"Then what led us to meet?" You asked

"I've been to that park almost everyday,I've never once seen you" you added.

"You'd have remembered me?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and causing you to giggle again.

"Of course" you smirked.

"Well, maybe fate decided to be nice for once" he shrugged.

"Well...I'm glad" you smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm really glad I met you today Gabriel"

"I'm glad we met too sugar" he smiled, and again, the feeling of home swept over you, maybe fate was being nice for once, maybe your luck was finally turning around, maybe just maybe…

"Awww" a woman stated while she and her boyfriend passed by, looking over at them for a moment you looked back at Gabriel confused, he simply smiled and pointed up. Right above your heads, hanging from a tree branch was a small piece of mistletoe. Blushing you looked back at Gabriel who simply shrugged.

"Only if you want to sugarplum" smiling, you slowly leaned in, Gabriel meeting you halfway, and your heart feeling like it wasn't shattered for the first time in years. His hands rested on your hips while yours rested on his shoulders, the kiss deepening while only one thought crossed your mind...Maybe you didn't have to be alone.

Breaking the kiss you rested your forehead against his, smiling while you tried to catch your breath.

"Wow" you spoke after a moment, causing him to laugh.

"I'll take that as a complement, and right back at cha sugarplum" he smiled. Maybe he was right, maybe fate was a silly thing, but at that moment you were happy it led you to him. Just as you were about to state that though, you felt something brush against your leg, and upon looking down you couldn't stop the tears.

"D/N!" You cried out, dropping to your knees and hugging the dog, their smiling face making you smile as well.

"The mystery of the missing D/N has been solved! Good work agent Y/N" Gabriel joked, getting down to pet D/N as well. You looked over at him and felt your breath hitch, from here, the Christmas lights gave him an ethereal glow, almost...Angelic in a way. That thought had you giggling at how accurate it was. A Christmas angel.

"What's up sugarplum?"

"Nothing...It's just...You're kind like mine and D/Y's guardian angel" you blushed and looked at D/N, but caught the smile Gabriel gave you from the corner of your eye.

"Anytime you need me" he whispered to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek before standing up.

"Now how about I escort you two home safely huh? After all, as your angel I have my duties" he stated with a wink, holding out his hand for you.

"Just angel duties?" You asked as you stood up.

"Well...I've always been one to mix business and pleasure" he smirked, wrapping his arm around you while the two of you began to walk, D/N trotting happily beside you both. Looking over at him once more you couldn't help but smile...Yeah...Fate finally decided to be nice to you, and maybe this Christmas wouldn't be so bad.

I hope you all enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!

Also I was largely inspired by this quote.

#supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #supernatural oneshot #supernatural drabble #spn #spn Gabriel #gabriel #gabriel oneshot #gabriel imagine #gabriel x reader #gabriel drabble #christmas #christmas imagine #christmas drabble #christmas oneshot

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distant-rose · 5 years

Text

Snowfall

Notes: This is purely @killianmesmalls‘ fault for taking me to Cursed Child this week and the parallels between Scorbus and Wesgid getting to me. I have a lot of feelings about best friends who shouldn’t be best friends becoming lovers and this is what I’m all about - disaster bi boys. A special thanks also to @shireness-says, @optomisticgirl and @clockadile for encouraging me to write this nonsense that only they would read. I’ve kinda been on an LP roll lately and it’s not slowing down anytime soon. Summary: Gideon has been in love with Wes for as long as he could remember, but has resigned himself to the fact he’s only meant to be Wes’s best friend and trusted confidante. Everything changes on a cold snowy December night. Word Count: 2,300+ Rating: T

‘Your war memories will be with you forever, you'll be asked about them thousands of times after the war is over.’

Gideon had been staring at those nineteen words for the past twenty minutes, but for some reason, his brain refused to get past them. His mother had gifted him A Separate Peace for Christmas and while he was initially enthusiastic to read it, now he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate.

It wasn’t a secret as to why.

Wes had been pacing around their apartment now for the past twenty minutes, doing a circuit around the entire place. He seemed as content as a caged tiger, with his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips drawn into a thin pressed line. He wasn’t particularly loud, but the constant motion combined with the rather obvious tempestuous energy radiating off of him was enough to take Gideon’s eye away from the page.

“If you keep going about like that, you’re going to burn a hole into that carpet and I don’t think we can afford to replace it.”

Wes didn’t respond, he kept pacing. Occasionally he glanced up at the clock and the scowl got deeper.

Gideon Gold didn’t take kindly to being ignored.

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, his anger punctuated by the forceful shutting of his book. The sound cut through the room, causing Wes to jump and finally look at him.

“What?”

“What’s the matter with you? You’re acting strange. You’re pacing. You look nervous, and you’ve never looked nervous a day in your life. Even when you destroyed the truck. You’ve always been irritatingly unflappable. So what’s got you so…flappable?”

“Flappable? Is that all you got? You read almost two hundred books a year, all those words in your head and that’s all you can come up with? Flappable? It’s disappointing.”

“Well, this might be news to you, but you rate slightly higher on my list of concerns than my vocabulary,” he responded, unimpressed. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Bobbi.”

“Pardon?”

“Bobbi is the problem.”

“Ah.”

There was no other way to respond. Fights between Bobbi and Wes were frequent and infamous at this point. They had been on and off with their relationship for as long as he could remember. Gideon had done his best to stay out of their squabbles. No good had ever been done by getting involved. He had learned that the hard way.

“Is that all you have to say? How articulate.”

“What is there to say? It’s none of my business.”

“Isn’t it?” Wes responded, arching his eyebrows at him.

Gideon’s cheeks coloured with mortification at the question. An oppressing silence followed, as Wes continued to stare at him challengingly and Gideon struggled to formulate his words.

He had been dreading this moment his entire life. No amount of nightmares could have prepared him for it.

“I don’t think you’re socially aware enough to understand how inappropriate that question is,” he responded in a neutral tone when he finally found the words. “And because of that, I’m going to take a walk before we both say something we regret.”

“Gideon, I—“

“Stop,” he cut him off. “Just stop and give me space. For once, do as I say and not as you want, and give me space.”

He stood, dropping his book without care, and made his way to the door without looking at Wes. The silence between them rang loudly in his ears as he pulled on his jacket and left.

The cold January air stung his lungs, but Gideon was glad to feel something other than the mounting mortification. Despite the fact it was only after eight o’clock, the streets of Storybrooke were empty. Everyone was inside, preparing for the upcoming snowstorm and he was glad for the solitude.

He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

Hot tears trickled down his cheeks as he trudged his way down the sidewalk, snow and ice crunching loudly underneath his feet. One fact was buzzing loudly in his brain.

Wes knew.

Gideon had feelings for Wes and Wes knew it.

Those feelings had existed for as long as he could remember, but he had always known that he could never act on them. Wes had always had his eyes on Bobbi. Even though he had fooled around with every girl in their school, it had always been Bobbi that held his eye and Gideon had grown to accept that fact. It would always be Bobbi and he had been content to be nothing more than his best friend. Even though he wished he was the one in his arms and he was the one Wes was kissing, having his friendship and having his trust was better than having nothing.

Now Wes knew and everything would change.

He was going to lose his best friend.

He let out a shuddering breath as that one painful fact sunk in. He was going to lose his best friend, his world, the only boy who had ever approached him on the playground when they were kids.

Everything hurt.

Snowflakes began to fall, dancing in the harsh yellow of the street lamps. He watched them as they began fluttering to the ground, trying to calm the emotional maelstrom in his head. When he was a child, he used to spend hours watching snow storms from the window, waiting for the frost to cover the glass so he could draw and make funny pictures. His mother sometimes would join in and they would create scenes from the stories she would read to him.

His breath slowed as he watched, his steady exhales occasionally interrupted by the occasional hiccup.

“Gideon!”

He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name.

Of fucking course.

Wes Jones never listened. If given a command, he would do anything in his power to thwart the wishes of the authority in question, even if it was his own best friend.

“Gideon, come here!”

He deliberately turned his back to him, fists balled in anger. He didn’t respond. If he did, Wes would win.

“Gideon, please!”

Snow crunched behind him, getting louder and closer with each sound. There was a tug on his shoulder.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me...please...”

It was the ‘please’ that got him. Wesley Graham Jones had never said the word before in his life. Things came easy for him; he had always been charming and charismatic enough to get what he wanted without much effort. He never had to beg to get what he wanted.

Now, here he was.

Gideon turned, slightly startled to see how close Wes was. Wes was looking at him with concerned forget-me-not blue eyes. It was the eyes that always caught Gideon’s attention. No one had eyes like that.

“What do you want?”

“It’s cold,” Wes replied, stepping even closer. “And you forgot your scarf.”

He held up the red scarf that Gideon’s mother had made for him when he was still young, barely a teenager. It had been one of his favorite possessions, so much that he had considered it an extension of himself.

Wes didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, he took it and wrapped it gently around Gideon’s neck. His eyebrows were knitted together in a contemplative expression as he smoothed it out like a fussy, affectionate grandmother.

“I’m not a good boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not a good boyfriend,” Wes repeated. “Bobbi and I...I haven’t been good to her. We broke it off last night...again...and I was angry and I decided that the answer to my anger and my hurt...was to flirt with another girl in front of her and show her what she was missing. I wanted to hurt her...”

“Okay. What does this have to do with anything?” Gideon asked, frowning.

“I’m getting there,” Wes rolled his eyes, tugging on Gideon’s scarf in emphasis. It was then that he noticed that Wes hadn’t let go of it, his fingers still curled into the knitted fabric. “Stop interrupting me.”

“Whatever. Just get on with it.”

“Needless to say it didn’t work. If anything, it amused her and she started to laugh. It made me angrier and it wounded my pride.”

“Not a typically hard thing to do.”

“Shush now. Story time,” Wes admonished again, giving him a pointed look.

He still hadn’t let go of the scarf.

“I confronted her about it. I didn’t understand her reaction and she told me, point blank, that the girl I was flirting with was not and would never be her competition. She said she only had one true rival for my affections and that rival... was you.”

“Westley…she was just winding you up.”

“No, she was right.”

Gideon froze, afraid that if he so much as breathed, this moment would disappear forever. Wes stood before him, disheveled and, for once, genuine. The tips of his nose and ears were pink and his long blond hair was a mess, but he never looked more handsome than he did at that moment with his intense blue eyes earnest and snow collecting in his lashes.

“I don’t like people,you know this,” Wes spoke again. “Sure, I enjoy a good party, but most people I could do without. If the world ended tomorrow,there are only two people in the world that I would want to be with...it would be you and Bobbi, hands down. I love both of you more than my own family. You are my family, and for a long time, that’s all I thought I felt for you: something familial…I now know...that’s not true...it’s not…”

“Wes…”

“I’ve been blind… I’ve been blind for a long time, blind, and stubborn, and trying to make something that can’t work, work… and you’ve been here for so long and you never said anything — ”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he murmured.

A small smile pulled at the corner of Wes’s lips. Gideon’s heart skipped as Wes stepped closer and cupped his cheek.

“You could never lose me. We’ve been friends for too long and I can’t imagine a world without you, nor would I want to. You’re my best friend, and… you’re one of the great loves of my life.”

“One of them? There’s more than one?” Gideon questioned, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t help teasing Wes and his inability to think before speaking. His words had stung a little, but he understood how big of a gesture this was for Wes, who was incredibly ill equipped to make romantic speeches.

Wes seemed to realize the implications behind his words and looked stricken.

“Oh god, I’ve stepped in already!”

“Really, Westley? I’ve been waiting for this day since I was thirteen years old and this is the best you can do? Unbelievable.”

Wes’ face flushed further. “You know I’m not good at this.”

“Yeah, you really are a bad boyfriend,” he snickered.

“But I would like to be your bad boyfriend.”

“You’re really on a roll with the bad lines today.”

“I can’t seem to stop myself,” Wes chuckled awkwardly, taking a step backwards but still holding onto the scarf.

“I can fix that,” Gideon said with a small smile.

Gideon was known for many things. He was known for being rather bookish, intelligent and sarcastic. He had been simultaneously a teacher’s wet dream and worst nightmare when he was in high school. What he wasn’t known for was his bravery. He had always left it to Wes and Bobbi to take the lead and be the brave ones when such things were required.

However, in this moment, he felt brave.

It was him who stepped forward this time. It was him who reached forward and traced his fingers along Wes’s cheek. And it was him who leaned forward and kissed Wes.

Wes’s lips were chapped and a little cold, but it didn’t stop the jolt of electricity that seemed to zip throughout his entire body. It didn’t take him too long to respond, his hands leaving Gideon’s scarf and traveling upwards. One cradled the line of his jaw and changed the angle of the kiss while the other curled in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss wasn’t the most coordinated in the world, their noses smushing together and teeth clacking, but they made up for technique with enthusiasm.

It was hands down the best kiss Gideon had experienced.

Wes pulled back first, far enough away that their lips weren’t touching but close enough that Gideon still felt the warmth of his breath curling against his skin. His eyes were bright and he was smiling.

“So...that was new…” Wes chuckled.

“It was.”

“And it was pretty good - ...A good start…”

“Yeah, a good start,” he agreed.

“Do you want to know what would make it better?”

“What?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow but still smiling.

“If I wasn’t freezing my ass off.”

“Oh my god, you really are the most unromantic person I know,” Gideon laughed. He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling inside of him from bubbling up to the surface.

“Can you handle that?” Wes asked, looking concerned.

Gideon leaned forward and pressed another kiss to his lips, this time quick and all too brief.

“Yeah, I can handle that. Now, let’s go inside and warm you up.”

“Yes, warm me up, I like the sound of that,” Wes smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

Gideon rolled his eyes.

“I’m gonna say this now because I know what you’re like, but I’m not sleeping with you. Not until you buy me dinner first.”

“What if I make you dinner?” Wes asked. He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers at him. Gideon tentatively took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, but I’m going to say this point blank: boxed macaroni and cheese or microwave ramen does not count as dinner.”

“But that’s all I know how to make,” Wes pouted.

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

#little pirates fic #little pirates #wes jones #gideon gold #wesgid #my fic #my shit #snowfall

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freshlyjuicedbeetles · 5 years

Text

Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century Fanfiction

Meet the Family

Sherbeth

Holmes meets the Lestrade family.

Sherlock Holmes would admit to rarely feeling nervous. He had stared down James Moriarty numerous times, fallen from great heights and found himself in life-threatening situations on an almost regular basis and never bat an eye at it. The situation he currently found himself in was not like any he had found himself in and he was a bit anxious.

Having been courting Beth for almost a year, it was time to make the trek to meet her family in America. Holmes had spoken to most of her immediate family previously, her parents, her twin brother and her grandfather, the Lestrade family patriarch via holophone but they were not the ones who concerned him. He was being introduced to the entire Lestrade family, aunts and cousins at a family dinner at her grandfather’s house, in Holmes’ honor. Beth explained to him that he was sort of a mythic hero to the family, his cases told to the younger generations like fairytales and how Gregory Lestrade worked right alongside the famous detective.

While he does own the infamous Inverness and deerstalker, that is decidedly ‘country wear’ for him. He had to wonder if he needed to pull out those iconic items just for the family. Holmes always dresses smartly; a finely tailored suit and tie are his staples while conveying an anachronism. His pocket squares always accent the color of his tie and his black leather shoes are always shined to perfection.

“Should I bring these?” Holmes asked as they packed, holding a brown deerstalker and matching Inverness with a gold clasp and buckles on the sleeves.

Beth cackled, “First, you’ll swelter in the heat. Second, they know you’re not the character the world knows. Just be yourself.”

Holmes never felt compelled to live up to his literary caricature, not that he believed that that was what the family was expecting, but when you are meeting your significant other’s family who seem to have a high regard for you, you feel a tad nervous regardless. Not only that, but this was the family he had put in charge of his final wish, to be reanimated. If the process went sideways, he feared that anyone else would not be objective enough to know when it was time to reinter him. He couldn’t express how grateful and indebted he felt. Still waters run deep within the great detective and he steeled his nerves. Sherlock Holmes had other matters to worry about during this holiday.

Inspector Gregory Lestrade’s great-grandson, Andrew left London and moved to America where he started a family. The Lestrade family still resides in the same city Andrew settled in. Policing was a strong tradition in the family, with Beth’s great grandmother, grandfather, father, brother and forefathers and foremothers working with the local police department.

Holmes and Lestrade had flown from London early in the morning. Beth spent most of the flight asleep on his shoulder. He with noise-canceling earbuds, listening to an audiobook. Matt left a car for them at the airport. Once Holmes stepped out of the air-conditioned building, the oppressive heat and humidity of Beth’s home state assaulted him, despite the night air. Beth wasn’t too keen on going back home during the summer months, saying that the weather was one of the reasons she left. This was the only time she could get enough time off work to do so.

“How do you stand such weather? I feel as though I need gills just to breathe!” Holmes complained.

Beth laughed, “You’ll get used to it. Wait until its noon and it's one hundred plus degrees, then you can complain. Ever see a tornado, Holmes?” She teased.

“I’d rather not.”

As Beth drove, she pointed out local interests; this place is where famous so and so got their start, someone of prominence died right there. They left the small metropolis and drove on a dark, rural skyway dotted with houses, cemeteries, farms and the county water tower. After a twisty skylane lined with the tops of trees, a small burg emerged.

“I wrecked my first car there. Totaled it. Wasn’t my fault.”

“That place has the best cheesecake.”

“That’s Grandpa’s house,”

“I had my prom here,”

Beth dropped the speed as they pulled into a neighborhood and a home at the center of the cul-de-sac. Matt’s car was in the driveway, no less too excited to meet the great detective to wait until the dinner.

“Ready?” Beth asked.

Holmes beamed confidently, “My dear, you make it sound as though I am meeting my judge, jury, and executioner.”

Beth made a face that cast doubt on that logic. He may be Sherlock Holmes, but he was still the man dating their daughter/sister/niece. He needed to live up to their standards.

They walked in and the sleeping home sprung to life. Matt and her father David, previously asleep on the couch and recliner in front of the tv jolted awake at the sound of the door opening.

“Beth?!” Tresa Lestrade called from the hall, eager to see her daughter. Tresa was a sprite of a woman, short and petite with brown hair and warm brown eyes.

An old brown, greying boxer with floppy jowls named Stewart hid conspicuously behind the couch, warily watching this new human. His stranger danger alarms were going off.

Matt scrambled from the couch to Holmes and Lestrade. “Oh my god, you’re really him! Holy shit, dude!” he gushed, “I mean, yeah, I’ve talked to you on the phone but gah! You’re really here! Can I get a selfie, an autograph? Oh my god, this is so cool! Hey, so about that Red-Headed League plot hole…”

“Matt, calm down. You’re going to have a heart attack,” Beth chided, “Sorry about him, I think that cage training isn’t working,” She teased her twin. He was so awestruck by Holmes that he let it slide.

Holmes smiled good-naturedly, shaking Matt’s hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Out of the way, out of the way, shoo!” Tresa urged, trying to get to her daughter, pushing her son and the 250-year-old detective.

She hugged Beth tightly, showering her with kisses, “You need to come around more! I can’t go so long without seeing you!”

“I know, mom, I know.”

David Lestrade joined his family at the door. David was a tall, burly man with more salt than pepper hair and beard, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I’d never thought I’d ever get to see you standing, let alone in my own doorway.” He said, offering his hand.

Holmes took it, “Yes, I do owe your family an abundance of gratitude. I would not be here today without you all. I simply cannot express it.” Holmes was struck by how much David looked like a larger Gregory Lestrade.

Tresa turned to Holmes, “I’m speechless. It’s really you.”

“You have a lovely home, madam.”

“She’s cleaned, like, all day for you guys,” Matt said.

Tresa laughed, “Well, on that note, I’m going back to bed. Matt, can you grab their bags, please? Put them in Beth’s old room. Beth, I’m sure you can show Mr. Holmes around from here?”

“Please, call me Sherlock.”

“You’ll have to give them time, something about showing proper respect and whatnot,” Beth said.

“Why do you still call him Holmes?” Matt argued.

Beth shrugged, “Force of habit. Hafta on the job though.”

“Whatever,” Matt said dismissively as he and David carried in the luggage.

Matt stretched and groaned like a Yeti, “Yeah, I’m going to bed, too. Night.”

“Don’t you have a place of your own?” Beth jeered.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like driving back only to come back in a few hours,” Matt answered simply.

“You live, like, five miles from here. You just want to hang out with Sherlock, you nerd!”

“I’m a nerd!? You’re dating him! What does that make you?”

“Kids!” David barked.

Holmes was enjoying the comedic scene in front of him. The Lestrade residence was so different than his own growing up. It felt like a library where you couldn’t speak. Here, it was lively. It truly was a home.

Matt grumbled as he stalked off down the hall. David turned to his daughter. David hugged Beth, their foreheads touching, “Oh how I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Dad.”

David regarded his daughter for a moment, then Holmes and followed Tresa to bed.

“I’m sure you noticed the elephant in the room; Stewart over there trying to hide. He’s a few bulbs short of a full Christmas tree. He’s friendly but a doofus.”

Holmes slowly approached the dog. When he was at a respectful distance, he offered his hand. Stewart sniffed it and promptly sneezed into his hand.

Beth howled with laughter as Holmes cleaned his hand with a kerchief.

“C’mon, I’m beat.” Beth said, leading Holmes to their room for their stay.

It wasn’t lost on Beth that her childhood idol was now sharing her childhood bedroom with her. Most of her things had long since been packed away and sent to London, leaving little trace of a young Beth Lestrade who spent hours reading Watson’s journals, the published casebooks or watching anything Holmes related. Now, it was simply a guest bedroom with neutral bedding and accents. The garish red walls that Beth begged to be painted when she was fourteen was covered up by Tresa as soon as possible.

Pictures of the family dotted the room; on the desk was a replica of a daguerreotype of Inspector Gregory Lestrade himself. The senior pictures of Matt and Beth framed the window; Matt with an aw-shucks grin in blue jeans and his letterman’s jacket and Beth, her hair and makeup expertly done, in a blue dress. Her eyes, even then, soul-piercing, could make you confess your mortal sins.

Matt and Beth’s childhood and teenage trophies remained. Countless awards of varying sizes, colors and shapes stood on a bookcase by the door; Beth’s for karate and gymnastics, Matt’s for American football.

In the dark room, the lovers turned to face each other in bed, legs intertwining under the sheets. They whispered as to not wake the family.

“You’ve never told me what your parents were like.”

Holmes shrugged, caressing Lestrade’s arm with the tips of his fingers, watching goosebumps arise. “There’s nothing much to say, really. They were both teachers and strict authoritarians. They were firm believers in the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ method. Once, when I was a young lad, eight or nine years of age or so, I punched Mycroft in the face, knocking out one of his teeth. Mother shut me in a closet and promptly forgot about me until morning.”

“Jeez, Holmes, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, my dear. I bear no resentment for them. Mycroft and I both knew we were loved, though the sentiment was rarely uttered. We were not abused and rarely went without. Our parents simply had their own way of doing things.”

“I once punched a boy who had been teasing me and Dad took me out for ice cream as a reward. Okay, what about Mycroft?” Lestrade asked.

“I suppose you can say we had the typical older brother/younger brother relationship. He found me annoying and to be a burden. I do not wholly disagree with this assessment. When he went out with friends or to buy candy, Mother would insist he take me. I was a curious child and had to examine anything I found interesting, rocks, dirt, discarded newspapers. I would follow people I found interesting, wanting to learn about them. I most certainly slowed him down. My turn. Why did you leave?” Holmes asked, admiring how the moonlight cast its glow on her face.

“I wanted to make my family proud and join the Yard.” She replied, toying with and caressing his hand and arm. She locked eyes with him, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. “Besides, someone had to take care of your wrinkly ass while you were in that honey.”

Holmes drew her close, Lestrade giving a startled yelp, “I didn’t hear any complaints from you about it before we left London,” he husked in her ear, kissing her neck.

~*~

Morning came far too early for the weary travelers. All Beth wanted to do was stay under the covers with Sherlock and sleep until dinner. The way Beth’s warm body was curled into his own was divine. Holmes, usually hating inactivity, was thinking along the same lines until he heard sniffing at the door.

“Stewart!” Beth exclaimed, not moving or opening her eyes, “Chill out. It’s just a new person, not a pox upon the house.”

The old boxer sighed and laid down, his tags clanking on the wood floor as he did. The world stilled once more for several moments. Eventually, Beth sighed and sat up, “Well, I’m awake.”

Taking Beth’s cue, Holmes got up and dressed for the day as Beth played on her phone. The sounds of a home waking up could be heard; running water, a coffee maker, the opening and closing of cabinets.

Holmes offered his hand to Beth as encouragement to start the day. She took it and groaned as she was pulled from the comfy bed.

As they passed Matt’s room, Beth used her best ‘cop knock,’, yelling, “Get up loser!”

They could hear Matt startle awake and a flood of profanities aimed at his sister. Beth giggled.

The scene in front of them in the kitchen was an utterly domestic one. Beth’s parents in their robes and pajamas, the morning news on as they started breakfast. The table was already laden with syrup, butter, jams and steaming coffee. Though Stewart sitting on a chair at said table was a bit out of place.

“Don’t ask,” Beth said. “It’s his chair.”

“Good morning!” Tresa said cheerfully in a singsong voice, “I hope you’re hungry!”

“Because it’s waffle time!” David announced excitedly as though he was a sports commentator.

“Dad makes the best waffles. I have literal dreams about them.” Beth did like her carbs.

“It’s the nutmeg,” David said proudly, grinning ear to ear.

Matt shuffled tiredly in the kitchen and plopped down. Holmes noticed how Beth and Matt both sat, their legs on the chair curled into their bodies. Beth only sat that way when she had just woken up.

Stewart visibly avoided looking at Holmes.

“Beth, Matt, will you take Stewart out please?” Tresa asked.

The twins groaned and complained, but ultimately acquiesced, taking Stewart out the backyard.

Holmes was left inside with Tresa and David. He knew what was coming, the ‘if you hurt my daughter’ speech. Holmes’s mind was divided if he should ask David first while they were on the subject, but he doubted Beth would like that.

David wasted no time and Tresa leaned in. “Now, man to man, I need to know that you have Beth’s best interests in mind. I’m in an awkward position here. I feel like I’m speaking to an elder and I’ve only read how you were characterized. I don’t know exactly what was truth and what was fiction. You have been described as cold and had an utter apathy towards the law. Gregory always complained that you were hard to work with and to be blunt, utterly misogynistic. However, from the few times I have spoken to you, you don’t seem anything of the sort. You certainly respect and care for Beth, and I haven’t seen anything troubling. Basically, I’m asking, what’s true?”

“Shall I say I have softened in my old age?” Holmes countered. He took a drink of his coffee, strong coffee only a police officer could brew. “What you have read was about a proud man. Later in my life, I was humbled by my own mistakes, namely the case of Ann Kelmot, my friendship with the Munro boy and my own defects; my deteriorating brain. I have always strived to not look at myself as the character Dr. Watson has portrayed me to be, but I will admit, that fame got to me at times. I have what a precious few have received and what many more pray for; a second chance. While morals and values fluctuate from person to person and pious will never be an accurate descriptor of my person, I do intend to do better this time around.”

David listened intently and nodded. He took a drink of his own coffee, “Well, in that case, welcome to the family, Holmes,” he said holding out his hand to the elder.

Holmes shook David’s hand. David looked to Tresa and nodded. She agreed.

A peaceful silence settled for several moments.

“Beth leave Matt alone!” Tresa chided, “a bunch of wild animals they are. Can’t say a nice thing about the other! Knock! It! Off!” She said as she tapped on the window, getting their attention.

Both men stood up from the table. Beth had tackled Matt to the ground and were wrestling over an unknown argument, Stewart running and jumping around them as though he were a part of the game he thought they were playing.

“You sure you want her?” Tresa asked Holmes, sighing.

The twins trudged in, Stewart rushing ahead of them, their heads down, ready for a lecture.

Tresa put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

“Beth said – “

“Matt said – “

They said simultaneously, pointing at each other.

Tresa held her hands up, “I don’t even want to know anymore. You’re both adults. Just keep it out of the hospital, okay?”

The twins muttered affirmatives. Matt started to walk off, but Beth feigned a lunge at him, startling him for a second, before heading to the living room.

Beth looked back and forth towards both men at the table, “Dad…why do I feel like I just walked in on something? Oh zed, you didn’t give him the ‘I’m not afraid to go back to prison and to chop you into a million tiny pieces’ talk? Do you know how many boyfriends you’ve scared away?”

“No need to fret, my dear,” Holmes said standing up and taking Beth’s hand in reassurance, “It was a simple talk between a father and his daughter’s suitor. I am no worse for the ware, though I do believe we all agree that I have passed the test, at least the preliminaries?”

David winked in response. “You should thank me for scaring away those boys, Beth, you would have never met Holmes!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Beth muttered as she skulked off to change.

Beth emerged in a pair of denim shorts, a tank top and a simple grey shrug with three-quarter sleeves. Around her neck, she wore the delicate gold locket Holmes had given her. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the geometric tattoo of a sigil long thought to bring protection. Simple studs in each piercing of her ears complimented the gold necklace.

At first, it had been a bit jarring to see the modern fashions women wore, so uncovered. In Holmes’s time, their bodies were hidden and shapes altered. Now, women were encouraged to wear what they pleased. Though Holmes couldn’t deny the benefits of being able to regard Beth’s beauty without having to account for layers and layers of fabric and boning. Beth wasn’t much of a girly girl, but she endeavored to always look nice and put together.

“Hey, Sherlock, let’s take a walk around the block before it gets too hot,” Beth said after breakfast.

Holmes nodded and followed Beth outside.

Though the pavement was cracked and pitted, the neighborhood was a nice one with well-maintained homes and mature trees and gardens. There was just enough shade and a breeze to keep the walk enjoyable.

“I kinda need to tell you what went down right before you were resurrected,” Beth said once they were a few houses down.

Holmes nodded, listening.

“Obviously, I had to get my family involved ‘cause dad had the code to the lockbox that had all your papers in it. We basically had a big family meeting to discuss if this was a good idea.”

“Someone was against my reappearance,” Holmes stated.

“Kinda. It’s my Aunt Maggie. We won her over. She was very against the idea while she was your caretaker. She worried that you may not have been able to take all the stress. If you were on her watch, you wouldn’t be here. Look, the last thing I want to do is to put drama between you two, but I know she may say something, and I just wanted you to be aware of that. Just give her time, give her space. Everyone else is really excited to meet you.”

“Yes, a formerly dead man is a great party guest.” Beth wasn’t sure if he was joking until she saw the grin on his face. She matched his but knew this was a symptom of a bigger issue, it just wasn’t the right time to talk about it.

“Oh, and my cousin Luke thinks you’re Jack the Ripper.”

Holmes stopped in his tracks, “Excuse me?”

Beth laughed, “I mean, the evidence lines up…I bet the only person in the world who can get away with murder is you.” She teased.

Holmes huffed, “I know you think you’re complimenting me, but you’re really not.”

By the time the couple made it back, Tresa was scurrying around the kitchen, her arms laden with groceries and utensils, “I’m heading to Grandpa’s early to start cooking with Jett, Mag, and Kas. We don’t want Grandpa trying to cook for all of us by himself.” She explained. She gave Beth a peck on the cheek and flew out the door.

While David puttered around the garage and Matt played a loud video game, Beth and Holmes went back to their room for a nap. Travel may have advanced since Holmes’ time, but jetlag was still a thing. Beth sat an alarm for ten minutes before dinner.

~*~

They pulled into an older neighborhood and landed in a driveway littered with cars and a blossoming magnolia tree to the side, partially obscured by a fence. Beth led him into the open garage and opened the door to the home without knocking. Inside the Lestrade clan was scattered around the living room, on the sofa, loveseat, recliner and the younger generation sitting on the floor. The house was already smelling of a delicious dinner cooking. They were in the midst of conversation when they heard the door open and the room fell silent.

“My word, it’s actually him.” Grandpa Adam said.

“Hey everyone,” Beth greeted, “Holmes, let me introduce you; that’s my grandpa, Adam, next to him is my Aunt Jett and Maggie. Maggie’s daughter Kassie, her kids Brittany and Wesley. Jett’s son Luke and his daughter Lucy and son Ben.” Matt and David had arrived a little before Beth and Holmes.

“Hello,” Holmes nodded.

Holmes and Beth took an empty seat.

“How are you finding the 22nd Century, Mr. Holmes?” Adam asked, not taking his eyes off the man.

“I am adjusting well, thank you. Without all of you, I may not be here. I truly thank you all for the care you have provided. I know it was a hard and inconvenient task, one you did not volunteer for.” Holmes knew that the now American based Lestrade family would make regular trips to London to check on him before his return.

“It was my pleasure,” Adam said.

“Think nothing of it,” David said.

“Can you deduce anything about me!?” Brittany, a young girl with long brown hair asked excitedly, running up to the detective.

Holmes examined the girl for a few seconds, rubbing his chin as he took inventory. He wasn’t one to use his talents as parlor tricks, but he did want to show off a bit.

“You are an artist and a quite good one at that. Before Beth and I arrived, you were helping your great grandfather in the garden and lastly, you were given the unfortunate task of giving Spike the pug his medication.”

Brittany gawked. “How did you do that?” She asked, as though she had just seen a magic trick.

“Easy. There are paint stains on your shoes. While inexpensive paint nowadays washes off easily, allowing for a novice painter to make mistakes, the more costly products do not, due to the ingredients that give them their quality. Your parents would not buy you such costly paint if you were not any good. There is also dirt clumped on your shoes, as well as your great grandfather’s, and no one else’s. Notice the color and consistency of the dirt, red, almost clay-like that is common in these parts. You do not just pick up the clumps from walking around, but from working in the garden where the soil has been tilled and the red clay dirt exposed, from the garden I saw as Beth and I came in overhead. There is also fresh produce on the counter. As for the pug family,” Holmes said, looking past the young girl to the family of snorting pugs itching to come inside, staring at the human family through a nose smudged glass door. He returned his attention to her, plucking off several white hairs from her shirt, showing her. “You are positively covered in dog hair. From what your cousin tells me, Spike puts up a fuss when it’s time for his medication.”

The room clapped. Oh yes, Holmes was going to enjoy this night. He regaled the family in the tales of his adventures, new and old, with Gregory and with Beth. Soon dinner needed to be tended to. Most of the older Lestrade family had gathered in the kitchen, preparing dinner as the younger generation showed Holmes around. Beth sat on the counter with a can of soda.

“What’s he doing?” Kassie asked. The family soon gathered round the window, watching the famous detective.

“It looks like he’s hunting for something?”

“Did he drop something?”

“He’s probably looking for bees. He’s been wanting to diversify his colony that he keeps in Sussex, part of his original brood.” Beth answered, with the mild interest of someone who has heard enough about bees.

“He’s gonna get stung!”

“He can tell you how many times he’s been stung, in both lives.”

Aunt Jett shivered, “’ Both lives’, ooh that gives me the heebiest of jeebies. He seems so…calm. Acclimated? How did he take when he was first…revived?”

“He took it in stride. He knew what he was doing. He really misses Watson, the real one.”

“Does he talk about it…y’know death?” Matt asked.

Beth shrugged, “He says that all he remembers is going to sleep in 1947 and waking up in 2103 as though it were the next day.”

“What about the depressive episodes? Dr. Watson said he could starve himself for days!”

“He does have his issues, I’ll give you that, but he made first chair violin in the London Symphony Orchestra. He’s already gotten music to learn. That should keep him occupied enough. I’ve never seen anything alarming when cases were scarce. I think he’s figured out how to actually live with himself. If he gets freaky, well, I’ll get Matt’s pea shooter and shoot a Valium down his throat.” Beth said, mimicking a slingshot as Matt grabbed his throat and pretended to choke.

“And what about his other vices?” David asked, his large arms crossed over his chest.

“Not a thing. He barely drinks.” Beth answered, shaking her head.

“He could be hiding it,” Maggie said, stirring at the stove.

“He could, but I would have seen evidence or track marks. We’ve been having sex for quite a while. Pretty sure I would have noticed.” Beth replied casually. The family stared. “Hey, you asked. All he wants to do is play the violin, solve cases, play with his bees and occasionally box and fence. He’s doing great, I promise.”

Matt took the opportunity to change the subject, “So has he got a new batch of Irregulars?”

Beth took a drink and nodded, “Yeah, they’re pretty good kids. They’re getting close to graduating. They’re almost always over after school. Guess it helps when you have homework about the Victorian Era, and you know someone who lived through it. He’s teaching one of the kids, Daniel Wiggins, how to box actually. The resident computer whiz, Joshua Tennyson manages Holmes’ social media presence. Deidre Owens keeps him up to date on the new slang which is absolutely hilarious. It’s like a foreign language to him!”

“They aren’t homeless, are they?” Luke asked.

“Oh no, not at all. They all have decent enough families. I ran a background check on all of them long ago. Though Deidre and Wiggins aren’t above exploiting tourists for cash.”

“So,” Grandpa Adam said, “What’s it like working with him, the Master?” Pride and joy swelled in his voice.

The family listened as though they were about to hear the conclusion to a long-awaited saga.

Beth smiled, “It’s pretty great actually. Well, afterward, during the matter it’s like pulling teeth. He does what he wants which temporarily puts me in an awkward position with Greyson but who cares, Greyson can go fly a kite. He’s gotten too comfortable behind that desk, which he promptly forgets about once Sherlock closes the case.

“He comes on strong when excited about a case, asking questions and making deductions in rapid-fire,” Lestrade said, snapping her fingers in time, “He’ll rarely tell you what his plan is and you’re just caught up in his storm, along for the ride.”

By then, the kids and Holmes had settled in the living room and were giving Holmes a crash course on all the incarnations of his persona. They were hanging on to every word.

“In this one, they made Watson a girl and you have a lot of tattoos!” Lucy said.

“Tattoos? Me? Heavens!”

“You’re a mouse in this one!” Ben said, showing Holmes the character on his tablet.

“And a dog in this one!” Brittany said.

“Where’s Watson now? The robot, I mean?” Wesley asked.

“Probably playing mother hen to the Irregulars, watching too many soap operas and American baseball with Wiggins,” Holmes answered.

“Did you really shoot words into the walls of Baker Street, Mr. Holmes?” Ben asked, his eyes wide.

“Unfortunately, I did. I never got the deposit back from Mrs. Hudson either. I wouldn’t suggest it.”

The kids laughed, awestruck at the man.

“Do you really go in disguise, Mr. Holmes?” Lucy asked.

“I do! My closet is comprised mostly of costumes and disguises rather than my everyday clothes.”

“I bet you’re a really good actor, Mr. Holmes. Can you do an American accent?”

The question and answer session turned into the kids asking Holmes to do various accents and nailing them.

“I’m surprised at how well he’s taken to them,” Kassie said.

“Well, they are flattering him. He’s peacocking if anything.” Beth replied.

“So, he’s normal now?” Luke asked, continuing the conversation from earlier.

Beth snorted, “Normal isn’t even a setting on the washer at Baker Street. He still argues with the Yard and he’s still arrogant as can be. He still gets up close and personal with the crime scenes. He’s still Holmes, but maybe a better version of him.”

By then, the kids had lost interest in Holmes and had wandered off or to play with the dogs. Holmes found a large assortment of family photos on a shelf.

“That’s my mom,” Maggie said, noticing Holmes was looking at a certain picture.

“She’s beautiful,” Holmes remarked. Beth had that same bright grin as the woman in the photo.

“She was something else. She could drink coffee, crochet and watch tv at the same time. Those fish on the wall? Dad didn’t catch them, she did.”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Holmes, there are things you may not be aware of in this family, some past trauma if you will. My mom died of Alzheimer’s right before your return. It was an ugly battle, unfortunately, Beth and Matt saw a lot of it. I don’t want to see a repeat performance.” She said, looking squarely at the detective, almost accusatory.

“And you have my word that neither do I. Sir Hargreaves has ran my genome backward and forwards. He has seen no mutations in any of the genes pertaining to my memory. While he cannot prove that I will succumb to senility once more, he can neither do the opposite. I must remind you, as bizarre as the sentence sounds on my lips, that I died of old age. Far before any more distressing symptoms or more dramatic memory loss could occur.”

“Sir, I saw you dead. I saw your corpse. You scare me, a little bit. I vouched for your return, but it’s different seeing you, standing there. I don’t mean to put pressure on you, but you don’t know how much you mean to this family. We grew up hearing your stories. Do you know the impact you made on the world? Modern forensic science would literally not exist without you. When Beth was in the Yard’s academy, there was a mandatory class on your deduction techniques. Dad, David and I certainly used what we learned from you when we wore our badges. There are countless other ways you were remembered.”

“Yes, there is quite an ugly statue of my likeness far too close to Baker Street.” Holmes knew there was no logic behind this meeting. It was merely an aunt, traumatized by the prolonged death of her mother, trying to shroud her niece from another round. There was nothing either of them could do but Holmes knew that she had to get it off her chest.

“Just please, Mr. Holmes, take care of yourself, for Beth?”

“It is my every intention,” Holmes loved Beth dearly, more than he thought he could love a woman, anyone. At times, he felt in his past he was a robot, cold and analytical but now, he was alive, human. He wanted to do right by Beth and even the Irregulars.

“Dinner’s ready!” Adam called from the kitchen, a welcome reprieve for both Maggie and Holmes.

The meal was set out on the dining room table and everyone took a seat.

Adam carefully stood up, his aged knees slightly shaking as he did so. He raised his glass in the air, “I would like to raise a toast to our guest, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is truly an honor having you at this table. Your visage is a sight I thought I’d never see in my lifetime. You, alive and well, is the culmination of generations of hard work for this family. We also must raise a toast to Beth, for it was her tenacity to finally go through with it. We were so very proud of her before our guest was resurrected, and we are just as proud that she continues to work with you. You may be adding our Beth to the Holmes family, but we can assure you, you are a part of the Lestrade family as well.”

“And good luck with Beth, you’ll need it,” Matt said behind his glass.

The table laughed as Beth slugged him in his arm, teasingly.

“Kids…” Tresa warned.

“Sorry mom,” The twins muttered, the smirks on their faces saying it wasn’t over.

“And Beth, let’s keep Holmes from heights, whaddaya say?” David teased after the toast.

“Can I just point out that one of his latest batch of Irregulars speaks only in Binary and only Holmes can understand him without looking at his readout?”

“I merely recognized the pattern over time,” Holmes replied, simply.

The dinner was a jovial and warm one. Holmes had been welcomed into the Lestrade clan. Family stories were told, old cases were discussed, and laughter was all around.

After dinner, the couple slipped out the back door.

“As you can see, Grandpa Adam and Grandma Hannah had a bit of a green thumb,” Beth said. Along the edge of the fence and property line that dipped off into a shallow creek were several tall pear trees that provided a shaded path. There was a blossoming dogwood tree in the corner and off to the side of the house was a produce garden.

Holmes and Lestrade walked hand in hand under the grove of pear trees. A mighty oak, stories tall dominated the back corner of the backyard, a rope swing swaying in the breeze hung from a low, sturdy branch.

Beth sat down on the old piece of wood that made up the seat, “Grandpa made this for me and Matt when we were little. I spent a lot of time out here. Push me.” She said as she kicked off.

He pushed her for several minutes before he could wait no longer. Holmes caught the ropes as it came back towards him and steadied Lestrade. He moved to face her.

“Know that I do not take this proposal lightly. I may have caught up with times in some ways, but in others, I have not. I do not care for this so-called serial monogamy for myself. Forgive me if I do not have a flowery speech made up, but I never thought I’d meet a woman like you, who has enraptured me since day one. Will you marry me?”

Sherlock Holmes for the first time, dropped to one knee for a woman, not caring about the dirt below him. From his pocket, he pulled out a velvet ring box and opened it, revealing a Marquise cut diamond on a gold band, flanked by a dainty round diamond on each side.

Tears of joy welled in the Inspector's eyes, “Do you need to deduce my answer?” She said, pulling Holmes in for a kiss.

#Sherlock Holmes #sherlock holmes in the 22nd century #sherbeth

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isidar-mithrim · 5 years

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Neville Longbottom, esteemed member of the D.A. and beloved professor at Hogwarts, is at home for the Christmas break. While his wife Hannah takes care of the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, Neville is able to enjoy some alone time with his sweet daughter. They’re happily playing when she suddenly gets upset, and Neville will have to use all his tact, a clumsy Transfiguration attempt, a story, an old Chocolate Frog Card and a confession to understand what’s the problem and to make her feel better.

____________________________________

Worth twelve

“Take this!” exclaimed Neville, trying to stab his daughter Alice – six and half years in February – with his wand.

“And that!” retorted Alice, parring his blow with her own wand and counteracting.

“Ah, you’ll never beat me, young lady, I’m a wonderful duelist!” bragged Neville with mirth, dodging her attack and almost knocking over the Christmas tree they’d just finished decorating.

Alice took advantaged of that moment of distraction to press her wand again is stomach.

Or better, that was what she was aiming for, but her wand had turned in a rubber chicken a second before the fatal hit.

“Aha!” gloated Neville, pointing his wand at Alice, who laughed out loud looking at the haddock well squeezed in his hand.

“How dare you laughing at me, little malefic witch!” he complained with a grin, grabbing her in his arms and tickling her with no mercy. “When you’ll be old enough to have a proper Ollivander’s wand instead of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Trick Wands, I’ll have my revenge, making you puff steam from your nose for a month!”

Neville understood right away that he must have said something wrong, because Alice froze, and he could see her eyes glistening and her lips trembling.

Kicking himself for his thoughtlessness, he kneeled in front of her, but she turned, giving him her back.

“Alice, honey… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Have I said something wrong?”

Alice sniffed loudly and shook her head with vigor, her plait swinging in the air like a pendulum. When Neville put a hand on her shoulder with the lightest pressure, she shrugged it away. Neville then tried with the other shoulder, and this time she accepted his comforting touch.

Slowly, without pushing, he made her turn again.

Alice kept her head bend and her eyes fixed on the floor, but Neville’s heart clenched when he realised her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Love” he murmured, wiping her face with his thumbs. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Alice kept her mouth shut, but at least she didn’t refuse straight away.

“Is it something I’ve said? Because if it’s my fault, I deserve to collect Bubotuber pus without protective gloves for a week!”

A tiny smile escaped her lips before she managed to hid it and resume a serious expression.

“See, I knew it was my fault! Poor me, mum won’t be happy at all to treat my boils again… not to mention the Muggle petrol smell that will fill the Leaky Cauldron for a month! May be… may be, if you’ll explain what I did wrong, I could try to make it up to you and leave the Bubotubers alone…”

Alice raised her reddened eyes to search for Neville’s gentle ones, then she took a deep breath, getting ready to spill the beans.

“It’s that… it’s that Ollivander will never sell me a wand, because… because I…”

She sniffed again, and Neville smiled warmly and caressed her back, not daring to outright interrupt her.

“Because I’ll never… I’ll never be a proper witch” she admitted eventually, while tears resumed running down her cheeks more copious than before.

Neville felt a rush of affection as soon he understood which was the problem, and he hugged her tightly, mindful of how much he’d suffered for not showing any sign of magic until he was almost seven.

He promised himself he was going to do his best so she wouldn’t endure the same torment, and he mentally kicked himself for not realising it sooner.

He cradled her in his arms for a while, letting her shed all her tears, letting her free to finally get out the burden that was oppressing her since who knew how long.

When she calmed down, he took her face in his hand and kissed her forehead. “Are you ok?” he asked with his sweetest tone, and relief filled him when Alice nodded.

“Come with me, now. I want to show you something” he told her, getting up and pulling out his wand – the real one, this time. He waved it in the air, and with a little bow he offered to Alice the read and white checkered napkin he’d just summoned.

Alice took it and was about to blow her nose, when she lowered it down to study it better.

“Dad…”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’ve cut a piece of a blanket of the Leaky Cauldron again…”

Neville looked with horror at the squared piece of cloth, but a moment later he couldn’t help joining her daughter’s giggles.

“Mum won’t be very happy” said Alice, amused.

“Er, no, I guess not… but I’ll remind her I’ve never taken Transfiguration N.E.W.T. levels and I hope that’ll be enough to be forgiven!”

Actually, Transfiguration had never been his strong suit, but he was happy that his clumsy spell brought a smile back to Alice’s lips.

He waited for her to blow her nose and wipe her tears on the infamous piece of blanket, then he vanished it – successfully, this time – and offered her a hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked with curiosity, taking his hand and following him.

“I told you, there’s something I want to show you.”

Her eyes widened in delight. “What is it?”

“Keep your patience, my lady, you’ll see it in a moment.”

Neville lead her in his bedroom and patted his king bed. “Hop on” he said with a smile, and Alice climbed on his bed and sat with crossed leg, clearly eager to find out what was all about.

He opened the drawer of his bedside table and opened the tartan tin that had once held McGonagall’s Ginger Newts. He moved the empty wrappers of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum aside and picked up the little envelope at the bottom of the box with careful gestures. He then sat beside Alice, but laid the envelope behind his back, withstanding Alice’s playful attempt to steal it.

“Let me see it!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”he said with amusement, rising a finger as to scold her. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, but you’ll have to wait a bit longer before opening it. First, I have a story to tell you…”

“Please, dad, let me see the letter first!”

Neville put his raised finger on his lips, asking for silence, and Alice didn’t have much choice left than to sit down again. Still, she folded her arms tightly and pouted, trying to make sure he didn’t miss her disappointment – it amused him even more.

He then cleared his throat and began his tale.

“Once upon a time, there was a young boy who was called… Trevor. He lived with his brave grandmother, because his parents were very, very sick. You must know, though, that her granny, that we’ll call... Octavia, wasn’t an ordinary person. She was a witch, and a talented one, for that matter! Of course she hoped that Trevor, as his father before him, inherited her magical powers too, but the more time went by without Trevor showing any sign of magic, the more she feared her nephew wasn’t a wizard at all… Until one day, when he was eight, his clumsy Great Uncle let him fall from the window!”

Alice, that was listening enraptured, winced in horror and brought a hand to her mouth.

“Luckily, the instant Trevor touched the ground, it became clear that he was a wizard, because he simply bounced off! At the beginning all the family was very happy, but after that episode Trevor didn’t show many other sign of magic, and until his Hogwarts letter arrived, many relatives still believed he wasn’t magic enough to got in… When he finally got to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Trevor stayed several minutes with the Sorting Hat on his head before it finally decided to sort him into a House… Gryffindor.”

“As you!” Alice exclaimed with excitement.

“Exactly” said Neville with a wink before resuming his tale. “Soon enough, though, it became clear to anybody – Trevor included – that the Hat must have been very wrong, because Trevor wasn’t brave at all, and there wasn’t a day that passed by without a student of his own year, but of another House, mocking him and telling him the Sorting Hat must have taken a colossal blunder.

“One day, though, another guy of the same year of Trevor, but a fellow Gryffindor this time, told him something that gave him the strength to react. Since that moment, Trevor became every day a bit more brave, and a few years later he even joined his friend in his dangerous adventures. And do you know who that friend was?”

“Who?” Alice asked immediately, getting on her knees, eager to know more.

“Harry Potter.”

Alice held her breath, amazed.

“At his side, Trevor challenged the Death Eater more than once, and after several twists and turns, he fought at Harry’s side in the Battle of Hogwarts. And during the Battle, in the moment of greatest need, do you guess what the Sorting Hat summoned for Trevor?”

Her eyes widened in awe; he reckoned that by now she must have figured how the story was going to end…

“You’re Trevor…” she whispered, impressed.

Neville nodded, unable to held back a smile.

“So… so, you really didn’t do accidental magic, when you were little?”

“Really.”

“And the other student really thought you weren’t a real Gryffindor?”

Alice was bewildered, and he couldn’t blame her. It was common knowledge that he’d drawn Godric Gryffindor’s sword from the Sorting Hat, and everybody knew he was the Head of Gryffindor.

“They really did, and actually I was the first to believe it, at the beginning.”

“So… I’ll have a wand too?” asked Alice, filled with hope.

“Of course you will.”

“From Ollivander?”

Neville sighed. “That I can’t promise, unfortunately, because he’s very old. I’m crossing my fingers, though, because despite his age he’s still the best wandmaker out there. Hopefully his trainee will be as good as him” he added with a wink.

Then he finally took the envelope from behind his back and settled it between them. Alice squealed with excitement, and he suspected she’d already forgotten about it.

“This,” said Neville, “it’s my most valuable Chocolate Frog Card… I’d planned to give it to you before you went to Hogwarts, but since we’re here…”

Alice hugged him with enthusiasm, but just for a split second, too eager to finally opened the envelope.

“Be careful” said Neville. She nodded, taking out the Card almost with reverence.

She only needed a glimpse of it to recognise the wizard, and she didn’t hide her disappointment very well.

“Dad…” she huffed. “I’ve already got three of them…”

“I know, Alice, but this isn’t any random Dumbledore’s card…”

She kept staring at the penetrating blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles with mild skepticism, and Neville knew it was time for further explanations.

“Do you remember the boy that kept telling Trevor – that kept telling me, I mean, that I wasn’t a true Gryffindor?”

Alice nodded.

“Well, one day he hit me with a spell that tied my legs together, and I was forced to bunny hop all the way back back to my common room… and there I met Harry Potter. I thought he’d laugh at me too, that he’d tell me that I, unlike him, wasn’t brave enough to be a Gryffindor… instead, he offered me his last Chocolate Frog, and then he told me a line I’ll never forget…You’re worth twelve of him.”

Alice lowered her gaze on the card, and she finally took it all out of the envelope with even more reverence than before.

“Exactly, love. This isn’t any random Dumbledore’s card… This is the card that I’ve found in the Chocolate Frog that Harry had offered me. I gave it to him ‘cause, as you, I had already several Dumbledore’s card, but the morning after I found it on the table Harry was studying the day before, so I decide to take it, hoping it’d give me the courage to stand up against the other boy. It worked, and since then I’ve always took it with me whenever I knew I was going to need to be brave. It’s yours, now.”

Alice looked at him with slack-jawed amazement.

“There’s one condition, though. You have to promise me that every time you’ll think you’re not good or smart or brave or magical enough, you’ll look at this card and you’ll remember that you’re an amazing person, a witch that anything is going to do in life – any magic she’ll manage or not manage to perform – is good and loyal and fair. And you have to promise me that when you’ll look at it, you’ll remember than you have a mum and a dad that love you dearly, and that will always love you, no matter what.”

“I promised” said Alice, nodding eagerly, and then she hugged him tightly yet again.

They broke apart only when they heard Hannah climbing the stairs, yelling that somehow a piece of a blanket vanished under the eyes of two clients, only to reappear few minutes later weirdly soggy and squishy.

***

{While Ron, Harry and Hermione got closed to a huge, dusty tome to read enraptured the biography of some guy named Flamel, Neville walked toward his dorm, a small smile tugging his lips at the thought that he’d just received the first, true compliment of his life.

You’re worth twelve of Malfoy. The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it? And where’s Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin.

That day, the Boy Who Lived had earned Neville’s eternal loyalty.}

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sybbelle · 6 years

Text

To @magfreak Merry Christmas!! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and I hope this present fits all your requested 🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

She was going to kill Edith when they finally got back to Downton.

Perhaps she’d kill Edith and burry the body in the backyard with the help of Thomas…or Mary. Either way, Sybil would make it look like an accident; and if she got caught she’d simply plead insanity because who wouldn’t go senile trapped within the four walls of an old run down hotel that the owners had the gall to label as ‘rustic chic’ thanks to the New York blizzard that meant they were now snowed in…. trapped in the misery of an American Christmas. Sybil’s stomach rumbled at the mere thought of Mrs Patmore’s Christmas pudding she was missing out on or the melt in your mouth shortbread cookies cut out in the shape of Christmas trees and Santa Clauses. Even Granny went wild around this time of year and endeavoured to bake her infamous Yorkshire pudding, showing a very rare domestic side to the Dowager Countess that always put a smile on her father’s face.

But was Sybil enjoying the yuletide festivities of Downton; she could just picture it now. Her mother would be in a heated debate with Mrs Hughes over where the best place was for the exuberant Christmas tree; only to end up in the same place it always did, in the saloon for every guest to enjoy. Once that was ticked off her list, Mrs Hughes would be running around like mad trying to arrange the decorations that would adorn the rest of the estate; while Carson stomped around Downton like the Grinch who would steal Christmas if only she’d let him.

“Are you still moping?” Edith sighed, cautiously sliding onto the old barstool beside her little sister before waving the bartender over. Her Grandmother’s lessons in poise and propriety never left forgotten, she kindly asked for a glass of sparking wine; because women should never be seen drinking ‘the hard stuff’ as Granny would put it. But then Sybil was never much for rules and decorum if the amber liquid she continued to swirl inside the tumbler glass was any indication. Granny was certain that Sybil was determined to send her completely mad or completely grey before she died.

Slumped over the bar with her head in her hand Sybil scorned at Edith, “my mouth is watering just thinking about the smell of the kitchen back home right now, the smell of Mrs Patmore’s mince pies baking away in the oven while she chases Daisy around with a wooden spoon because the poor girl’s mixed up the measurements for the ginger bread house yet AGAIN.”

Sybil choose to ignore the snort she heard down the other end of the deserted bar; she really couldn’t care less about the opinion of a stranger she was never to cross paths with again…let alone a stranger who willing chose to stay in a place like this. The walls were cracked and the paint was peeling from a lack of attention over the years, while there was a distinct odour that carried throughout all the hallways but Sybil wasn’t game enough to ask anyone what it was. The bed was harder than a slab of concrete and there was a kink in her neck after a night’s sleep that she couldn’t get rid of; the thought of that bed taunting her above only reminded her of her own bed back home.

Damn Edith and damn this snow storm. They were only meant to be in New York for four days; a ‘girl’s weekend’ as Edith had put it when she asked Sybil to accompany her on her trip to visit her editor of the New York Times. They were meant to be on a plane and halfway across the Atlantic Ocean by now, but Sybil should’ve known better considering it’s well known amongst the family that Edith is a notoriously bad planner. She didn’t think there would be much harm in catching up with Sir Herbert Pelham for a quick drink down in Soho in the middle of winter two days before Christmas despite having to be at JFK Airport by 3pm…because who never heard about New York traffic. Sybil couldn’t help but roll her eyes yet again at her sister’s stupidity. They were never going to make it to the airport in time thanks to Edith’s ‘quick drink’ turning into a ‘late lunch’.

Maybe she should’ve just caught that cab to the airport without her sister Sybil thought to herself as she twirled her empty tumbler around the wooden bar top. But then how would she have explained that to her mother and father when she pulled up to the driveway by herself? How would she explain to them both that she was forced to abandon her sister in the great big concrete jungle of New York City because her sister had seriously underestimated traffic in order to meet a boy?

Taking a dainty sip of her flute glass Edith gently placed the glass down before running her fingernails over the cracked crevices of the old weathered bar. “I get it ok. You’re terribly angry at me, and you have every right to be. We’re stuck in the ‘Americas’ as Great Uncle Edward refers to it rather than being home for Christmas; and it doesn’t matter how much money one has it’ll never be enough to buy mother nature or sold out hotel rooms. Who knew that all the quality hotels would be booked solid on Christmas Eve” Edith laughed awkwardly, hoping that a bit of self-deprecating humour might score brownie points with Sybil.

“Geez who would’ve thought it” Sybil snorted with contempt, she couldn’t help it. She knew she was being childish; but Sybil wanted to cross her harms and stomp her feet as she cursed every man and his dog for being snowed in for Christmas. Sybil was one hairsbreadth away from a full blown tantrum. All she needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and Sybil knew without a doubt she’d be on the floor kicking and screaming like George did last Christmas when Mary refused to let him have another Christmas cookie; which she felt was completely justified on her nephew’s part…they were incredibly delicious cookies damn it.

Running her finger up and down the glass Edith looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t result in her head getting bitten off. “I have an idea…” she hesitated.

“Oh splendid, and will this ‘brilliant’ idea have us stuck here for New Years Eve too” Sybil snapped, instantly regretting her acidic tone. She knew that her sister was only trying to make the best of a bad situation, but considering the year she’d had Sybil had really been looking forward to being home for Christmas. Who knew that one seemingly innocent trip would send her into d downward spiral.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry Sybil” Edith snipped as she slid off her chair, placing a $10 bill under the glass. “Edith Crawley screws up once again; surprise, surprise!” she cried derisively as she threw hands up in the air, scurrying towards the entrance hall in an eager quest to escape.

Sybil watched her sister storm out of the hotel into the freezing cold with nothing but a sheer cardigan to keep her warm. She knew she’d have to run after her soon with a coat and scarf as a peace offering, but the mocking snort she heard coming once again from the other end of the bar caught her attention. The man sitting at the end of the bar was a striking man grinning at her like he was short of a quid or two; yet there was something striking about the glint in his eyes. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before ordering two more from the bartender; pointing his finger at Sybil before making his way towards her. Sybil was subconsciously captivated by an obvious charm that he no doubt had, but there was something about the way he walked that suggested he wasn’t all too aware of just how attractive he was. And in Sybil’s eyes that made him even far more dangerous than the Larry Grey’s of the world.

“Seems like someone isn’t having a good run of it today” he observed with a brogue Irish accent that had Sybil biting down on her lip in a futile attempt to stop herself from groaning out loud. Sybil Crawley had always been a sucker for an Irish accent; there was something lyrical about a way a man could talk despite Mary’s jesting that it was more to do with the attraction of ‘slumming it’ with the lower class that Sybil knew would press her father and Granny’s buttons.

She took a deep breath as the bartender slid another glass of scotch towards Sybil; downing the amber liquid in a single gulp. She was about as undignified and unrefined as she could get right now; and if her grandmother could only see for herself. Sybil scoffed at the thought; Granny detested the fact that Robert and Sybil would always share a glass of single malt scotch after dinner while the other ladies insisted on a glass of sherry or a cup of tea. Granny always felt the need to point out to Sybil that men of wealth and stature were in want of a wife with propriety. As far as Sybil was concerned those men could go and stick their propriety up where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Look I’m really not in the mood at the moment, so if you don’t mind please leave me alone” said Sybil tersely; hoping that her prickly personality would send the poor sod running in the opposite direction.

“Fair enough” he held his hands up in surrender. “I couldn’t help over hearing your conversation and I was just going to say…”

Sybil slammed her glass down onto the bar, essentially cutting the cute Irishman off. “You were what huh? You were going to tell me how sorry you are to hear that I’m stranded on the other side of the world from my family at Christmas; then what? Then you’d try and offer to buy me another drink, console me in my hour in need. But here’s the thing, I’m not like the rest of your lot here. I didn’t choose to slum it in this dingy old hotel on Christmas Eve because I had nothing better to do.”

His nostrils flared at her unexpected outburst, his jaw clenching as he griped the glass tumbler tighter then was necessary. Damn it why does he have look so good pissed off? Sybil thought to herself, and like a balloon being popped she felt all the hot air deflate out of her.

Rising from his chair the poor bloke bowed before her, swiping his hand across the room. “Well my Lady I’m terrible sorry, it was my mistake for thinking that the Brits had moved on from their Imperialistic notions of aristocracy; but it would seem that some of you have yet to join the rest of us in the twenty first century” he seethed before storming off towards the exit.

Sybil was stunned by his retort, rendered speechless by his emboldened and impassioned speech that reminded her of a man who was no stranger to assumptions and stereotypes; but before she could call out some fleeting apology the man turned on his heels and marched back towards her.

“And for the record, although it isn’t any of your business, I should be half way back to Ireland by now. Instead I’m stuck here talking to a seemingly innocent woman who is in fact nothing more than a snob who sees herself as being above everyone else.” His chest heaving as he struggled to catch a breath; Sybil cursed her own mind because she couldn’t help but wonder what other activities would get him as breathless.

Behave woman! Get control of yourself! And since when are you your grandmother? You’re the one always preaching about equality and acceptance to the Dowager, so why the hell are you being a right royal cow?

“I’m sorry” the words got caught in her throat as she tentatively reached out to take hold of the man’s bare wrist; choosing to ignore the spark she felt tingling down her spine at the mere touch. “I was a complete cow and it was uncalled for, I’m just…I’m just not coping very well. I’m not trying to make excuses, but it’s been a really crappy year so I was hoping Christmas would help. But I guess that was my mistake, I shouldn’t be so surprised that a crappy year ends with a crappy Christmas.”

His shoulders slumped and Sybil’s mouth quivered a little, offering a brief smile at the handsome stranger as she held her hand out; “I’m Sybil Crawley” she introduced herself.

Taking her hand into his he couldn’t help but notice how smooth and soft her porcelain skin was; or the way her eyes shone with relief at his forgiveness. “Branson. Tom Branson.”

Gesturing towards the empty seat beside her Sybil order another round of drinks and asked if there was any chance that the kitchen was still open. She couldn’t help but groan in relief at the news that the chef was closing up for the night, but he could still fry off some chilli cheese fries if she wanted.

An awkward silence sat heavily between the two strangers; Sybil was at a loss for words and that was more disconcerting to her than anything else because she always knew what to say. But there was something about Tom, something that threw her off and rendered her speechless or completely defenceless. Either way, it was a feeling she wasn’t used to.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” she tried to joke, but it fell flat based on the stoic look on his face. She laughed awkwardly to try and break some of the tension only it came out more as a gurgled snort.

Tom took pity on the beautiful Brit and smiled apologetically; “I’m here on business. I was supposed to fly home for Christmas, but alas mother nature decided that it was not to be.”

Nodding her head in sympathy Sybil took a sip of her drink to try and clear the sudden frog in her throat. “What is it that you do for work exactly?” she asked with genuine curiosity. Sybil prided herself on being able to read people well; to understand what made them tick, but with Tom she was self-conscious around him.

Tom couldn’t help by smirk at the seemingly innocent question, “what is it you think I do?”

Sybil couldn’t help it; a burst of laughter erupted from within as she threw her head back and laughed. “There is no way I can answer that question without offending you in some way” she giggled, “or be accused of being a British Imperialist who is intent on continuing to subjugate the Irish” she teased with mirth in her eyes.

Shaking his head with a smirk Tom couldn’t get over the amazing sound of her laugh, the lyrical music that just made him want to break out in a Cheshire grin. “I promise there will be no more accusations” he crossed his heart then offered his pinkie to her in a rather juvenile attempt to lighten the mood.

She side eyed him for a second before taking him up on his offer, pinkie swearing as though they were eight year olds out on the school playground; promising not to dob on one another when they finally got caught.

“Well let’s see…” Sybil hummed as she drummed against the bench top. “You seem to have an understanding of the political and social history between England and Ireland, which means you’ve either undergone tertiary education on the subject or you like a bit of light reading on the subject matter.”

“Fancy yourself a bit of a detective Ms Holmes” Tom teased, winking at her blush that was quickly creeping down her neck. “Does that make me your Watson?”

Nearly choking on her drink Sybil spluttered across the bar, this man was well versed in literary and political subjects. Definitely an educated man. “If I remember correctly Watson tolerated Holmes’ eccentricities…”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sybil, Tom nodded his head in agreement; “well it’s only fair. There are some people in the world who just can’t see beyond the end of their own nose.”

It was as though they were caught up in a staring competition, waiting to see who would crack first; only to end up calling a truce in which they both laughed manically at their own stupidity.

“Ok I clearly suck at this. So I give up…what is that you do?” Sybil asked, pinching one of the scolding fries that was placed before them only a minutes ago.

Tugging on his royal blue suit jacket and straightening his shoulders Tom smiled with pride; “university lecturer…Professor of Modern Political thought; I deal mostly with political theorists like Marx, Foucault, Habermas.”

Dipping her fries in extra sauce Sybil chewed on that information for a minute or two. It seemed that Tom was a mystery wrapped up in what would appear to be Ralph Lauren. “So do you have the tweed jacket and Clark Kent glasses to go with the title?” she asked jokingly, yet the sexy smirk Tom shot at her sent warning bells off.

“Well now that you ask?” he drawled, reaching into his suit pocket only to pull a pair think black rimmed reading glasses.

Sybil scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief as he put them on. Damn it the man needed to come with a warning label. She wasn’t one to drool over a man, let alone become tongue tied. But there was something about him…something that made her heart speed up and her palms sweat. “Seriously? This is a joke right…something that you and my sister Edith cooked up together?”

Reaching out for a fry of his own Sybil couldn’t help herself, playfully smacking his hand away. “Get your own mister. I don’t share food.” She teased, popping another fry into her mouth a smug smile.

“So that’s how it’s going to be” Tom laughed, shaking his head. “You really are something Lady Crawley.”

Sybil could feel her cheeks warming as she bowed her head, a compliment from Tom felt like the most precious thing in the world. Pushing the plate towards him as a gesture of good will Sybil rested her chin in her hand; sighing gently at how a crappy day suddenly turned into a pretty good night.

“And what is that you do for a living?” Tom chomped away at the fries, “besides handing out insults for free.”

Twirling a piece of hair around her finger Sybil gnawed at her lip, a sudden urge to kiss the complete stranger had taken over. “I’m a paediatric nurse back home in London; but I’ve just sat my BMAT test, so I should be getting my results in February. If all goes well then I can begin medical school.”

“Wow” Tom whistled, he was thoroughly impressed. “Brains and beauty; you really are an incredible woman” he raved without even thinking. His ears burning bright red from embarrassment once he realised what he’d said.

“So Ireland. What’s it like growing up in the rolling hills?” She asked, trying to play down the comment.

“There aren’t much hills in Dublin” Tom answered as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling the iPhone out of his pocket he couldn’t help but smile at the photo of Santa’s little helper; aka Gwen and John’s little girl Adeline.

“Something funny?” asked Sybil, gnawing at another chip to help try and distract herself from the sudden surge of jealousy coursing through her.

“My friend, Gwen, we’ve been best friends since we were little. She just sent me this photo of her little girl Adeline” Tom explained, turning his phone towards Sybil.

She couldn’t help but awe at the beautiful little baby with deep blue eyes and bright red hair; sitting on Santa’s lap with a candy cane in her mouth, wearing a little elf outfit. “She’s adorable” Sybil replied, staring longingly at the photo. She knew if her plans for medical school went through it would be years before she could even think about settling down, let alone think about having a baby. But she wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t admit there was a small ache at the way George lit up whenever Mary walked into a room; or the way he runs towards Matthew as fast as his little legs would take him.

“She’s absolutely adorable” Sybil sighed, reaching out towards the device to get a better look.

“Do you come from a big family?” Tom asked with fascination, he wanted to know everything he could possibly know about her.

“Depends on what you consider big. I have two older sisters; Mary and Edith. Mary is married to a barrister, Matthew and they have a three-year-old son George. There’s my Grandmother Violet, who is the Dowager Countess…”

“A bloody dowager?” Tom interrupts aghast, “you Brits and your titles. So that would make your father…” he drawled, waiting for Sybil to fill in the blank.

“My father is the Earl of Grantham, or Lord Grantham, and my mother is the Countess” explained in a matter of fact. The titles were always bells and whistles to Sybil, they never really held much importance to her despite her grandmother’s frustration with her devil may come attitude to their family title.

“Geez Louise, and here’s little old me proud as punch with my title of Professor” Tom scoffed tugging away at his shirt collar; has the room gotten hot all of a sudden?

Tentatively reaching across the bar Sybil took hold of Tom’s hand with a gentle squeeze; a silent gesture of comfort. “I’ve always much preferred Professors to Lords and Earls” Sybil whispered softly as if this was a secret that must be kept between the two of them.

Before Sybil even had a chance to pull away Tom threaded their fingers together; holding on tightly as he leant across the bar. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that you go for nerdy chic instead of sexy rich” he whispered softly, his hot breath caressing her cheek.

Sybil’s could hear the blood rushing in her ears, feel her heart pounding in her chest. “I’ve always thought of your kind more as the sexy nerds.”

Pulling on Sybil’s hand he couldn’t help but notice a bit of chilli sauce right on the corner of her mouth; and something embolden took over. Tom has never been this forward with a woman before as he leant across and kissed her.

Sybil had always been that girl who rolled her eyes at every rom-com or chick-flick, never really buying into the sappy love scenes. But in that brief moment it felt as if time had come to a complete stop; that they were the only two people in the whole room and nothing could have ruined the perfect moment. He certainly knew how to kiss, and Sybil was only to eager to figure out what other talents lay beneath the surface.

“You had a bit of sauce right there” Tom whispered pointing to the corner of her mouth. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the stunned look on her face, he hadn’t set out to kiss her…at least not from the get go. But by the end, Tom knew he had to take a chance because he may very well never get to see this beautiful creature sitting beside him ever again.

The soft rhythm of a jazz rendition of “Dreaming of a White Christmas” echoed throughout the bar, comforting the few hotel guests who refuse to return to their lonely and cold hotel rooms. But sitting beside Tom she felt anything but cold and lonely; instead she felt warm and excited…adrenaline buzzing through her veins.

“Well I guess it’s a very Merry Christmas for the both of us” Sybil retorted, yanking on Tom’s shirt as their mouths clashed together; duelling against one another in heated game of cat and mouse. Neither them could have cared less who took the lead, or who called the shots; because at the end of the day they knew that they both won. Only this was a Christmas gift with a no refund policy, terms and conditions which they were both very happy to bare the cost of.

#sybil x tom #sybil crawley #tom branson

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roslinadama-sinequanon · 8 years

Photo

Picture is not part of my creative talent but that Knudscheldiese.

Just in time for Valentine’s Day- A Shandy Proposal!

CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT-PART 6

“Andy, is everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“You seem very distracted. You have since we got back from our massage.”

They had a lovely intimate table next to the fireplace in the inn’s cozy dining room and a view of the skaters on the pond, yet Andy seemed more focused on the door leading into the inn’s lobby. It wasn’t like him to be so inattentive. Usually when they had dinner together he was 100% focused on her. Tonight he was distracted and fidgety and non-committal and the only time he acted like that was when he knew he’d done something that would displease her, or when he had to tell her something she wasn’t going to like hearing.

Her eyes narrowed with concern. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Sharon, it was a pinched nerve that caused a terrible muscle spasm and I couldn’t catch my breath.”

“Brought on by stress over the shooting. Because if I had been sitting in Chief Taylor’s seat and he sitting in mine, I would probably be the one who’d been killed in that shooting instead of being the one who killed the shooter. And you were right there watching that all play out and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it from happening.”

“And I didn’t talk about it with you because you had enough on your plate with the guilt you felt over not having any remorse for killing that Nazi scumbag Dwight. We talked about all this while I was in the hospital. I won’t bottle up my fears anymore and neither will you. Because you do a pretty good job of that yourself.”

Sharon’s lips twitched with amusement. “You are right about that, Andy. Look, we’ve both been alone for a very long time. It’s natural that it would take some time to get too used to having someone in our lives that we can lean on, that we can count on. But I want us to get there. I want you to know I’m always here for you and I’ll always listen to what you have to say, even if I don’t agree with you or you just need to vent. You don’t need to protect me. Just don’t bottle it up inside anymore. It isn’t good for your health and it isn’t good for our relationship.”

He reached across the table taking her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles. “And you’ll do the same?”

“I’ll do the same.”

“Oh.” Andy let go of her hand like it was a hot potato.

Sharon turned to see what had created that spark of recognition in his eye and saw an attractive blond in the doorway. The woman caught her eye and immediately ducked away. “Andy?” she questioned with a frown as Andy rose from his seat.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to use the restroom.”

Sharon’s stomach knotted, her eyes following Andy toward the direction the blonde had taken--opposite of where the restrooms were. What the hell was going on? There was no way that this was happening. Not with Andy.

Of course it’s not like she wasn’t well aware of his infamous past history with women. It was certainly no secret that Andy was gorgeous and sexy and attracted women like bees to honey. She’d read once that the Irish and the Italians combined to make the most beautiful people and that was definitely the case with Andy. There weren’t many men who could pull of the delicious combination of suave GQ model in his colorful dress shirts and fashionable suits and boyish jock in his sweats and t-shirts. She hadn’t known him very well when he was on patrol or even after he’d made detective and worked in Vice, then Robbery/Homicide and finally Major Crimes, but she knew who he was and knew his reputation very well. Women talked and many of the women she worked with salivated over the very hot Andy Flynn. Hot being the operative word.

While she hadn’t personally had any run-ins with Andy in FID, she was well aware that he’d been investigated several times as a bit of a hot-head, but his cases had never been serious enough to make it all the way to her desk. He was known to be smart and passionate, dedicated to his job but also impulsive. It was that impulsive streak and his temper that sometimes got him into trouble. In any case, she also knew of his reputation as a ladies man. Not a crime because he was a single, but it was one of the reasons that she had moved so slowly into a relationship with him. She had to be sure it wasn’t just an impulsive decision on his part and that he wasn’t going to drop her as soon as he got what he wanted. That she wasn’t just another in a string of women on his arm.

Once she’d begun working with Andy and had gotten to know him as a person, not just a reputation and certainly once they’d begun dating, she’d found a lonely man living with some very serious regrets. A man who had been trying to fill a very big hole in his heart with a string of affairs that had led him nowhere.

And during the entire time they’d been together she’d never had a reason to doubt him. The impulsive man who went from woman to woman had spent a year pursuing her, going out with her as a friend--no kissing and certainly no sex, or as Andy referred to it, dating without benefits. And then, when she’d finally acknowledged that what they shared was far more than friendship and agreed to officially date him romantically, he’d been very sweet in accepting her boundaries. The Andy who was used to sleeping with women on a first date had taken on her request for an old fashioned courtship, dates that ended with kisses rather than between the sheets, with the intensity of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And though he was ready for sex long before she was, he was always good natured about it and had never given her cause to worry that he might turn to another woman to get what he wasn’t getting from her. He was completely focused on her and on their relationship and because of that she’d come to trust him completely.

She did trust him. So, whatever was going on with that blonde, it couldn’t be personal.

When he arrived back at the table he seemed a little rushed, almost jittery.

“Andy, I’d like to know what’s going on.”

“What? What do you mean? Nothing’s going on.”

“I’m a detective. I know when someone is hiding something. And I sure as hell know when the man I am sharing my life with is keeping something from me.”

“It’s nothing, really. Are you finished?”

Sharon nodded and set her coffee mug on the table. Andy signed the bill to be charged to their room.

Still pondering on what was going on with him; Sharon put her jacket back on and stepped out of the inn. Sitting in front of the porch was one of the Austrian Sleigh’s, the two large draft horses that pulled it snorting and stomping their feet in the snow, anxious to get moving. This was a two person sleigh, much smaller than the ones that she’d seen taking out the large groups.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

Sharon turned to see a broad grin on Andy’s face. “This is for us? Just us?”

“Just us.” He began leading her down the porch stairs.

“Welcome,” said the man who greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m Ron and I’ll be your coachman tonight. It’s a beautiful night for a sleigh ride. You just sit back relax and enjoy the ride. There are blankets in the back to stay warm.”

Once seated Sharon cuddled into Andy and he pulled up the thick faux fur lined blanket and tucked it in around them. The horses took off with a jingle of their harness bells and they began to glide over the snow.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said. “Is that what all the checking of your watch and that blonde lady were all about?”

“Yes. I told them I wanted a romantic moonlit sleigh ride with my lady and they worked it all out for me.”

“Andy Flynn you really do have a romantic Italian soul.”

“So, you’re not still jealous the kids did this without us yesterday.”

She gave a soft laugh remembering how she‘d pouted a little bit when she thought they‘d been left out. “No. This is much, much better.” She lifted her face to press a kiss to his jaw, murmuring softly against his cold skin, “Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving,By the light of the moon.”

“Did you just make that up?”

She chuckled. “I wish I were that talented. No, it‘s Lord Byron.”

“The poet?”

“Yes.”

“It fits. Though I was thinking more alone the lines of, over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go. “

Sharon laughed. “Well, that fits too.”

***

It was a beautiful clear cold night. The stars were bright in the dark sky, the nearly full moon creating blue swaths over the pristine snow covered hills. With jingling bells they made their way along the frozen river and over the open fields into the moon shadowed forest. Once in the forest the flat terrain steadily climbed up a hill and by the time they came out of the woods into a clearing they were at the very top where a large white gazebo sat alight with hundreds of tiny flickering Christmas lights. An oasis of glittering beauty. The sleigh came to a stop and Ron hopped down to help them out so they could warm up inside the closed in structure and take in the view.

Andy led Sharon inside the gazebo where it was warm and toasty thanks to a woodstove burning in the corner. In the middle of the room sat a small round table covered with a red linen tablecloth. Tall white pillar candles flickered on that table, shining in the crystal champagne flutes and on the silver bucket that held what looked like iced bottles of champagne. If she’d thought the sleigh ride was romantic, well, that appeared to be just the tip of the iceberg.

After warming her hands for a moment over the stove Sharon made her way to front of the gazebo. “Oh Andy,” she breathed. “Come look at this view.”

The gazebo was perched at the very top of the hill and far below them in the valley was the inn, the pond and the lights of the village.

“It’s so beautiful. Like a winter wonderland.”

Andy stepped up beside her. “You’re beautiful, Sharon. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I‘ve always thought that, even when I believed you were the wicked witch of FID. But it was only when I got to know you that I found you are even more beautiful on the inside than you are on the outside. I thought having you take over Major Crimes was one of the worst things that could happen to me, but it turns out it was the best. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I love you with all my heart.”

“Oh, Andy.” Sharon turned to him leaning forward as if to kiss him, but he pulled back.

“Wait. I have to do this before I lose my nerve.”

Sharon’s look of adoration turned to one of confusion…Until Andy fell to one knee and she gave a sharp intake of breath. Oh my God. Andy was proposing!

“There are three things I want to say and I don‘t want to forget anything,” he said, pulling out his little police notebook.

Sharon smiled through the tears that had filled her eyes the moment she realized what he was doing.

Andy glanced at his notebook then stuffed it back in his pocket so he could look her directly in the eye when he spoke.

“Okay. One. You know how happy I was when you agreed to live with me. And I am happy. And I know we don’t need a piece of paper to tell us how much we love each other or how committed we are to each other. But I want that piece of paper Sharon. I want to stand in front of a priest and all our family and friends and take those vows, make those promises. I want you to be my wife, not my girlfriend. And I want to be your husband.

Two. For so many years now I’ve felt empty and alone. You’ve made me realize what I’ve been missing all these years. It’s like that dirt bag life coach said. I had a hole in my heart and nothing could fill it. Until you. Now when I look in my heart all I see is you. You make me want to be a better person, a better cop, a better father, a better lover and I hope one day soon a better husband.

And three. Life is short Sharon. I came so close to losing you this year and you thought you were going to lose me. I know we’ve got to figure things out, talk to Father Mark about our options but the one thing I don’t need to figure out is how I feel about you. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and doing my best to make you happy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. By now the tears that had been burning in Sharon’s eyes began trailing down her cheeks. “Sharon Elizabeth O’Dwyer Raydor, will you marry me?”

Sharon could hardly speak through the tears clogging her throat. “Yes,” she choked. “Oh my God, yes!”

Andy rose and she threw herself in his arms. All her life she’d put her dreams away for someone else. First giving up law school for Jack, and then going into FID for her kids. She now had a job she loved, two of her kids were grown and out of the house. Rusty was doing well and he’d be gone in a few years. It was about time she take a chance at something she wanted. And oh, how she wanted a life with Andy. Sweet, passionate, dependable, romantic, sexy, fun Andy who loved her as no man ever had. Her world really was a better and brighter place with him in it.

“Well.” When he pulled back from her embrace Sharon saw that she was not the only one moved. Tears shone in Andy’s dark eyes, one sliding down his cheek. Slightly embarrassed he quickly brushed it away. “Do you want to have a look at the ring?”

“Oh, yes of course,” she laughed. She took the box and opened it gasping at the glittering princess cut diamond inside. “Oh Andy,” she sighed. “It’s absolutely exquisite.”

“It was my Grandmother Flynn’s ring. But they were kind of poor and I wanted to give you the diamond you deserve, so I brought it to custom jeweler. He kept the vintage band and made smaller diamonds out of the original diamond, which is what you see on the sides here and then I chose this bigger Princess cut because you said it was your favorite style for engagement rings.”

“It is, but when did I say that?”

“One day when we were window shopping last summer. I specifically brought you by a jewelry store so I could get some ideas about what you liked and didn’t like. Then I brought Gavin with me shopping because he knows your style pretty well.”

“Andy. You were thinking about marrying me last summer? We hadn’t even slept together yet.”

“Sharon, sleeping with you has never been a deal breaker. Even if you were a dud in bed I’d still want to marry you. “

She gave a surprised laugh. “Gee, thanks Andy.”

“You’re welcome,” he flashed her that sexy little half grin. “Of course, thankfully you aren’t a dud. In fact, you’re pretty damn amazing in bed. Truth is I think I’ve wanted to marry you since our first dance at Nicole’s wedding.”

“Andy…” she was skeptical.

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t thinking marriage then, but I wasn’t lying when I said I started falling in love with you that night. It was that night that you stopped being Captain Raydor and became my Sharon.”

“Your Sharon?”

“That’s how I thought of you. I know you weren’t even divorced yet and we weren‘t even dating. But after that night you were my Sharon, even if it was only in my mind.”

“Oh Andy, you really are the sweetest man.” She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, her heart so filled it felt like it would burst. She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been this happy.

“So, let’s try this sucker on,” Andy grinned.

“Yes, let’s do.” Sharon held her hand out and Andy slipped the ring down her slender finger. It fit perfectly. He‘d been pretty sure it would. He knew her ring size because the weekend they‘d gone away to the beach he‘d bought her a claddagh ring to show her how much she meant to him and so she would always be reminded of their first time.

“It is absolutely breathtaking,” she said, moving her hand to catch the light from the candles in the diamond. “I love the vintage band and I love that it was your grandmother’s. And the diamond is absolutely perfect.”

“It reminds me of you, both old fashioned and modern.”

She smiled at the comparison. “And it‘s a custom piece, nobody else in the world has a ring like this.”

“One of a kind, just like you.”

“Uh, excuse me,” they both turned to see the coachman. “I hate to rush you, but we’re going to have to head back soon.”

“How much time?”

“I can give you about 10 more minutes.”

“Perfect.”

“By the way, how did it go?”

Andy took Sharon’s hand and lifted it, beaming as he wiggled her ring finger. “She said yes.”

“Ahh…congratulations. Beautiful place for a proposal, isn’t it?”

“The most beautiful,” Sharon agreed giving Andy a tender smile.

“If you’d like, I could take some pictures of you.”

“That would be great.” Sharon handed him her phone and showed him how to take pictures with it while Andy popped the cork from the bottle of champagne and poured Sharon a glass before pouring a glass of sparking cider for him.

“To my beautiful fiancée. I will be counting the days until you are my wife,” he said.

“And to my very, very handsome fiancé who planned the most romantic proposal ever. I love you Andy.” They touched glasses and kissed while Ron snapped pictures.

****

Back on the sleigh Sharon immediately curled back up against Andy, holding her hand out to continue admiring her engagement ring in the moonlight. “The kids are going to be so surprised.”

“Well,” Andy hedged. “Maybe not so surprised.”

“What do you mean? Did you tell them you were proposing tonight?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment in her tone out of the question.

“No, not tonight, just sometime in the future.”

“And how did that come up?”

“I wanted to get their take on things before I asked you to marry me. I mean I know I didn’t need their permission or anything, but I was hoping to get their blessing. I know how important your kids are to you, Sharon, and I knew it was something you’d want too.”

“You really do know me, don’t you?”

“Guess it helps that we were friends well before we were lovers.”

“You weren’t saying that before we were lovers,” she reminded him wryly.

“Yeah, well, you can’t blame a guy for a little impatience. Not when he’s dating a smart, sassy, sexy woman who wants to take things slow.”

“You survived,” she grinned.

“And you were worth the wait.”

“So, did you get their blessing?”

“I did. Emily was easy. She’s ready to start planning the wedding. Rusty, well he sort of expected this since I’ve been living with you. He’s used to us together. Ricky was the toughest.”

“Oh no. Was he an ass to you? Sometimes I want to throttle that boy. You know when Jack left there were so many people telling him “you have to be the man of the house now”. But I hated that. He was just a little boy and I never wanted him to feel like that. I was the adult, I was the parent. But there are times, especially now that he’s older, that he gets a little too full of himself and starts acting like he’s my parent not my son.”

“Whoa, Sharon, relax. He was fine, really. I get along great Ricky. I always have. He likes me. He thinks I’m good for you. He sees how happy you are. He’s just protective of you. They all are. They don’t want to see you hurt. They remember what it was like when Jack hurt you and how hard it was on you. They don’t want to see it happen again, none of them. Ricky was just the one that made it clear that hurting you might cause me to end up at the bottom of the Pacific.”

Sharon shook her head rolling her eyes. “He said that? And I always thought he was a smart boy. You don’t threaten the police.”

“It’s okay. I understand where he’s coming from. If anyone ever hurt you, I’d put them at the bottom of the Pacific myself.”

Sharon shivered. She wasn’t so sure Andy was exaggerating on that point.

“You’ve got great kids Sharon. They love you very much. All three of them said that after putting them first for so many years you deserve to be happy and if I make you happy, I have their blessing.”

“You make me happy,” she assured him.

“Good, then that’s settled. And you can surprise them with our news.”

“I think I want to wait.”

Andy’s face fell and Sharon quickly took his hand. “Don’t panic. Not for long. I’m done with moving slow. I was just thinking, maybe we should wait until Christmas Eve dinner at my parents. We can surprise everyone with the news and it’s only a couple days away.”

“I think I can wait that long.”

“Of course that means I’m going to have to take my ring off.” She sounded so sad it brought a smile to Andy’s face.

“I’m glad you like it so much, sweetheart.”

“I love it.” And now that she had Andy’s ring on her finger the last thing she wanted to do was take it off. “But I suppose I can wait a couple more days to put it on.”

“And then it never comes off?”

“Never, never, never.”

TBC

#sharon raydor #andy flynn #shandy #Major Crimes #christmas in connecticut #shandy proposal #shandy love #Mary McDonnell #tony denison #Shandy Christmas

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unhingedwordvomit · 7 years

Text

On lost Christmas traditions and disillusionment

Almost every Christmas since my brother passed away, my aunt and I have coped with the family drama by getting stupid drunk while everyone else engages in drama. This is really what got me through the holidays in the past. My relationship with my parents was strained a year after he died, and it quickly derailed in the subsequent years. They got crazy religious, while I did not. More on that in another post.

My aunt and I had a close relationship for most of my life. She is only 12 years older than I am, and my mom often joked that she was her first child. She was there when I was born. Growing up, I spent every summer and winter holiday with her. She let me try beer when I was 13. Actually, she told me I could try her Miller Light while we were at a bowling alley. I said no instinctively, because I am a goody-goody. Then after a few minutes, I decided I wanted to try it. But I had already said no. So while she was bowling her turn, I took a secret swig. She knew exactly what I had done as soon as she caught sight of my sour face. She scolded me for not being discrete, but then laughed. I still think beer is nasty.

My aunt was very new-agey. The complete opposite of my mom. She had dreadlocks and barely wore makeup. She got me into incense and astrology (cringe). She took me shopping to buy my infamous space pants (one day I will find a picture!). She would drive us around the ECU campus in my grandmother’s luxury convertibles to look at cute boys. She was so cool. She was so fun. I idolized her.

She got pregnant with my cousin when I was 12. She lost the dreadlocks, but was still my cool aunt. I have always found babies to be annoying, but my little cousin grew on me. We still spent every summer and winter holiday with her. One time the cops showed up to our NYE “party” because my brother and uncle were shooting off illegal fireworks. Never a dull moment.

Things changed over the years. She got married and had another baby. I graduated high school. We were still very close.

Like my parents, my aunt found Jesus after my brother died. I tried to go on that journey with them, and couldn’t. Because I don’t believe in anything supernatural, and barring a traumatic brain injury, I never will. But I tried. Anyways, after I feel off the Jesus wagon, she still accepted me and we were still close. In fact, we were maybe even closer. She was the only person I could confide in about my strained and stressful relationship with my parents. She was the only person close enough to the situation to understand what I was going through. She saw how they changed for the worse. She let me vent and validated my feelings. She was a cornerstone of my sanity for years.

I can’t recall exactly when she started to change. But things came to a head right before my dissertation defense. I was under a considerable amount of stress (shocking!), and when she asked me about where to find a grocery store around campus, I told her to just Google it.

Later, in a group text, someone asked where I wanted to have a celebratory dinner. I said I didn’t care (again, I’m preparing for the biggest day of my life) and that someone else could pick. My aunt went off and was extremely verbally abusive. She said I was a bitch and ungrateful (my mom quickly offered to find a restaurant). I have scoured my computer and iPad for these messages, and for some reason it doesn’t include all of the messages. The abuse started right after I said, “Y’all can pick…” No idea why some of her messages disappeared. Even if I had selectively deleted some of her messages on my phone, they still would’ve shown up on my iPad. Where did they go?! I really wish I could find what she said verbatim. Oh well.

While I was at Kinkos at 9pm at night spending $200 getting my dissertation printed (not getting drunk with my friends), she sent me these messages. I asked her not to come if she was going to be like this. And she didn’t.

By the way, preparing for my defense is what I had to do that was keeping me “so fucking busy”. Clearly I’m the one lacking common “curtesy” here. Ok, done being petty.

After this incident, we didn’t talk for around 8 months. I was so profoundly hurt. She couldn’t bother to show up for me on the most important day of my life? I went out of my way to not think about it, because I would start crying almost instantaneously if I did. I had to block her number, because she couldn’t stop sending me vitriolic messages. At some point, I unblocked her, and occasionally she would send me a napology (non-apology) that would essentially say, “I'm sorry, but you made me act that way.” I couldn't forgive her, because 1) napologies don’t mean anything and 2) I was wounded in an irreparable way.

Then on December 19th of last year, I was lonely and overwhelmed with work and family stress. I reached out to her and we reconnected. My mental state was pretty bad at this point, which I think was why I could set aside the mortal wound. It was actually a relief to have someone I could talk to like we always did again. She helped me with my job search. I stayed with her when I came to Raleigh for job interviews. She helped find people to pack my stuff up in Texas. After I moved back to NC, I would hang with her family. Things were great.

Then something happened and she behaved in a way that I find to be reprehensible and unforgivable. I’m not going to say what this thing was, because it’s not my place to out a victim. But the situation involved rape. I am so deeply affected by the entire spectrum of sexual assault (more on that in other posts). In fact, the most recent time I was raped, I reached out to her and she was extremely supportive. Which makes this whole thing even more baffling, appalling, and sad.

At this point, the thought of being in the same room with her makes me physically ill. We haven’t talked in 8 months. I don’t see a path forward from this. The fact of the matter is she is abusive in all manners of the word, and I don’t have time for people like that in my life. I have personally experienced her abuse, as well as witnessed her abuse of others. My grandmother has basically said I should just get over it and love her as she is (more on my fucked-up grandmother in another post). She hasn’t reached out to me since this message, which I assume means she has as little desire to have a relationship with me as I do with her.

I’m angry, but I’m also really sad. Sad that someone I adored for my whole life has become an intolerable person. Sad that I’ve lost a deep and profound relationship. Sad that we’ll never get drunk at Christmas again.

#familydrama #aunt #loss #holidaydrinking

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roslinadama-sinequanon · 8 years

Photo

Picture is not part of my creative talent but that Knudscheldiese.

Just in time for Valentine’s Day- A Shandy Proposal!

CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT-PART 6

“Andy, is everything all right?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“You seem very distracted. You have since we got back from our massage.”

Her eyes narrowed with concern. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Sharon, it was a pinched nerve that caused a terrible muscle spasm and I couldn’t catch my breath.”

He reached across the table taking her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles. “And you’ll do the same?”

“I’ll do the same.”

“Oh.” Andy let go of her hand like it was a hot potato.

“I’ll be right back. I just need to use the restroom.”

She did trust him. So, whatever was going on with that blonde, it couldn’t be personal.

When he arrived back at the table he seemed a little rushed, almost jittery.

“Andy, I’d like to know what’s going on.”

“What? What do you mean? Nothing’s going on.”

“I’m a detective. I know when someone is hiding something. And I sure as hell know when the man I am sharing my life with is keeping something from me.”

“It’s nothing, really. Are you finished?”

Sharon nodded and set her coffee mug on the table. Andy signed the bill to be charged to their room.

“Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

Sharon turned to see a broad grin on Andy’s face. “This is for us? Just us?”

“Just us.” He began leading her down the porch stairs.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said. “Is that what all the checking of your watch and that blonde lady were all about?”

“Yes. I told them I wanted a romantic moonlit sleigh ride with my lady and they worked it all out for me.”

“Andy Flynn you really do have a romantic Italian soul.”

“So, you’re not still jealous the kids did this without us yesterday.”

“Did you just make that up?”

She chuckled. “I wish I were that talented. No, it‘s Lord Byron.”

“The poet?”

“Yes.”

“It fits. Though I was thinking more alone the lines of, over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go. “

Sharon laughed. “Well, that fits too.”

***

After warming her hands for a moment over the stove Sharon made her way to front of the gazebo. “Oh Andy,” she breathed. “Come look at this view.”

The gazebo was perched at the very top of the hill and far below them in the valley was the inn, the pond and the lights of the village.

“It’s so beautiful. Like a winter wonderland.”

“Oh, Andy.” Sharon turned to him leaning forward as if to kiss him, but he pulled back.

“Wait. I have to do this before I lose my nerve.”

Sharon’s look of adoration turned to one of confusion…Until Andy fell to one knee and she gave a sharp intake of breath. Oh my God. Andy was proposing!

“There are three things I want to say and I don‘t want to forget anything,” he said, pulling out his little police notebook.

Sharon smiled through the tears that had filled her eyes the moment she realized what he was doing.

Andy glanced at his notebook then stuffed it back in his pocket so he could look her directly in the eye when he spoke.

Sharon could hardly speak through the tears clogging her throat. “Yes,” she choked. “Oh my God, yes!”

“Oh, yes of course,” she laughed. She took the box and opened it gasping at the glittering princess cut diamond inside. “Oh Andy,” she sighed. “It’s absolutely exquisite.”

“It is, but when did I say that?”

“Andy. You were thinking about marrying me last summer? We hadn’t even slept together yet.”

“Sharon, sleeping with you has never been a deal breaker. Even if you were a dud in bed I’d still want to marry you. “

She gave a surprised laugh. “Gee, thanks Andy.”

“Andy…” she was skeptical.

“Your Sharon?”

“That’s how I thought of you. I know you weren’t even divorced yet and we weren‘t even dating. But after that night you were my Sharon, even if it was only in my mind.”

“Oh Andy, you really are the sweetest man.” She reached a hand up to cup his cheek, her heart so filled it felt like it would burst. She couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been this happy.

“So, let’s try this sucker on,” Andy grinned.

“It reminds me of you, both old fashioned and modern.”

She smiled at the comparison. “And it‘s a custom piece, nobody else in the world has a ring like this.”

“One of a kind, just like you.”

“Uh, excuse me,” they both turned to see the coachman. “I hate to rush you, but we’re going to have to head back soon.”

“How much time?”

“I can give you about 10 more minutes.”

“Perfect.”

“By the way, how did it go?”

Andy took Sharon’s hand and lifted it, beaming as he wiggled her ring finger. “She said yes.”

“Ahh…congratulations. Beautiful place for a proposal, isn’t it?”

“The most beautiful,” Sharon agreed giving Andy a tender smile.

“If you’d like, I could take some pictures of you.”

“To my beautiful fiancée. I will be counting the days until you are my wife,” he said.

“And to my very, very handsome fiancé who planned the most romantic proposal ever. I love you Andy.” They touched glasses and kissed while Ron snapped pictures.

****

Back on the sleigh Sharon immediately curled back up against Andy, holding her hand out to continue admiring her engagement ring in the moonlight. “The kids are going to be so surprised.”

“Well,” Andy hedged. “Maybe not so surprised.”

“What do you mean? Did you tell them you were proposing tonight?” She couldn’t keep the disappointment in her tone out of the question.

“No, not tonight, just sometime in the future.”

“And how did that come up?”

“You really do know me, don’t you?”

“Guess it helps that we were friends well before we were lovers.”

“You weren’t saying that before we were lovers,” she reminded him wryly.

“Yeah, well, you can’t blame a guy for a little impatience. Not when he’s dating a smart, sassy, sexy woman who wants to take things slow.”

“You survived,” she grinned.

“And you were worth the wait.”

“So, did you get their blessing?”

“I did. Emily was easy. She’s ready to start planning the wedding. Rusty, well he sort of expected this since I’ve been living with you. He’s used to us together. Ricky was the toughest.”

Sharon shook her head rolling her eyes. “He said that? And I always thought he was a smart boy. You don’t threaten the police.”

“It’s okay. I understand where he’s coming from. If anyone ever hurt you, I’d put them at the bottom of the Pacific myself.”

Sharon shivered. She wasn’t so sure Andy was exaggerating on that point.

“You make me happy,” she assured him.

“Good, then that’s settled. And you can surprise them with our news.”

“I think I want to wait.”

“I think I can wait that long.”

“Of course that means I’m going to have to take my ring off.” She sounded so sad it brought a smile to Andy’s face.

“I’m glad you like it so much, sweetheart.”

“I love it.” And now that she had Andy’s ring on her finger the last thing she wanted to do was take it off. “But I suppose I can wait a couple more days to put it on.”

“And then it never comes off?”

“Never, never, never.”

TBC

#sharon raydor #andy flynn #shandy #Major Crimes #christmas in connecticut #shandy love #Shandy Christmas #Mary McDonnell #shandy proposal

4 notes · View notes