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headfulloffantasies · 4 years ago

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WonderTrev Secret Santa

For @pennywaltzy Happy Holidays!

Sometimes- A WonderTrev fic. Rated PG

Sometimes, Diana dreamed that Steve didn’t die.

Sometimes

Sometimes, Diana dreamed that Steve didn’t die. Some nights, she saw the plane explode in a flash of orange against the black night sky. And when the smoke cleared, a white parachute drifted through the air. Diana ran across the landing strip, her boots pounding the asphalt. Steve’s knees buckled as he hit the pavement. Diana caught him, held him tight against her chest. It felt like crashing into the sun. His warm body, still alive, brough tears to her eyes. She vowed to never let go.

Steve’s arms wrapped around her. He said something into her ear. But like before, she couldn’t hear through the muffled ringing.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered. She ran a hand through his soft hair, pressing him even closer to her. His hands ran up and down her back, soothing the ache of loss.

They left the battlefield. They walked hand and hand away from a war finally won. They saved the world, and the promise of tomorrow was their reward.

Diana hated that dream. She woke with tears staining her pillow. Sometimes she put on her armor at night and went out looking for crime just so she wouldn’t have to face that dream. Eventually, she learned to live with the dream. She stopped putting on the armor.

Diana told her story to very few people. The legend of Wonder Woman became a myth, and then a fable. Just a story soldiers remembered hearing in the trenches. Sometimes though, Diana got lonely.

Bruce Wayne gifted her the photo of Steve, Samir, Charlie, and Chief. Diana sat down and sent him an email. “Thank you for bringing him back to me. Will you meet me for coffee? I’m ready to tell you my story.”

They met at Diana’s apartment. She set two mugs of earl grey tea on the coffee table. Bruce fidgeted on her couch, clearly unsure how to start this conversation. Diana sat next to him and began. “I was not born in the world of men…”

Sometimes, when she had told people she’d lost her only love, people would say “Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

Bruce said nothing. He sat in his brooding silence when she finished talking. Diana’s tea had made had gone cold. Bruce finally lifted his eyes. They were blue like Steve’s, but icy where Steve’s had always been warm. Bruce took Diana’s hand in his.

“Steve sounds like a very special person. Thank you for sharing. People like us seem to carry far too much pain.”

“People like us?” Diana raised an eyebrow.

Bruce didn’t respond. He gathered his coat and left.

Diana wished sometimes she’d never left Themescara. The only people in the world who might understand her were barred from her. She could never return. But sometimes, she imagined what she might say to her mother. Diana could feel the sun-warm grass beneath her bare feet. She imagined sitting in the glade where she’d learned to ride horses. Her mother would sit across from her. They’d share a drink of wine.

Diana would lift her face to her mother and say, “I found a man worthy of the Amazons. The man Steve Trevor, who defended us on the beach.”

The imagined Hippolyta raised an eyebrow. “I recall his name, Diana. It’s not every century a man finds his way to our island.”

“Yes, mother,” Diana hid a smile. “If I told you I loved him, what would you say?”

Hippolyta also smiled. “So long as you are happy, I am happy for you.”

Diana swallowed hard. “I lost him.”

“Not all things that are lost are finished,” Hippolyta said.

Diana snapped from her daydream. Her mother had never said that before in her mind. Diana’s heart raced. Where had that thought come from?

Not all things that are lost are finished.

What did it mean? Diana was sure the thought had not come from herself.

The next day Diana sat at her desk in her office. She typed up her proposal for the museum’s newest exhibition, attaching her notes on the rarity of the Greek artifacts included in the display. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her temples. She’d had the dream again last night and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after.

Diana’s email pinged. She looked up, expecting something from her supervisor. The message had no subject line. She checked the sender. No sender listed. Diana frowned. She really shouldn’t open anything like this. She deleted the message, hoping no other spam would make it into her inbox. Another ping immediately drew her attention. The subject line of the new email read “READ ME, DIANA”.

There was still no sender. Diana chewed her lip. She clicked the message. It had only one line.

“Not all things that are lost are finished.”

A chill ran down Diana’s spine.

Another message popped up. Diana clicked it. She lurched back in her chair.

It was a photo of Steve Trevor. He wore a grey sweatshirt and glowered at the camera. The sight of him in colour stole Diana’s breath. This couldn’t possibly be real. Someone had photoshopped the image, surely. Diana frantically searched the message for the sender. No sender, but the subject line read “FIND ME”.

Diana’s pulse raced. Steve’s face swam in front of her eyes. Diana forced herself to her feet. A thousand memories crashed over her like a wave. Steve’s smile, his blue eyes, his hands clasped around hers, the snow falling between them. Diana could hear the music in the chilly square.

Diana couldn’t stand still anymore. She paced back in forth in front of her desk. Tears ached in her throat, but she forced them down. This couldn’t be real. Diana needed proof. She leaned over the desk and tapped frantically at the computer. There was one person she knew who would help without asking questions. Bruce Wayne.

She forwarded the photo of Steve along with a quick plea. “Can you verify this photo is real and find the source?”

Diana went back to her pacing while she waited. Her breaths came in ragged gasps. If Steve was alive-. She forced her thoughts elsewhere. She had to find whoever had sent the picture. Diana sat at her desk again. She stared at Steve’s face glaring back. His thick eyebrows pulled harshly over his eyes. Diana traced a finger over the crease in his forehead. The only photo she had of him was too faded and grainy to make out much of his neutral expression. She’d never forgotten how deeply he conveyed his emotions; but she hadn’t seen it in so many decades.

At last, Bruce replied to her request. Diana slammed her hand on the mouse to open his response.

“The photo is real. Unable to track the sender. Do you need backup?”

A sob clogged in Diana’s throat. Steve. Steve alive. How? How could this happen?

The sharp ring of Diana’s cellphone startled her out of her thoughts. “Hello.”

“Do you have any clues as to who did this?” Bruce’s low growl grounded Diana in her seat.

“No,” she admitted. “All I have is the picture.”

“I’ve also been receiving disturbing messages,” Bruce said.

Diana sucked in a breath. “Do you have any leads?”

“One,” Bruce did not elaborate.

Diana resisted rolling her eyes. Bruce remained as difficult to talk to as ever. “I would be grateful for any assistance you may have,” she said.

Bruce paused. Diana waited; the tempests of Bruce’s moods not new to her. “The messages I’ve had were not, let’s say, traditional.”

“How do you mean?”

“Dreams,” Bruce said curtly. “I’ve been having dreams of someone I thought to be dead. She might not be.”

Diana stilled. “I’ve also had dreams.”

“I’ll meet you in an hour.”

Diana went home. Bruce rang her door bell exactly one hour from when he hung up the phone. Diana welcomed him into her apartment.

Bruce glanced around the airy penthouse suite. He stuck his hands in his crisp suit pockets. “You have good taste.”

“We both know you’re not here to compliment my décor,” Diana closed the door. “Please sit,” she gestured to the couch. Bruce perched on the edge of the cushion. Diana noted he’d placed himself where he could see all the windows and doors. She didn’t comment.

Diana sat across from Bruce. “Tell me about your dreams.”

Bruce frowned. “They’ve been chaotic. I only ever dream of the night my parents died. Now, I’m having vivid recollections of Justice League missions. I thought maybe someone was trying to gather intel on the League.”

Diana noted the dark circles under Bruce’s blue eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

Bruce shook his head. “It seemed irresponsible to give her an in.”

“Her?” Diana raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You know who’s doing this to us?”

“Maybe. I have a suspicion.”

“Who is she?” Diana asked.

Something flickered across Bruce’s face too quickly for Diana to recognise. “Her name is Ace. I knew her when she was a child. It seems she’s grown up. And grown even more powerful.”

“How do you mean?” Diana pressed.

Bruce straightened his spine. Diana was beginning to recognise his stiff posture as a form of armor he gathered around himself. “Ace is psychic. When I met her, she was sick. Her powers overflowed, wrapping people in vivid hallucinations. I thought she had died in my arms.”

“Did you kill her?” Diana didn’t want to say it.

“No,” Bruce said. His sharp gaze reprimanded Diana for even asking.

She folded her arms over her chest. “If this girl can warp people’s minds, how do we know any of what’s going on is real?”

“We don’t,” Bruce pinned her with another look. “But are you willing to risk it?”

“Yes,” Diana replied immediately. Anything for Steve. The bubble of hope that had grown in her chest expanded. She didn’t dare nurture it. If all this was only a trick, she didn’t know how she’d react. She couldn’t lose Steve a second time.

“What do you propose?”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s probably easiest to go to sleep and wait for Ace to contact us.”

A knot of anxiety squeezed in Diana’s stomach. “Yes, I suppose,” she conceded.

Diana set Bruce up in her spare bedroom. The bed hadn’t seen any guests in quite some time. Bruce protested that he could sleep on the couch, but Diana refused.

“Hospitality is a virtue among my people.”

Diana left Bruce to try to fall asleep in her fresh sheets. She went to her own room and closed the door.

She laid down on top of her covers and closed her eyes. In the dark of her own thoughts, Diana thought of Steve. She recalled the smoke of their little camp in the European wilderness. Steve’s coat dropped around her shoulders. Charlie sang a soldier’s song of longing to go home. Diana watched out of the corner of her eye as Steve curled up and fell asleep on the ground. His face softened in repose. Diana longed to lay next to him, to drape his arm over her shoulder and to burrow into his side. She missed him dearly. What would she give for a chance to get him back?

Diana rolled over. Her alarm clock told her she’d been laying there for an hour. She sighed. She obviously wasn’t going to fall asleep. Diana levered herself up and went to check on Bruce.

She tapped softly at the door. There was no answer. She pushed the door open. Bruce lay half curled around a pillow; his fingers gone lax in their grip on the sheets. He’d thrown his jacket over the chair in the corner. Diana crossed over to the chair and settled herself down to wait until Bruce woke. His body had relaxed in sleep, but his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. It did not look peaceful.

Bruce woke with a jerk. He made a snuffling sound like an adorable puppy. Diana hid her smile behind her hand. Bruce sat up. His hair stood up in spikes on one side of his head. He scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and finally noticed Diana.

“How long were you there?” He asked, his voice rough.

Diana shrugged. “A few minutes only. I could not sleep.”

Bruce nodded. He slid off the bed and straightened his collar. “I got a location.”

Diana’s head snapped up. “Really?” She rose from her seat.

Bruce nodded. He slicked his hair back, all business again. “Ace showed me the facility she’s being held at.”

“And Steve?” Diana pressed.

Bruce frowned. “I think so. The details are fading. We should move.”

“You have your suit?” Diana asked.

Bruce smirked. “Always.”

Diana ran to change.

Bruce was waiting at the door when she came out in her armor. His face hid behind the black cowl. He cut an imposing figure with his cape trailing the floor and the horns on his head stabbing towards the ceiling. He reached for the door knob. “The Batplane is on its way. We’ll have to go to the roof.”

“Not that way,” Diana strode to the balcony and threw open the glass doors. She braced a foot against the balcony rail and turned back to Bruce. She extended a hand. “Are you coming?”

Bruce took her hand. She tugged him into her side and wrapped an arm around his waist. Diana lifted her head, calculating the distance to the roof. She bent her knees and jumped. They rocketed into the air. They launched up over the roof. For one second, they were suspended over the city, the sunset spreading golden below. Then they dropped. Diana adjusted her grip on Bruce to compensate his weight. She took the force of their landing with a jolt through her bones.

Bruce scrambled out of her grip. “A little warning would have been nice,” he grumbled.

The roar of an engine alerted them of the Batplane before it appeared at the edge of the roof. Bruce strode over to the tiny aircraft. Diana approached the cramped cockpit dubiously.

“I can fly behind you,” she offered, noting the single seat.

“No,” Bruce answered. “We have to make a plan as we fly. Ace said there wasn’t much time left.”

“Fine,” Diana climbed into the craft. She squeezed her knees behind the pilot’s chair. Bruce leaped in and flicked a dozen blinking switches on the controls in front of him. The canopy descended and sealed with a hiss. Diana wriggled her shoulders, trying to relieve the pressure of something digging into her spine.

“Tell me what Ace said,” Diana demanded as the plane roared to life and surged towards the horizon.

Bruce kept his eyes on his instruments. “They’re in a facility underground. Someone’s been running tests on them. Experimenting.”

Diana’s stomach dropped. Images of a faceless scientist hurting Steve ran through her mind. She clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking.

Diana finally asked the question that had burned in her chest for hours. “Did you ask Ace about Steve?”

Bruce nodded. “She said he’s been there the longest. But not awake? She thinks he was in some kind of suspension until recently.”

Diana held back a growl. “What’s the plan?”

Bruce glanced back at her. “There are other prisoners there as well. The priority should be getting them out.”

“Agreed.”

Bruce passed a radio back to Diana. “We’ll have to split up. Do you think you can make a loud distraction?”

Diana managed a savage smile. “I can do that.”

The bunker in the snowy woods crouched against the side of the mountain like a soldier defending its stance. Diana marched straight up to the solid iron doors. Her shield hung loose in her grasp. Her sword trailing the ground left a slice through the newly fallen snow. She approached with her shoulders back and head high. Diana didn’t bother yelling for attention. She drew back her leg and slammed her heel against the door. The metal buckled. Diana kicked again. The hinges groaned. One more attack and the doors crumpled in on themselves.

The tunnel leading down into the earth yawned black and abandoned. But Diana could hear the sound of running feet and shouting. Too late, an alarm shrieked overhead.

Diana strode down the tunnel. Just as the smooth floor evened out, a dozen armed guards rounded the corner. Diana leaped. She slammed into the oncoming assailants. They didn’t stand a chance. Diana cut through them with her lasso and shield. Once they were all down, she looked around. The grey concrete hallway she found herself in branched to the left and right. To the left she heard more shouting and stomping feet. To the right, then. Away from the security’s hub, where Bruce was slowly making his own covert progress.

Diana took her time, moving at a sedate pace. Any time a new batch of guards caught up, she disarmed and dispatched them quickly. She was aware of the blinking cameras in the corners following her every move. She did not care. Calculated fury filled Diana as she marched through the base.

Losing Steve before had given the same battle clarity. But this was different. The incident with Ares had been fire. This was cold as ice. Steve was here. Nothing else mattered.

Diana descended down a flight of stairs to a white door marked “Labs”. Diana shoved the door open.

The smell of disinfectant hit her nose. She found a room of sterile white chambers. Diana drew nearer, a humming sense of urgency finally breaking through her cold exterior. Each chamber resembled a cell with a white bunk and a glass wall separating it from the rest of the lab. Figures moved in each chamber.

Diana drew level with the first cell. A woman pressed against the glass. She wore the same grey sweatshirt and pants as Steve in the photo. Her stringy hair fell across her eyes. Those same eyes widened at Diana’s approach.

“Wonder Woman?” The woman gasped. “Are you here to save us?”

“Yes,” Diana nodded. She drew back her shield and slammed it into the glass. The woman ducked with a yelp. The shield ricocheted off the glass, the vibration jarring Diana’s arm all the way to the shoulder. The glass didn’t so much as crack.

Diana stared in disbelief.

“They knew you’d come,” the woman whispered.

“Who are you?” Diana demanded.

“Tara.” The woman sniffed miserably. “I’ve been here for ages. Doctor Leslie talks about you all the time. She hates you. She designed the cages to be impenetrable.”

“We’ll see about that,” Diana studied the locking mechanism on the cell door. It looked like a simple key card lock. Diana brought her sword down on the lock. It

Tara stepped out on shaking legs. “Thank you.”

“I’m searching for someone,” Diana said. “His name is Steve Trevor.”

Tara nodded. “He’s here. Doctor Leslie came and took him away when the alarms started.”

Diana didn’t know whether to be afraid or relieved.

She released the rest of the prisoners. They told her the same thing: they knew of Steve, but hadn’t spoken to him. They’d all been experimented on, but the head scientist, Doctor Leslie, seemed to hate Steve more than the others.

Diana pointed Tara and the others towards the exit. “Head that way. Keep out of sight.”

The prisoners scurried away. Diana hefted her sword and kept going. Somewhere here, Steve was wandering around. She’d find him.

“Diana,” the radio Bruce had given her crackled to life. “I’m in the main security office. I have control of the building.”

Diana pulled the radio from her belt. “Where is Doctor Leslie?”

“Keep heading forwards. She’s holed up in lab 237. I’ll meet you there.”

Diana’s heart pounded in time with her boots as she ran down the hallway. The numbers on the lab doors streaked by. She skidded to a halt outside lab 237.

The door hung open. Diana unsheathed her sword. The lights were off in the room. Computers whined at the numerous desks. Strings of numbers ran over the screens, casting flickering patterns of light on the walls. Diana edged forward. At the head of the room, a woman bent over a desk, pressing keys on the computer.

“Stay there,” Diana ordered.

The woman’s head jerked up. Her hair escaped her bun in wild curls and her glasses sat askew on her face.

“Doctor Leslie?” Diana asked. She took another step closer.

The doctor adjusted her glasses. “My, you are a specimen, aren’t you?”

Diana ignored the jibe. “Where is Steve Trevor?”

“Dead.”

The world fell like a bolder on Diana’s shoulders. The air punched from her lungs. She flew across the room and grabbed a handful of Doctor Leslie’s lab coat. “You’re lying,” Diana growled.

Doctor Leslie seemed unaffected by the fact that her feet no longer touched the ground. Her face twisted with rage.

“Do you remember Doctor Poison?” Doctor Leslie hissed. “She taught me everything I know. And she had a special hatred for you. Together we found your precious Steve Trevor after the war. She put him on ice. She refused to bring him out to play. But after her death, how could I not avenge my dear teacher?” She chuckled. “He was such a lovely specimen. I’ll cherish his last moments forever.”

A stripe of panic ran down Diana’s spine. “No.”

“Yes,” Doctor Leslie cackled. “Dead! I killed Steve Trevor! How does it feel?”

Diana’s grip on the woman’s collar tightened. Doctor Leslie gasped for breath. Cold chilled Diana to the bone. She’d let the men responsible for Steve’s death live once before. Not this time. She’d raze the base to the ground.

“Diana?”

Diana knew that voice. Her fingers went lax. Doctor Leslie collapsed onto the floor. Diana hardly noticed. She turned.

“Steve?”

He stood in the doorway. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. Diana stood still as the statue of Zeus as Steve came closer. He held his hands out to the sides as if approaching a startled animal. His blue eyes were deeper than she remembered. Diana took the last step separating them.

She reached out for his face with a shaking hand. She pulled her fingers away just an inch from his skin. “I don’t want this to be a dream,” she said.

“Diana, I’m here,” Steve assured her. His pleading eyes begged her to believe him. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Diana crushed him to her chest. He still smelled the same. Apples and musk underneath the disinfectant of this place. Diana curled her fingers in the short hairs at the back of his neck. His cheek pressed to hers.

“I’m here,” Steve murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a scrambling noise as Doctor Leslie hauled herself from the floor and made her break for the door. Diana’s hand went to her lasso. Before she could snap the magic rope around the doctor’s ankle, Doctor Leslie ran straight into a shadow standing in the doorway.

Batman glared down at the doctor. She cowered.

Diana turned back to Steve, ignoring Bruce snapping cuffs on the doctor’s hands.

Diana wrapped Steve in her arms again. “I was so scared I lost you again,” she admitted.

“Give me that magic lasso,” Steve demanded. Diana unraveled it into his hands.

Steve wrapped the cord around his wrist like he had those ages ago in London. The magic glowed gold on his skin. “I am never leaving your side again.”

Diana didn’t know how long she and Steve stayed there wrapped in each other’s arms. At last, Bruce cleared his throat. Diana pulled back from Steve enough to crane her head at Bruce.

“Did you find Ace?” Diana asked.

“Yes.” A young woman with short black hair peeked out from behind Bruce’s shoulder. Her grey eyes danced with mirth.

“I knew you’d hear me,” Ace said. “Steve won’t shut up about you. I knew if you loved him half as much as he loves you, you’d come for him.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed. Diana laughed at his blush. She dropped her hand to grasp Steve’s fingers. “Let’s go home.”

#wondertrev #wondertrevsecretsanta #wonder woman #steve trevor #secret santa exchange 2020 #diana prince #bruce wayne #batman #justice league compliant #fanfic #fanfiction #wonder woman 2017 #ace

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allyvampirelass29 · 5 years ago

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A Shorter Way to Save Her

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

"Maggie, you've really done it this time, are you kidding me!? Just tell me this is a prank...... Hey you, Curlicue, she's kidding right.......?"

Vic McQueen and Maggie Leigh shared a glance, the purple-haired girl fighting her smile, but the fabulously florescent Mags, wasn't fast enough to stifle her snort with a cough.

"Yeah, we get it, you're a real crack up, Barney Fife, the name's Vic, okay, try to remember it? And no she ain't lost it, we're asking you for a favour."

"You're ASKING me to run a NATIONWIDE APB on a missing person, with no physical description, no last seen, not a damn thing to go on, except a lousy first name. Do you have ANY idea how many Allyssa's there are in the world!? This gaffe of hilarious proportions must be your guys' idea of a bad joke, huh? Pull one over on Old Joe, is that it? 'Fess up, was it Koalski or Maguire, put you two up to this?

"Joe, relax, okay?" Maggie sighed trying to calm everybody down. "I know it sounds crazy, I know we're trying to make bricks without clay here, but this girl is in real trouble, and she needs our help! It had been a huge risk getting Joe involved, Maggie knew that, and as dangerous as it was tangling yet another person she cared about in Charlie Manx's twisted web, he'd helped them catch a huge break before with that Wraith part in Denver, and with no leads, and dwindling time, stopping Allyssa Jane Doe from becoming the dreaded Mrs. Manx, was going to take all the help they could get. They'd done all they could with the impossible. It was time to turn to more conventional methods, to a force neither of them had ever really understood. The real, the possible, the police.

"Joe, please...... We're not asking for a miracle here, just something, anything you can do. Shake a few trees, rattle some cages, just help us find her....... before he does."

"I knew this was about that damned Wraith!" Joe sighed, frustrated. You girls need to give this up. Go to the mall, go on dates, live your lives! You're too young to be chasing criminal kidnappers, and too old for ghost stories. Charlie Manx is a myth, Kids, he ain't real, he can't hurt you. There is no Christmasland. There is no Santa Claus."

Maggie could sense the anger rising, coming off of Vic McQueen in waves, and she reached for her but it was too late........ Vic lunged, slamming her fists on the desk, rattling it, her eyes screaming violence. "Not real? Huh, WHAT a relief, Joe, GOD, that's swell!!! That means my boyfriend ain't dead, he didn't burn up alive in that damned car!!! Hailey's safe in her bed at home, instead of at the mercy of some sicko cautionary tale, her mother's alive, her freaking cat's alive, and I'm NOT fighting for my life, my sanity, my whole damn mind!!!!" She fumed, her eyes bleeding with pain, as the skeptical Sheriff was struck silent by her outrage. "You listen to me, you condescending piece of SHIT!!! Charlie Manx is real, Charlie Manx is EVIL, like you ain't even ready for, and unless you want to spend the rest of your career, watching mothers lose their kids, chasing your tail, because you can't wrap your head around anyone REAL being this damned effed up, you are going to help us get this girl, and save her from a hell, she ain't never coming back from........"

Joe stared Vic in the eyes, his expression hard, leaning over the desk, and in that moment Vic McQueen didn't care if she got arrested, she was so damn sick of Charlie getting away with actual murder, disappearing into a haze of obscurity, being written off as a Grimm Fairytale. Somebody had to SEE him, even if she had to make them see him. The devil was real, and he drove a 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith........

Vic didn't even flinch, glaring back at Joe, as he slammed a thick, red binder onto the desktop, never taking his eyes from hers, rifling through the laminated pages, and finally she glanced down at the whirl of pictures. "Do you know how many Missing Persons I have right now, just in the state of Massachusetts?" He asked, his voice low, emotionless, watching Vic's rage crack, as she shook her wildly curly head. "Ninety-two...... That's ninety-two mothers crying over their children, that's ninety-two people that ain't never coming home. How about the entire US, huh? Try, fifteen thousand, two hundred, and seven active cases. All of them, every one, with a full name, physical description, last seen, known associates, and still just as lost, as the mysterious name you pulled out of a hat. You want my help? Reach into your bag of tricks, there, and get me more information."

"Vic, can I talk to you a sec?" Maggie asked, calmly, and Vic reluctantly relented, scowling, as Maggie ushered her out of Joe's bland, depressing office, into the bustling police station.

"WHAT the HELL was that!?" Maggie asked furiously, clutching the purple velvet of her scrabble bag, raising her arms emphatically. "What part of, hey let's ask my friend, THE SHERIFF, for help, translated into you assaulting an officer!? Are you CRAZY!? We have a window here, Vic, a window that is about to be slammed shut in our faces!!! We don't have time for this troubled teen, fight the man, bullshit!!!!"

"This was a mistake, Maggie, I told you this was a mistake!!!! He thinks we're both freaking cracked, he doesn't believe Manx is real, let alone a threat, and he doesn't give a damn about this girl. Okay, yeah, maybe I got a little crazy in there, but somebody has to, Mags! One Manx has made my life a freaking Stephen King novel, okay, a She-Manx helping him grab up all these kids, that's only going to make things a hundred times worse!!! We gotta stop him, and we gotta do it now. I know I should know better, but have you tried asking the bag her last name?

Maggie's jaw clenched, her soft features hardening and she shook the bag in Vic's face clearly insulted. "Only about a THOUSAND times!!! Are you serious!? Do YOU want to try it!? Go ahead, be my guest, hell, keep it, if you think you can do better, but I just keep getting the SAME four letters over and over, and over. SPOILER ALERT, it's MANX!!!"

The silence spread between them, the lack of sound dispelling the anger, police officers passing by, shuffling papers, answering phones, trying to look busy as they tried not to wonder what had caught these two girls, and the Boss in such a stir. If they only knew........

"Mags...... hey, Maggie, I'm sorry, I get my mouth from my Ma, and I'm at the edge here, feelin' pretty desperate. Manx has taken everything from me, turned me into a damn basket case, I probably should have just stayed in that asylum, okay, because I don't even know what is real anymore....... But if I can save her, if I can stop him from doing the same, maybe even worse to this innocent girl, I gotta give it all I got......"

Maggie sighed, lowering her arm, and the bag, giving Vic a small, apologetic smile. "You're really living up to your name today, Brat, you know that, right?" She teased, and Vic smiled too, her eyes lighter, less intense. "Of course, I forgive you, Jerk, and I don't blame you, okay? We're both a little tense right now, and GOD, if we don't have every right to be!!!! There hasn't been a Manx sighting in months, couple that with being sleep-deprived from the night terrors, creatively spent from the search, add one crazy cryptic, terrifying message, it's a wonder we're not both in that creepy ass asylum!"

Vic snickered, still smiling. "Charlie Manx, making chicks crazy since 1885."

Maggie laughed, with a clever eyebrow raise. "You know it. C'mon, let's go back in, and at least try to play nice this time? I don't have enough money for your bail, today, Curlicue." She laughed again, playfully punching Vic's shoulder, as she turned her back around, towards the door. "Who knows, maybe your Dirty Harry moment inspired Poor Old Joe. We'll find a way to draw Manx out, and once he's proven to be flesh and bone instead of whispers and smoke, he won't be able to hide behind the guise of folklore anymore. The Bride of Chuck- I mean Charlie," Maggie snickered, "Might be just what we've been waiting for to take him down."

Vic stopped cold, her smile fading, snapping her chewing gum, as her eyes sharpened with razor focus. Holy Shit....... She grabbed Maggie's arm in a mad panic, her eyes widening. "Bride........" She whispered in barely a sound, her grip tightening. "That's it...... Mags, that's FREAKING it....... We got him."

Maggie cocked her head warily, confused, and more than a little freaked. "What's it? How do we have-? Vic are you, okay? Is it happening again, are you having another vision? Here........" She nervously looked around, hurrying Vic to a far corner, putting her arm around her defensively, her voice trailing off, as life in the police station continued to happen all around them, arrests, police investigations, parking tickets, all so mundane, while time itself had stopped dead for Vic McQueen.

Vic's smile returned, gripping Maggie's arm, her dark eyes crazed. "That son of a BITCH!!! Maggie, we did it, YOU did it! Don't you see? Our guy Charlie's getting married, and as much as I hate sayin' it, I know that SICKO, and if he's getting himself hitched, you can be sure as hell, he's gonna do it right. It's gotta take, it's gotta be legal, meaning........."

The colour drained from Maggie's mocha skin, her eyes wide with a wonderful, horrible realization. "Oh my GOD....... A license....... A M-Marriage License. We did it....... He just screwed himself, because we've got a name, an a-age, you can't be legally married unless you're......"

"Eighteen," Vic breathed, the gears in her head on overdrive. "She's gotta be at least eighteen, and somethin' tells me, that bastard Manx likes 'em young."

"Okay, think, let's estimate an age range here, let's say, eighteen to twenty-five. Maggie shook her head, tucking a stray violet curl behind her ear. "That cocky Christmas-Loving IDIOT, actually filed for a real world marriage license. Jane Austen wasn't kidding........ "We are all FOOLS in love........." We have got to tell Joe!!!!"

Vic nodded enthused, her grin smug, both of them, rushing back into Joe's office side by side, and Maggie, smacked right into him, as he cursed loudly and a lot, just barely able to recover the fumble on his piping hot cup of coffee.

"DAMN IT, MARGARET!!!!! Give it a rest, will ya!? I can't help you, okay? And you, I'd be really nice to me right now, Annie, I lock up little girls that get mouthy with cops."

"Sun'll come out tomorrow, Joe, but one more crack about my hair and my mean right hook's comin' out today."

"Joe! First off, don't be creepy it really doesn't work for you, and second, I need you to go through all of the Marriage Licenses from this month, every single state, that has the name Allyssa on them!!!!"

Joe stared back blankly, more confused than ever, slightly slack-jawed. "I'm sorry, did you just say........ Marriage License? What the hell- first this kid's kidnapped, and now she's getting married, well, which is it!?"

"Both, Joe, if Manx gets his way!" Vic snapped back, rushing behind Joe's desk to fire up the computer, pressing buttons.

"Hey! Knock it off! You ARE trouble, that's State Property, don't touch that!"

"I wouldn't have to, if you'd do your job, Officer, now how about gettin' on that database, huh? I'll say please if you want, or y'know other magic words."

Joe sank down, frustrated, in his office chair, eying Vic suspiciously. "I don't like this one, Maggie, she's a bad seed. Hey, I type your name in, Shirley Temple, any arrests come up?"

"Oh sure," Vic quipped back, her voice rife with sarcasm, leaning down to look at the screen. "Just the ones of my drunk old man, beating up on my white trash, batshit crazy mother, Go ahead, take a look."

Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as Vic swiveled to smile at him, sardonic. Thought that might shut ya up, Mayberry.

"Right........ Is that Allyssa with one, "L" or two?" Joe asked firmly, typing furiously, deciding to actively ignore her snark for Maggie's sake.

"Two, "L's," and two, "S's," She shot back, still smiling. These guys were all the same. You take one look at me, and you see juvie stamped on my forehead, don't ya? I ain't the bad guy, here, but I'm sure gonna catch him.

Joe frowned, leaning in closer, his eyes narrowing at the screen, the name looking strange, all spelled out.

"You sure about that? That's a pretty.......... creative spelling........"

The word hit like a sledge hammer, shattering Vic's smile, the ice spreading through her body, crystallizing in her veins, as she shared an uneasy look with Maggie, both of them paralyzed by one singular thought, caught off guard by Joe's tragic word choice.

"Holy Hell........" Vic whispered under her quickened breath, so that Joe couldn't hear, her words frozen over with the fear that Maggie's expression was right now fighting hard. "Mags....... She's one of us........"

Maggie shook her head vehemently, purple curls dangling, banishing the thought, shooting a wary glance at Joe, to make sure he wasn't listening in. "We don't know that, Vic....... Don't go there. She could just be something shiny that caught Manx's eye."

"Yes we do!" Vic hissed back, insistent. "Think about it........ If I'm the most damned powerful Strong Creative in the whole freaking universe, would I go through all the trouble of yanking some Plain Jane, non-creative, nobody into my demon car, or would I make it count...... go after somebody with power, somebody worth taking and keeping, in that special, legally binding kind of way. There's a reason he wants her, Mags, and something tells me it's not just for her pretty face."

"No, no........ oh my god......." Maggie breathed, the icy chill infecting her next. She bit her lip, almost scared to say it out loud. "She's one of us....... She has to be....... A Strong Creative with a brand new power for Manx to exploit." She squeezed her eyes shut against the sinister possibilities. "Could this possibly get any worse!?

"Ladies, I really think you got the name wrong here," Joe called over his shoulder, oblivious to the reverberating revelation. "I don't see ANY Allyssa's from this month, not one "L," two "L's," or three. Nada. Maybe the Mary Poppins prop is past its expiration date, huh Mags?" Joe mused, chuckling. "You see, if I'm this incarnation of all evil, King of my cursed Christmas whatever, and I was wanting a woman, I don't think I'd go through all the trouble of filing a legal document. I'd just grab the little lady, and go!"

Vic walked coolly, over to him, her arms crossed over her chest, her dark eyes defiant. "Look again, Joe."

"What? Did you hear what I just-?"

"I said, look again. You don't know this Joker like I do, okay, he's not your everyday, zip ties, and ski mask, ransom-seeking hoodlum, this guy......" Vic's voice got quieter, and she swallowed hard with disgust. "He's method. He knew her, he followed her home at night, watched her fall asleep. He manipulated his way into her life, got her to trust him, and then he took her....... All that time, all that effort, watching her from windows, he'd make sure there was no way out, a failsafe, a legally binding tie. Go back three months.

Joe's expression was grave, and he nodded with a solemn intensity, the chill in the air positively paranormal. Maggie reached out to grab Vic's hand, looking at her with sad, thoughtful eyes, not saying a word.

"It could have been me," Vic whispered, with a shiver, her voice strained, trying not to break with her emotion. "He told me I belonged there with him, that he was gonna ride high into Christmas Hell with me at his side, and make me those kids' mother, that I had disappointed them, some shit about not being pure. That Craig- Craig had ruined me. He couldn't take a Bad Girl to Christmasland, so here we are. Enter Plan B......."

"We're GOING to get this guy, Vic," Maggie whispered, fierce and determined. "His Plan B is going to mean his Final Destination, I promise. She's the key, this mystery girl is going to be the reason Charlie Effing Manx goes under, and never touches another soul. You sent that Son of a Bitch to hell once, Brat, and together, we can do it again."

"Holy SHIT........" Joe stared incredulous at the screen, rolling his chair slowly backward, blinking his eyes, but the impossible did not disappear, and he raised his finger, transfixed. "Holy Sh- Charles Talent Manx, and Allyssa Jolene Watkins. Filed three months ago, on July 5th 2019......."

A hush drowned the room, the silence deathly, and Vic groaned, annoyed. "You've gotta be FREAKING kidding me!!!! Charles TALENT Manx!? His middle name is literally TALENT!? God, I'm never going to hear the end of that one........."

Joe ignored Vic's outburst, his stare still fixed, thoroughly disturbed. "Bastard used his real name, and everything........ How did- How did you know?"

He turned slowly to Vic, and she gave him a sad, sort of smirk. "I told you......... Manx has been haunting my dreams, taunting me, taking, and torturing me for as long as I can remember. His madness has poisoned my mind, and he's going to do the same damn thing to her, but even worse, because he's going after her heart. He's going to wither it from the inside, until it looks like his, ruin her for anyone else. No loopholes, no escape, and she's going to become a fixture of that god-forsaken place. It's going to happen........ just like he's got planned. Unless somebody finds a Shorter Way to save her."

Maggie felt her body seized with the intruding fear, the biting phrase, landing like a slap to the face. "Vic! Vic NO, listen to me, it's TOO dangerous!!! It almost KILLED you last time, you can't! I won't let you do it! It's not going to take you to Christmasland, and if you use it....... He'll know."

"Good," Vic shot back, with a raised chin. "I want him to know it's me! Me comin' to steal back Christmas, comin' to break up this damn wedding. Consider it my RSVP! She seethed, railing against Maggie's impassioned protest. "Craig didn't DIE for me, so I could do nothin', Maggie, this is my shot to fix it, to do what I couldn't do before, and use my inscape to freaking save somebody, instead of wasting it, finding loose change. It may not take me direct, but it'll take me to where she lived, and why he took her. I'll get to know this chick, find out who she is, what she can do. He doesn't get to win, Maggie, not this time."

"If you think I'm letting you do this alone, you really should be committed," Maggie answered back, fire in her eyes. "If you're going to break up the happy day, and go blind in the process, because you're too damn stubborn, I'm coming with you."

"Mags, you can't! You know what happened to Craig when he tried to follow me over, it's too dangerous, this is my atonement, not yours, got it?"

Maggie swung her scrabble bag, back and forth, as it dangled by its purple string. "Look at this, Vic....... Do you think I was blessed or cursed with this bag, to pass the time with the world's most BORING game!? I can help you! You don't ALWAYS have to rev up your engine, and tear off on your own!!! Finding people, saving people, that us, that's you and me. Our purpose. Together....... And unless there's something you're not telling me, Craig wasn't a Strong Creative! I am! It let you bring me once, you have to at least try again!"

Vic gritted her teeth, hating that Maggie was always right. Here's to the girl, left holding the bag....... "You've got all the answers, don't ya?"

"Uh yeah, in the bag." Maggie smiled, her brown eyes luminous. "Are we doing this or what?"

"Fine, Mags, you can come. But remember, my inscape, my rules. Your eye starts bleeding, your stutter gets worse, or any other pay to play shit, and we're done. I mean it."

"Deal," Maggie smiled brightly, and then her eyes flickered, the light burning out, her features somber, wondering if Vic had been so distracted by Charlie's revealed middle name that she hadn't noticed something even more worrying about the other......

"Jolene," She said sadly, watching as Vic's eyes threatened tears. "Her middle name is Jolene."

"Yeah, I-I noticed......" Vic said softly, wiping at the corner of her welling eye with her thumb, taking a deep breath. "No way in HELL is that a coincidence........."

"Damn this guy knows what he's doing," Joe huffed, slamming keys on his computer. No driver's license on record, every picture on file, magically disappeared. It's like this girl......... doesn't even exist........"

Vic nodded, gritting her teeth again. "He's good....... But I'm better. In his twisted mind, Allyssa belongs to him now, to Christmasland, meaning he's got to get rid of any evidence she existed outside of his inscape. He may be immortal, but he's not infallible. He's going to miss something, slip up, just once, and I'm going to be the one to catch it. He's going to make sure she's got nothin' to come back to....... and I'm going to make sure she'd rather die, than stay.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #charlie manx x oc #christmasland #joe bly #vic mcqueen #maggie leigh #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

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fadingvitality · 4 years ago

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The Fourth Christmas

*The lights were a colorful blur through the rain rolling down the windows. Somehow the image was reflective of me. I hated crying. Passionately, emphatically, more-than-anything hated it. I wiped forcefully at my cheeks, aggravated with myself for letting it happen. This year it was hitting harder than others. Damn holiday cheer and all the radio stations with the carols on constant rotation.

My parents had LOVED the holidays with a fierce commitment. Hosting Christmas open houses, annual Nutcracker attendance, gingerbread house making, decorating to the nines, and spoiling me rotten were all part of their fa-la-la traditions. The time of year triggered so much - too much.

My dad would make me peppermint hot chocolate on Christmas Eve while we watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and later National Lampoon’s. Momma would be making an overnight, French toast strata, and stuffing the stockings while I couldn’t see. I never wanted for anything, and by some miracle, their indulging me never led to being materialistic.

And then it happened, my dad had died after a freak accident that had ultimately led to sepsis. There were ups and downs during the course of his illness that we weathered with hope, but ultimately...he didn’t make it. My heart broke in two, though his peaceful last breath had a beauty about it that I would never forget.

Christmas was still months away when he passed, but I dreaded its arrival as the days came and went, spring turning to summer then autumn and finally winter. My mom fought through tears she didn’t think I saw, baking cookies, buying the tree - the sparse kind he preferred over her preference for something fluffy and full.

But there was no more Grinch. No more National Lampoon’s. After he was gone, I couldn’t stomach even the ads for them, it always left me bursting into the hated tears. At that particular juncture in my life, tears were a total disaster, considering how heavy handed with the eyeliner and mascara I had been.

Those traditions had been ours, his and mine. That first Christmas I was only just seventeen, and she had spoiled me with the most perfect and heart wrenching gift. Wrapped in a way that wouldn’t give me a clue, I had a momentary swell of pure joy on sight of his bass.

What had once been his...an extension of his very soul, had been entrusted to me. A shiver shot up my spine, and I could swear he was right there with us. I would cherish it and care for it more than any other Christmas gift I’d ever received.

As the years droned on, I did my best to support my mom, especially as she tended to get down herself. There were no more open houses, so we started going to the movies on Christmas Eve. We would still make the gingerbread houses and over-decorate. When she started crying in the eggs for the French toast strata, I drew a line. I urged her to switch to an eggs bene with home fried potatoes, justifying the switch by saying we needed to balance out the sugar in the cookies with some salty and savory. In many ways our roles had shifted. I always found myself guiding her, and then she learned to rely on me. I tried to comfort her with so much love, she would forget the loss of hers...but I knew, deep down, those were Vans I could’ never fill. My parents would gross people out with how much they loved each other. I had the front row seat to their ups and downs, but they always worked their shit out.

It made sense she carried the loss so heavily, and there was another thing I hated, that I couldn’t fix it for her. I would always wonder if maybe that was what really took her… her fractured heart, her half life without him, the lingering grief that trained behind her. It happened a meager four and a half years later. Four Christmases more, but not nearly enough.

The doctors said it over and over and over but my mind was in deny and reject mode: brain aneurysm. There was a bunch of medical mumbo jumbo and explanations that translated as clearly as Charlie Brown’s teacher handing down an assignment.

Ultimately, she was brain dead, kept alive by machines because she had been an organ donor. That choice had relieved me from everything but the formalities of signing paperwork. I’d not left her side for three days as the arrangements were made.

Her hand was so confusingly warm in mine, and there was no strain in her expression, but peace. I had briefly considered taking her picture because she looked so beautiful, like Snow White in wait...only her true love’s kiss would have her waking on the other side.

A chaplain had come to check on me. While I’d really, really wanted to be left alone, he’d made a suggestion that I would always be grateful for. In asking if there was anything special I wanted to do to say goodbye, I was suddenly stricken with inspiration. It was as if my dad had whispered in my ear. After assurances the chaplain would stay until I could get back, I took off. I made the trip as quickly as possible, returning with my dad’s bass.

At first my fingers were shaky, and I wasn’t sure I could actually make it through. With a deep breath my voice cracked when I started to sing “Across the Universe,” one of my momma’s favorite songs.

My hands eventually trembled too much to continue, tears rolled down my cheeks, but I finished acapella, minus all the accessory "Jai Guru Deva, Om." It was only hours later I said my real goodbye, more than deeply saddened I wouldn’t be holding her hand at last breath.

I was just twenty-two and both my parents were gone. I didn’t have extended family, both my parents were only children, like me. There were many friends, theirs and mine, that supported me but eventually even that waned. I poured myself into songwriting and singing, exorcising my feelings through the medium of music. My refuge. My confidante. I had makeshift, misfit families, composed of bandmates and their different circles of family and friends. I got by. I did my best. I extinguished the darkest thoughts and even darker tendencies. Christmas was my kryptonite, though. The outward bitchiness and bah humbug really came down to a defense mechanism. I couldn’t let anyone see the pain that pooled on my insides.

This year, though, was going to be my fourth without both of them and that struck me. Four without him, then four without both of them. Sitting in my apartment, alone, it felt bigger and more empty than ever. I finally pulled my eyes away from the window, turning my head towards the small tree I had picked up just a little while ago. It was full and fluffy, like my mom had liked.

I’d managed to set aside enough of my tips to swing it, even though every dollar should have been saved and it seemed extravagant. I had also splurged on a few groceries to treat myself to something other than ramen. My eyes then drifted down to the cup in my hands. The shock had worn off to a degree, but still, I was stunned.

The tree lot around the corner was run by volunteer firefighters with all proceeds going to charity. I didn’t want anything big, so my donation was completely meager, but at least I was supporting something meaningful. The guy handling the transactions had been pretty damn jolly, I was convinced he had put in some years as Santa, maybe still was.

He was as gracious with me as he had been to the person that had dropped a mint on the eight footer just before me.

“Your cheeks are rosy, sweetheart, and I’m guessing that’s because of the cold. Give me a minute.”

He turned away from me, doing something I couldn’t see because he was pleasantly portly. When he turned back around, he had a cup in hand, which he gave to me.

"Peppermint hot chocolate, on me. Happy Holidays.”

A familiar shiver wrapped around my spine. I blinked at the man, looking over his shoulder to see he had hot cider, coffee and peppermint hot chocolate in crock pots. It took me a few seconds to find the ability to speak.*

Happy Holidays to you. *I had lifted the cup in a gesture.* Thank you…

*Cup in one hand, full and fluffy yet petite tree in the other, I had walked home in a complete daze. I was in a state of abject disbelief. How had he known? What had him deciding on the peppermint hot chocolate? What if I wanted coffee, or cider? I didn’t know, and I really didn’t care. I’d propped the tree in a stand before I’d kicked off my shoes and dropped onto the couch.

Sitting with the cup in my hands, I clutched it like a lifeline. The physical loneliness was stifling, and heavy. I lifted the cup, the scent of peppermint hitting my nose first, followed quickly by the rich, chocolate steam. Memories swarmed at first sip, and I didn’t swallow them along with the hot chocolate. I closed my eyes as the flavor lingered, an inkling of the Christmas spirit I inherited returning. There was a third, winding chill up my spine. Somehow, some way, I just knew, no matter the depths of loneliness I felt, my parents were right there, with me. Always.*

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hibiscusangel15 · 5 years ago

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And Two-Brains Got Away!

Hey @newsiegirlscout! So sorry it’s late, but here’s your Secret Santa gift! You asked for either Tobey having family fun with his mother or Tobey and Two-Brains bonding, but I decided to write a fanfic covering both at once! :D

I hope you had a lovely Christmas and have a very happy new year/decade!

Thanks to @void-apocalypse for hosting the gift exchange, too!

Tobey’s life was always full of last-minutes. Last-minute plans, last-minute cancellations, last-minute, well, everything.

It’d been this way as far as he could remember. This constant unpredictability might have fazed some people, but never him. At least he could construct his robots in peace while she was out.

So when his mother suggested they go out and get a nice Christmas tree right on Christmas morning, Tobey wasn’t at all surprised.

The tree lot was barren save for a few ramshackle bundles of sticks that hardly qualified as a “tree”. That didn’t stop the overexcited salesman from trying to push one onto his mother, though.

He sighed, and the crisp winter air spooled out before him like a puff of smoke. What a foolish endeavor. Didn’t the salesman know who he was even talking to? There was no way his mother would shill out a penny for a pathetic twig like that.

Tobey eyed the enormous pine tree by the salesman’s cabin. It had a massive trunk nearly as wide as it was tall, and the tree was tall enough to rival even his robuts’ heights. Not a practical Christmas tree by any means, but it was by far the best option here.

“Pardon me, Mr. Salesman,” Tobey piped up right as the man showed off yet another pathetic excuse of a tree. “But would you be willing to part with that one over there?”

The salesman hardly glanced over at the towering pine before he burst out laughing. “Ol’ Piney’s been there since before I was born! Family’s tried fer years to tear ‘er down, but ain’t nobody’s been successful yet!”

“So if I were able to take it down, would you let us bring it home?” Tobey pressed.

The salesman roared again. “Persistent lil’ feller, ain’t ya?” He wiped his nose and looked up at the tree once more. “Tell ya what. If you can somehow cut Ol’ Piney down, I’ll let ya have ‘er, free of charge!”

A wicked grin split across Tobey’s face. “‘Free of charge’, hm?”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “Tobey? What are you plotting?”

Instead of answering, Tobey dug a remote from his pocket and pressed a sequence into it with a needless flair. The ground rumbled as something massive approached closer...and closer.

The few crows that had settled on “Ol' Piney” scattered away just as one of Tobey’s robots strolled casually down the street up to them. The shady salesman sputtered out a few incoherent syllables as the robot stooped to pluck Old Piney up like a flower, roots and all.

“You...You cheated,” the salesman wheezed, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Tobey nearly burst out in maniacal laughter. What a sore loser.

“You never specified how I was to take this tree down, my good sir. I thought using my robut would be fair game.” He blinked innocently up at the two adults staring down at him.

Much to his surprise, his mother started to laugh. A lot.

The sound was infectious, and soon, the two of them found themselves laughing all the way back home again.

Claire wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Oh...Oh goodness, Tobey! You really showed him!”

“Serves him right for trying to peddle mere twigs to a lawyer and the world’s most formidable boy genius!” Tobey huffed.

His smug guise soon dispersed into childish giggles when his mother ruffled his hair. “Tobey, your mischief has proven to be rather valuable this time, so I’ll let the use of your robots slide just this once.”

They leapt up in their seats when the robot set the tree next to their house with a resounding boom, garnering even more foolish laughter from them both.

Most of their day after was dedicated to decorating their new Christmas tree. It had been some time since he and his mother had been downtown, but Tobey would bet that their tree was far superior to the shrub in front of City Hall.

At last, his robot daintily placed their enormous Christmas star on top. Tobey held the switch to his mother, and she flipped the heavy lever “On”.

A gentle flood of light washed over their yard like light snowfall. Not bad for having set it up just that day.

Claire wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulders, her eyes gleaming with a keen pride. “Merry Christmas, Tobey.”

“Merry Christmas, mother,” he whispered as he settled against her.

After watching the lights dance along their tree for a few moments longer, the two headed inside to stir up some hot chocolate and pop some kettle corn.

Last-minute tree. Last-minute cocoa. Last-minute present exchanges.

Yes, some people might not appreciate the rushed nature of it all. Tobey McCallister, however, couldn’t imagine a better Christmas with his mother.

It was perfect.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Or at least it was until someone knocked insistently on their front door.

They exchanged glances with one another, but it was clear from the puzzled looks on both their faces that neither of them were expecting anyone.

The door burst open as soon as his mother unlatched the last lock.

“Merry Christmas!” Doctor Two-Brains and his two henchmen yelled. Two-Brains was dressed up in a horrid Santa suit while the two henchmen flanking him had put on green hats with jingling bells on the end of them.

Claire put a hand over her heart. “Oh my!”

“Ho ho ho and etcetera.” Two-Brains rolled his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered to introduce himself properly. “I heard that a very naughty boy lives here! I’ve come to give him a lump of coal!”

The henchmen giggled to themselves as they fished out a large black lump from the red bag their boss toted around. The “lump of coal” in question was in reality just a poorly wrapped gift plopped right onto his lap. Tobey even saw the end of a ray gun poking through the wrapping but decided not to say anything about it.

“Oh, how...thoughtful…” Tobey mused as he caught his mother’s stern eye. Once he managed to tear off all the crumpled wrapping paper, Two-Brains cackled like he had pulled the greatest prank known to villain-kind.

“Did I say lump of coal? I meant ray gun!” Two-Brains-Santa said. “Naughty boys get lumps of coal. Evil villain boys, on the other hand? They get evil villain accessories.”

There was a metallic switch on the side of the ray that said “Shrink” on one side and “Grow” on the other.

Two-Brains flopped onto the couch next to him, moving the switch back and forth like he couldn’t contain his energy. “Just flick the switch, aim, then bam! Make your robots travel-size for easier transport! Flip it back and blam-o! Fifty-foot robots in the blink of an eye!”

He swept his arm out in front of him as if he could picture the scene.

“Now Tobey, what do we say?” his mother prompted.

Tobey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor Two-Brains. I’m sure this will actually prove useful to me in the future.”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, but you’re welcome anyway, kid. Aaaaand I got your mother a little something, too, since she’s been very good this year! Almost too good considering how many times I—I mean—renowned villain Doctor Two-Brains ended up in jail.”

Claire blinked when he handed her a gift card to her favorite tea place in town. “Oh! Why, thank you very much! I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything. I didn’t even know you would be stopping by!”

She threw her son a questioning look, but he just shrugged. He certainly didn’t invite them over.

“This was all a surprise my henchmen and I planned for this year! We got gifts for every villain in town! In fact, Tobey was our last stop, and I gotta tell ya, I am exhausted.” Two-Brains ripped off the fake, itchy beard and fanned himself with his Santa hat.

“Oh! Well, the least I could do is offer you and your henchmen some hot cocoa!” Claire said as she rushed off to do just that.

The henchmen’s eyes brightened. “We love hot cocoa! Thank you so much!”

“It’s my pleasure!” Claire spooned hot chocolate into some chipped Christmas-themed mugs. “Would you like marshmallows?”

“Yes, please!”

A hush fell over the McCallister living room as everyone sipped their delicious cocoa. Considering most of the people there were villains Claire McCallister had sentenced to jail several times, it was unbearably awkward.

“So...cozy place you got here,” Two-Brains began just to lighten the tension.

“Thank you,” his mother said.

“Surprising lack of robots.”

“My room’s full of them,” Tobey replied.

The small talk only fueled the awkwardness even more.

Two-Brains drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch and looked all around, hoping a topic would simply appear out of thin air.

Charlie whispered something in the other henchman’s ear and he smiled.

“Hey, Boss!”

“Yeah, what?”

“Me ‘n Charlie were wondering...since we didn’t get the chance to go caroling at the other villains’ houses...could we sing a few holiday carols here? For Tobey and his mom?”

Again, Tobey and his mother exchanged questioning glances. Just how well could they all sing together anyway?

“Eeeeh, I don’t know….” Two-Brains took Tobey’s shrink ray, switched it to “Grow” mode, then shot it at a wheel of cheese he fished out of his pocket.

“Aw, c’mon, Boss! This could count as your Christmas gift to us!” his henchman begged. Charlie nodded silently along.

Two-Brains jumped at the chance like the cheapskate he was. “Alright then, that’s your present! No take-backs!”

His henchmen giggled to themselves. “Could you...Could you sing that one you made up about WordGirl?”

Tobey sat up straighter in his seat. “A song about WordGirl, you say?”

His eyes darted to the floor when everyone turned to look at him. “I-I mean, boo, a song about WordGirl. Must be a rather boring song.”

Two-Brains snorted. “Nah, I think it’s one you’ll like. It goes a little something like this!”

The doctor took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and began, “Dashing through the snow, in a van made out of cheese, o’er the streets we go, laughing all the way, HAHAHA!”

Despite the inherent ridiculousness of the lyrics, Tobey and his mother couldn’t help but stare in awe at how well Doctor Two-Brains sang. One would expect that his singing would sound just as nasally and near-grating as his speaking voice. Not this beautiful operatic melody before them.

“C’mon, everybody now!” the doctor urged, throwing his hands up in the air.

His henchmen joined in with a low baritone. Charlie waggled his finger to the beat. Even his mother chirped along: “Jingle bells! WordGirl smells! Two-Brains got awaaaaay! Oh what fun it is to steal a great, old, big cheese wheel! Hey!”

Just as they were about to go into the second verse, Two-Brains nudged Tobey’s shoulder. “Don’t you wanna sing along?”

A rare nervous expression flashed across his face for a moment before he replaced it with feigned boredom. “Not really. It’s a rather silly song.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s supposed to be! The holidays are always full of silly stuff like this! Don’t be such a curmudgeon.”

His face flushed. “I...I’m not a curmudgeon!”

“Then sing along with us, kid! C’mon!”

Tobey made a show of rolling his eyes, but eventually joined in anyway. If they chanced a look outside, they might have caught sight of Tobey’s robot peeking in with a wide smile.

“And Two-Brains got AAAAWAAAAAAYYYY! HEY!”

Their voices and warm laughter floated through the window into the winter night.

#Tobey McCallister #Claire McCallister #Doctor Two-Brains #WordGirl #WordGirl Secret Santa 2019 #my fanfiction

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heldyourpride · 7 years ago

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Rep Room Experience/Santa Clara night 2

5/12/18. It all started with a group of six girls who had a spectacular costume idea for Santa Clara night 2. We had bought tickets in December and were so excited for this day to come. We were texting in the group chat literally every single day about it.

Before I begin, nothing I’m about to say is meant to be malicious. It’s a slippery slope because we’re not as close with two of the girls in the group, but we are in no way trying to hurt them by saying this. I just need to make it clear that nothing that occurred was with bad intentions, however sometimes even the best intentions end up shitty.

We thought it would be a good idea to have more people for our costume, even though we weren’t as close with two of the girls. The day of the show, we posted our costume online and in a matter of a few hours our group was viral on Twitter and Tumblr. I couldn’t believe the traction we got and even in the stadium people wanted to take pictures of us. It was an absolute blast, and we met so many old and new friends from social media. We started to walk around some more to see if we could spot anyone from Taylor Nation and then all of a sudden, Steph approached us.

She said how much she loved our costumes and wanted to take a picture of us. We talked to Steph for a few minutes and she asked what shows we were going to, and where we would be sitting. A little girl and her mom asked us for a photo while we were talking to Steph, so that was where the conversation ended and we said goodbye.

Fast forward to Charli XCX’s set, Karina got a notification that Taylor liked our costume post on Tumblr and even followed her! It felt so incredible and we were all jumping up and down. We had a feeling something was going to happen tonight after getting approached by Taylor Nation and receiving a Taylor like, but we didn’t want to get our hopes up.

The show was amazing and we were just dancing like crazy and having a good time, as time went on we basically figured it wasn’t happening so we were just enjoying the show without checking our phones or anything. During Blank Space, Karina gets a tap on her shoulder and its STEPH. We all started freaking out because we knew what was coming. She thought we were on the floor had had been trying to find us.

She asked if anyone in our group had met Taylor before and I said, “Yes me.” I told her I would be okay with staying back because I needed my friends to meet her. Steph called me over and whispered in my ear and said, “Normally we can’t do this because if you have met Taylor you can’t go back but she specifically asked for all six of you.” I LITERALLY STARTED CRYING AND FELL TO THE GROUND. It was the best feeling in the whole world. I know there is a lot of controversy over the “rule” being so inconsistent, but I guess when Taylor breaks it, it’s okay. I understand how shitty it is to everyone else who has been turned away, but if you were in my position you would go too. There will be lots of strong opinions about this, but please don’t hate on TN.

Our other three friends that were sitting in a different section also got the news and were so excited! After the show, we got in line and waited to go in the Rep Room. Once we were inside we got to take pictures and eat some pizza while waiting for Taylor. All of a sudden, Taylor popped her head out and said “Hi everyone!” I literally died… She went back into a curtained room as everyone lined up to meet her. We tried to be last in line because we knew we were a big group and were hoping if we went last, we’d be less rushed. There was a guy who was having lots of anxiety about meeting her so we went before him to give him time to calm down. As soon as we walked in she hugged each of us and said how happy she was that we were there. She wouldn’t stop talking about our costumes and how much she appreciated the effort and creativity. One of the girls in the group that we weren’t as close with started talking to Taylor and would not let any of us get a word in. Every time one of us tried to talk or respond to one of Taylor’s questions, she would talk over us. I felt so sad for the other girls in my group who hadn’t met her before, and I was trying to step back and let everyone else have a chance. I even kept saying that they all had something to tell her, trying to get the one girl to stop talking over them, but it didn’t work. The girl didn’t do it on purpose, she was nervous rambling, so I really don’t want any hate towards her. This is mainly to give our full story, not to bring anyone down.

About halfway through the M&G, one of the girls says to her friend, “Didn’t you want to ask Taylor something?” She says, “Tayyyy I just wanna know, how did you get so thick?” The four of us were so stunned someone would ever say that to her. We all looked at each other mortified. Anna said out loud “why would you ask her that??” This is the first time I’ve ever seen Taylor hesitate to respond to a question. In interviews and everything, she’s always so quick-witted and on the ball. But she genuinely looked taken aback and it broke my heart. It was so uncomfortable, but Taylor being the kind goddess that she is recovered and replied “I don’t know I just started eating what I wanted and I’m happy now”

After that comment, the entire mood had shifted. One of the girls started talking again and before we knew it, Taylor was asking to take the picture. We still didn’t have the chance to get individual moments with Taylor, and most of the girls in the group didn’t say a single word to her. She mentioned she only had three minutes left until she got kicked out of the building but she had one more person to meet. Most of us didn’t even get a hug goodbye. I mainly feel horrible for my friends, because I’ve already had this chance but they haven’t.

I am so grateful that I got to talk and hug Taylor again, but under the circumstances it was not what we imagined. Being talked over and having Taylor thrown off by that comment probably is why our time was shorter with her. Before you take this the wrong way, I know it’s hard to understand until you have the perspective of meeting her. I know many people will say we’re being ungrateful because at least we got to go to the concert, or at least we got to hug her. However it really is heartbreaking to wait so long for that moment and to have it turn out that way. We’ve gotten so many kind messages from people sharing that they had similar experiences but were too scared to come forward in the fear of being attacked, or seeming ungrateful.

I know for many of us we value the connection and conversation with Taylor more than the photo, and the girls didn’t get that. I am disappointed by what happened and hope my friends get another chance to tell Taylor everything they need to.

@lovinhimwasread @yourfaceinalocket @jen-loves-tay-13

#reputation #mine #story #meeting tay #taylor swift #rep room

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inmyblindspot · 7 years ago

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Eden insisting they take Oggie with them when they go to visit Sarah and Sawyer for Christmas because she wants him to meet his cousin Felix (because after Mayfair died and Felix needed a home, Kurt suggested Sawyer adopt him because they were both on this scary new beginning of their life).

A/N: Thank you @kate-dammit-run for this sweet, sweetprompt! Eden and Oggie are my favorites. And this is clearly the answer to “where is Felix?”!!!

change of plans

Kurt had just pulled out of the NYO parking lot when thedash lit up with a call coming in from Jane.

“Hi honey,” he answered, checking over his shoulder as heswitched lanes.

“Hi daddy!” Eden’s voice piped through the speakers and hesmiled hearing his daughter’s voice. “Is it vacation time now?”

He laughed, picturing her sitting on the kitchen counter asJane held the phone for her, excitedly kicking her feet against the cabinets.

“It sure is! Are you all ready for our big trip tomorrow?”he asked. They were all flying out to Portland the next day to spend Christmasand New Years with Sarah and Sawyer.

“Uh huh,” she said seriously. “But I need your help packingmy suitcase. I need to fit all my piles in.”

He chuckled and nodded, even though she couldn’t see him.

“No problem, baby,” he said as he came to a stop at a redlight. “We’ll pack it together, OK? I’ll be home soon.”

“OK daddy! I love you, byeeeeee!”

The phone clicked off before he had a chance to respond andhe laughed at his little girl’s excitement.

This was the first big trip they were taking as a family andEden had been practically bursting at the seams about it, making piles of herclothes and toys, planning activities for their time in Portland, and FaceTiming with Sarah and Sawyer every other day.

Kurt was pretty excited about it, too. It had been a busyand hectic few months, both at work, and at home, with the surprise that theywould be welcoming their third baby in the new year. When Sarah had suggestedthat they come out west for Christmas, he and Jane had jumped at the chance,especially when she had offered to watch the kids for a couple of days so theycould take a little side trip, just the two of them.

As he opened the door to the apartment, he laughed at thesight of Charlie, sitting in his high chair, stuffing his face with avocadoslices.

“Dada!” Charlie exclaimed, with a mouth full of avocado.Kurt quickly hung up his coat and bag and walked over to his son, pressing akiss to the top of his head and accepting the fist full of avocado his sonoffered him.

“Yummy!” he exclaimed, letting Charlie mash the avocadoagainst the side of his mouth. “Thank you!”

Charlie giggled and then went back to smearing the avocadoacross the tray of his highchair, some of it making its way into his mouth.

Jane laughed as Kurt walked over towards her, licking hislips, and she reached up to wipe the remnants of avocado mush off his face.

“You’re as bad as Charlie,” she murmured as he leaned intokiss her and she laughed as he smeared the avocado from his face to hers.

“You have two messy boys,” he said with a laugh and shenodded, wiping at her own face and then his, tossing him a dish towel. “Happyvacation,” he added. “Two weeks of freedom ahead,” he said with a sigh as heleaned back against the counter.

She laughed and nodded, returning her attention to the stovewhere she was finishing dinner.

“You’re very zen for someone who’s flying across the countrywith two children under the age of four and a nervous, hormonal, pregnant ladytomorrow,” she said, glancing over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her as he wrapped his armsaround her waist, his hands resting on the small curve of her belly. “It’ll beperfect,” he whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss to her jaw. She nodded andleaned back into him, smiling as he pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Where’sEden?” he asked, glancing around and Jane nodded towards the hallway.

“Playing in her room with Oggie. Why don’t you go see whatkind of trouble they’re getting into,” she suggested and he nodded, giving hershoulder a squeeze as he headed towards Eden’s bedroom.

As he reached the doorway, he saw her sitting in front ofthe suitcase at the foot of her bed, her arms folded in front of her chest asshe bit her lip, Oggie sitting beside her.

“Why so serious?” Kurt asked as he stepped into her room andEden jumped up, running towards Kurt. He reached down and picked her up, swingingher in the air as she squealed with laughter.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, wrapping her arms around his neck ashe settled her against his side.

“Hi baby,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Heglanced over at the suitcase on the floor as he walked towards it, Oggie havingmoved over to his doggie bed in the corner. “I thought we were going to pack ittogether?”

“This one’s Oggie’s,” Eden explained, wiggling in Kurt’sarms until he set her down. “I’m packing his toys.”

Kurt chuckled and sat down on the foot of the bed, watchingas Eden marched over to Oggie’s toy basket, collecting an arm full of toys andcarrying them back over to the suitcase.

“Oggie doesn’t need a suitcase, honey. Remember, Aunt Pattyand Aunt Tash are coming to stay with him here,” he reminded her.

It had been quite the ordeal explaining to Eden that Oggiewouldn’t be coming to Portland with them, complete with many bedtime talksabout it, putting up a special Christmas tree and stocking for Oggie, andwriting three letters to Santa to make sure he knew Oggie would be in New York.

It had only been a week earlier when Eden had finallyaccepted that Oggie would be staying behind, and only after she set up a veryspecific Face Time schedule with Tasha and Patterson.

“It’s OK daddy, Oggie can come with us after all! Sawyersays he can ride on the plane under my seat!” Eden said cheerfully, stuffingthe remainder of Oggie’s toys into the suitcase. Kurt was stunned speechlessfor a moment, before he had a sneaking feeling his nephew had undone all of hisand Jane’s very careful work.

“When did you talk to Sawyer?” he asked Eden as she pusheddown on the toys to try to fit them all in.

“Today! When mommy took Charlie for his nap. We Face Timedwith Oggie and Felix! Oggie needs to meet his cousin Felix, they like eachother,” she explained as she looked up at Kurt. “Daddy, can you close this?It’s full.”

“In a second baby,” he mumbled as he moved himself down tothe floor, sitting down beside her. “Honey, Oggie is going to stay here withAunt Patty and Aunt Tash. Remember allthe letters we wrote to Santa, telling him where Oggie would be? Santa’s goingto bring Oggie’s presents here.”

Eden nodded enthusiastically, standing up and placing herhands on Kurt’s shoulders.

“I know! I told Sawyer! But he said he could email Santa totell him Oggie would be in Portland! And he said Santa emailed him back!” sheexclaimed, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Now Santa thinks Oggie’s goingto be in Portland, so he has to comewith us.”

Kurt was silent as he looked over at Oggie, sittingobliviously in his doggie bed, and then down at the suitcase that Eden hadstuffed full of all of his toys, and then back up at his daughter who clearlynow had her heart set on Oggie joining them on their vacation.

Kurt sighed, smiling as he reached out and tickled Eden’stummy, laughing as she squirmed until she had plopped down on her butt on topof the suitcase.

“OK baby,” he agreed, leaning over and pressing kisses toher face. “Oggie’s coming with us.”

“Yay!” Eden squealed, wrapping her arms around Kurt’s neckas he picked her up and set her down in his lap. “Thank you daddy,” she saidhappily and Kurt leaned down, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

They spent a little while organizing Oggie’s toys, andEden’s clothes and toys, until Jane called them for dinner. Eden skipped aheadof Kurt, running towards Jane as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“Mommy guess what!” Eden squealed as Jane reached down andpicked her up.

“What?” Jane said with a smile, settling Eden on her hip.

“Oggie gets to come with us to Portland! He gets to meet hiscousin Felix!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands as she smiled even wider.Charlie, from his highchair, started clapping his hands too, and Oggie, runningin behind them added a few barks.

Jane looked over at Kurt with wide eyes and he smiledsheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged his shoulders.

“It was Sawyer’s idea,” he said, holding his hands up. “He’sthe one who emailed Santa.”

Jane stared at Kurt in confusion, no idea what he wastalking about, but knowing that if Kurt had already agreed to this, there wasno getting out of it now. Their daughter may only be four but she knew when shewanted something to go to her daddy.

“It was so fast when Sawyer emailed Santa,” Eden saidcheerfully as Jane carried her over towards the table, setting her down on herbooster seat. “He said he would give you Santa’s email address so we can emailhim next year,” she added and Jane looked over at Kurt.

They both chuckled and shrugged their shoulders, Janeleaning down and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head.

“We’ll do that baby,” she said, gently rubbing her back.“And you know what? You are so lucky to have such a wonderful daddy who isalways going to make sure Santa brings you everything you want.”

She glanced over at Kurt and he smiled, walking over towardsthe table to join them. He slung his arm around Jane’s shoulder, pressing akiss to the side of her head as she leaned into him.

“Maybe daddy should get Santa’s email address now,” Janeadded with a grin and Kurt raised an eyebrow in confusion. “To ask forsomething special for Sawyer. Like a tandem leash so he can take Oggie andFelix on all of their walks while we’rein Portland. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

Kurt laughed and nodded, pressing a sloppy kiss to Jane’scheek before sitting down beside Eden at the table. Eden nodded enthusiasticallyas Kurt reached over and tucked her napkin into her top for her.

“Then Felix and Oggie can play all the time!” she squealedand Jane and Kurt shared a grin as she joined them at the table. “Oggie, aren’tyou excited?” she asked, twisting in her booster seat to look back at Oggie,who had settled himself under one of the counter stools.

Oggie’s ears perked up at his name and he stood up, makinghis way over to Eden’s chair as he lay down underneath it and Eden beamed up ather parents.

“I’m so happy Oggie’s coming,” she said as she picked up herjuice cup with both hands and took a sip.

Kurt and Jane smiled at each other and then back at Eden, asJane leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Kurt may have beenthe one who couldn’t say no to Eden, but her little girl’s smile melted Jane’sheart every time.

“Us too, baby. Us too.”

#blindspot #jeller #blindspot fanfic #writing: mine #series: what i never knew i always wanted

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lonelypond · 7 years ago

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Santa Cutie And The Christmas Cookie Queen

Love Live, nicomaki, 3.2K, 2/3

Nico vs. Pizza

Chief of Elfish Resources Nozomi Tojo stepped through the door and saw three papers scattered across the pristine white surface of Eli’s desk, she knew some disaster had occurred. Eli was sitting behind the desk, hands wide for balance, blue eyes with a dizzy look at the back of them, like someone had slipped and caused her to fall into a wall.

“How could she?” Eli asked, anger starting to clarify in her voice, “How could she?”

Nozomi was one fact away from knowing how to reply, although she had a guess as to the party involved.

“How could…” Nozomi stepped into the room, her question leaving a blank for Eli to fill.

“Maki.” Eli shoved her chair back, standing. Another page drifted off the pile as the desk reacted to the after tremors. “Maki. Doesn’t she realize…”

Eli turned away, overwhelmed by too many emotions. Nozomi scooted closer to the desk, reading upside down. Insurance information for someone named Honoka Kosaka. Accident?

“Is Maki all right? Does her father know?” Nozomi’s concern was more than professional. Everyone at North Pole Nishikino had come to love the often grumpy but always kindly sole heir to the Santa suit and sleigh.

“Maki is fine. And not taking this seriously. How do I tell her father?” Eli glanced at Nozomi.

“Do you want me to?” Nozomi sat on the corner of Eli’s desk, primly arranging the skirt of her purple dress over her knees, .

“It’s not your job.” Eli groaned. “It’s not really my job either.”

Nozomi neatened the papers, “My job is to take care of the employees. You are an employee. If it would be taking care of you, in the only way you’ll let me…”

Eli pretended to ignore what Nozomi was leaving very openly unsaid, “I’ll do it myself.” Eli’s smile barely qualified but Nozomi, as usual, took what she could get, “Thanks, Nozomi.”

Nozomi bounced up, “Just take care of yourself, Eli-chi. Medical forms cause too much paperwork.”

“Hey,” Eli sounded indignant and Nozomi was glad Eli couldn’t see the giggle she was holding back, “Last year was a fluke.”

“Just make sure you get some rest,” Nozomi twirled in the doorway, “And put up some mistletoe. I made sure it was regulation.”

Eli shook her head at the flirtatious dark haired woman and sat down, staring out the window at the sunlit afternoon, wondering what other kinds of trouble Maki was getting herself into. ANd wondering if the young heir had read the detailed email Eli had spent last week on, about polishing her ability to serve as the public face of the company.

Maki woke to her phone going off. She hated setting the alarm so on weekends she never bothered. But Rin’s chirpy text tone was enough to drag her out of a dream that involved Nico in candy cane stripes from head to toe and a Christmas tree and...Maki grabbed her phone.

R: Eli’s so MAD at you, Maki (╯=▃=)╯︵┻━┻

Groggy, Maki stared at Rin’s message. She hadn’t done anything. Surely Eli couldn’t expect a response to that ridiculously long email about public presentation and the North Pole Nishikino industrial image. Maki usually had a week before Eli started to get twitchy about that sort of thing, especially when Maki was working off site.

M: What happened?

R: Motorcycle crash? Remember? Or did you forget your helmet again?

M: It wasn’t an accident. Someone ran over my bike. I wasn’t even on it ┐(´ー｀)┌

R: Eli’s still REALLY mad. Nozomi looked worried.

M: It’ll be fine. I’ll send her an email. Papa wasn’t upset.

R: Eli (╯=▃=)╯︵┻━┻

Maki decided it was time to take a walk.

Nico enjoyed market day, when she actually had the time to spend the morning downtown. So many people bustling happily, especially this time of year, that it was always easy to spread or catch a smile or a laugh. She was especially looking forward to stopping at her favorite bakery and seeing what treats they were making for the holidays. Take some food porn worthy pictures and she’d have a handy blog post, especially if she deconstructed the recipes and made her own versions.

Nico loved dressing for the season. Today, she had snowflake covered light blue leggings and a comfy red oversized sweater with a cartoony Christmas tree, white faux furry boots and a white puffy jacket. She’d only had a little fun with the lipstick, base red with some smudged white snowflakes. No snow yet, that’d be a story for tomorrow, according to the latest forecast, so today Nico was just going to enjoy the sun, the holiday bustle and the...Nico paused as she entered Central Market, the live music, holiday songs? Occasionally, someone would be playing the piano, but this was a much higher level of effort than Nico had ever heard her before, with the jazzy Vince Guaraldi Charlie Brown Christmas songs making for an auditory treat.

Nico headed for the piano, recognizing as she got closer the red hair bouncing as Maki’s long, slender fingers danced over the keys. There was only a second pause between songs, not much of a crowd had gathered. Nico frowned, they really should be more appreciative of this caliber a performer. Maki closed her eyes and then seemed to dive into the music. Nico knew this one. And she knew how to draw a crowd.

Market day. One of the pleasanter things about Tudor for Maki was their downtown market, open 3 days a week, with farmers and small business owners focusing mostly on local foods and crafts. There was also, right in the heart of the market, a piano, surrounded by some tables. Free for anyone to use. Maki had taken to spending an hour or so every weekend making sure her fingers stayed nimble. And since Thanksgiving, she didn’t have to fight the urge to play Christmas carols anymore. People welcomed them. Today, she hadn’t gathered a crowd, everyone was hurrying from stand to stand buying presents or supplies. A few people caught her eye and smiled, one little girl had watched for almost half an hour as Maki delivered her Santa related repertoire. Now, she was playing her way through the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack, when she heard a voice break in and felt hands settle on her shoulders:

Snowflakes in the air Carols everywhere Olden times and ancient rhymes Of love and dreams to share Sleigh bells in the air Beauty everywhere Yuletide by the fireside And joyful memories there Christmas time is here families drawing near Oh, that we could always see Such spirit through the year

Then the pianist jerked a little as news personality Nico Yazawa whispered into her ear, beaming, “Good choice, Maki, with so many kids around. My siblings love Charlie Brown, we watch it every year.”

Today, Nico had opted once again for a seasonal theme in clothing as well as lipstick...Maki leaned back a little, pressing briefly into her surprise accompanist, as her fingers forgot how to play anything but random notes. Turning her head, she caught Nico’s smile at point blank range and her heart jumped. Nico seemed to have scattered snowflakes over her base red lips today. How did she manage that?

Nico glanced down, “No sheet music. Nico is impressed. Do you know “Frosty the Snowman”? The crowd will love it.”

Maki gulped, nervous, as Nico held her glance, red eyes encouraging. Maki nodded and played the first few notes. Nico started to sing along and let go of Maki’s shoulders, walking up to random people and getting them to join in. Soon there was a crowd and as Nico sang the last line, applause.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Nico is just here to bring a little holiday cheer!” Nico curtsied and winked at Maki, whose mouth gaped open as Nico worked the crowd, yet somehow never lost eye contact with her. “What’ll we have next? Did you see Nico sing “Jingle Bells” on the noon show, yesterday, no, well it went like this.”

Nico slid into the bench, forcing Maki to move down. “Start us off, Maki.” Nico smiled “‘Jingle Bells’.” And Maki started to play.

More applause, Nico kneeling down to sign an autograph for a child, this was Maki’s chance to flee. She sprang up, ducked into the crowd and was heading for the door when she heard Nico say, “Let’s thank my accompanist, Maki Nish...hey, Maki, where you going?”

Some laughter, people must have thought it was a joke. Maki picked up her pace. She made it to the street before Nico caught up.

Nico maneuvered through people too easily, maybe her size gave her an advantage when dodging between them. “Hey, Red and Rushing…”

“It’s MAKI.” Maki whirled at Nico’s touch, “And I didn’t ask you to sing.”

Nico brushed off the correction, digging white gloves out of her parka, “But Nico thought you should have more of an audience. Sing alongs always make people smile. And we looked cute together.”

Nico looked cute. Maki was wearing her bomber, a t-shirt, grey sweats and steel toed work boots. Maki looked like laundry day. She shook her head, shoved her hands in her pockets, “Look, you’re a performer, I get that...”

“Nico is a journalist. So you don’t.” Nico corrected, confused, once again at Maki’s attitude. She’s been playing a piano beautifully in a public location and Nico had gotten people to notice.

Maki knew breaking off to head back to the Yorktowne would seem rude, but standing here on a street corner with those red eyes watching her and trying to figure out where the glitch was was not something Maki could tolerate for much longer.

“Fine. Sorry. You like having an audience,” Nico nodded, as if Maki had finally gotten something right, “But I don’t.”

Nico blinked, “You were playing a piano in public.”

Maki kicked the heel on one boot against the other’s instep, reluctantly admitting the problem. “It’s the only piano I could find.”

Nico looked sad for a flash of a second, then bounced back, “You are taking Nico to lunch to explain.”

“What?” Maki was 100% sure there was only one answer allowed. And Maki hadn’t said it.

Nico cancelled Maki’s escape attempt by latching on to her arm, “Where’s your favorite weekend lunch spot? Nico is curious about what Maki does in Tudor.”

“The pizza margherita at Vincenzo’s is amazing,” Maki finally managed to offer as she continued to fight the panicked urge to pull away from Nico’s clinginess.

“Oh good, it’s right down the block.” Nico started down the street, pulling Maki along.

The waitress had recognized Maki and asked if she wanted the usual. Maki said "Yes".

Nico delayered and settled into the booth across from Maki, “There’s enough to share, right?”

Maki nodded. Guess she wouldn’t be taking home half a pizza for breakfast then. But company was good. Nico kept watching her, as if some gesture, some motion would defuzz the focus for her.

“So is where you live a lot different from here?" Nico wondered, after giving Maki too much time to start the conversation.

Maki glanced around the restaurant, inhaling the warmth and oregano and fennelly sauce smells, “There’s only one diner, plus whatever the chefs at the company cafeteria put together. But they do a pretty robust international menu. And any time you want, you can get comfort food.” Maki almost licked her lips as she remembered the Spaghetti Bolognese they’d just put in rotation as the Tuesday dish. “We grow a lot of our own herbs and vegetables. Mama decided it would be healthier and implemented it when she married Papa. ” Nico laughed. Maki’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

“That’s cozy. Comfort food plus industrial innovation as a groom gift. You sound like you enjoy variety? Do you cook?” Nico fidgeted with the wine list on the table.

“Nope.” Maki didn’t mean to state it quite so proudly.

“Planning to marry a chef?” Nico teased, entertained by the light blush on Maki’s cheeks.

“A baker, maybe…” Maki got distracted by the sight of the pizza coming their way and actually answered the question.

Nico leaned into her hands, watching Maki pay no attention to her and “just met my hot date” levels of attention to the newly arrived pizza. It was unexpected. Nico was impossible to ignore. Piano playing must burn off calories. So Nico refrained from grandstanding, enjoying the opportunity to really look at the woman across from her, an intriguing mix of girly curves and sportif style. Nico had to admit she liked the way the two styles clashed, especially with such honest eyes. Nico could read so much in them, it was refreshing in a business where most flattery was a formality. But 10 seconds of Maki swooning over choosing slices was really enough. “That one looks good; Nico will take it.”

Maki glanced up, fingers on a crust, eyes wide and Nico knew the hungry redhead had forgotten Nico was there. Flattering. Nico sighed. But then there was that shy, sweet smile Nico liked better than sweets, “I’m so sorry, Nico…” and her name sliding so melodiously out of those lips as the initial slice was apologetically handed over. Nico might have been swooning herself by now, but Maki was on a date with someone named Margherita and not Nico. Given a little warning, of course, Nico could have made Maki forget anything else but this was an information gathering interview triggered by a random encounter, not a Date™. So Nico chewed quietly and thought seriously about what question to start with.

“So do you prefer jazz?” Nico asked when Maki reached for her second slice.

Maki paused, her lavender eyes thoughtful, then she shrugged, “Classical or jazz, both are challenging to play. And listen to.”

“Hmmm…” Of course, pizza girl would skip over the part where she asked Nico questions. So Nico provided the answer, “Nico likes K and J-pop.”

Maki almost put down her pizza, not bothering to hide her distaste at the Nico’s revelation of Nico’s taste in music. “Aren’t those the silly songs where the band members wear as little clothing as possible?”

“Hey,” Nico almost flung her crust as she pointed it at Maki, “Those are very danceable, if you dance anything newer than the grandparent wallflower waltz. They make people smile, give them energy.” Nico dropped the crust and brushed crumbs off her hands, “And what’s wrong with sexy costumes, some of the groups have the best fashion insight. Nico picks up tips. Just now, menswear is hot, the latest Mamamoo video, Moonbyul rocking suits onstage, sexy, but,” Nico let herself get a little snarky as she quoted Maki, “not as ‘little clothing as possible.’ Sexy with style. Nico likes that. Nico looks good in that.” Nico refrained from saying she looks good in anything. Here was Maki and the night they’d met, Nico had been rocking ‘knocked sideways into weather’ chic.” So Maki already knew that.

Maki shook her head, continuing to chew, “You are going to take fashion tips from girls in suits...you seem too…”

Nico grabbed another piece, resisting the urge to flex her frequently worked out, can lift twice what people would expect bicep,“Nico is adaptable. I’m thinking tux for New Year’s Eve.”

“Tuxedo?” Maki tilted her head, one eye squinting, obviously trying to picture Nico in the outfit.

“Tuxedo jacket.” Nico specified, stretching her leg out, “And fishnets.” She winked when Maki’s eyes finished the tour of her leggings. Maki grunted and glanced away, fumbling to pick up her napkin. Nico was starting to have fun.

“So why play at market if you don’t want an audience?” Leave Maki with the New Year’s Eve outfit visuals to imagine and move on. Nico congratulated herself on a solid strategy.

“You can’t just pack your piano when you travel.” Maki crumpled her napkin, tossing it on her plate. “I found that one the first month, mostly people don’t notice.”

Nico tapped Maki’s hand, “Nico doesn’t believe that. These have talent. Obvious talent.”

Maki started, quickly pulling her hands all the way back to her lap, then tried to figure out how to take a sip of her slightly too distant iced tea without exposing them. Nico almost giggled as Maki decided to lean slowly toward the straw, stretching her neck out.

“This is really good pizza.” Nico smiled.

Maki glanced up from her straw maneuvering, “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Maybe next time, I’ll take you to one of my favorite lunch places.” Nico edged the iced tea closer to Maki, who latched onto the straw with her mouth, taking a long sip. Then she sat back, twisting glistening lips together as she thought for a minute, eyes brightening at her decision, “Maybe.”

Nico bounced up, “Nico will take that as a date. How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

“You’re leaving?” Maki and Nico seemed equally surprised by the redhead’s disappointment.

Nico twirled, graceful even in the small space, “Nico’s the weekend anchor. So I have a show to get ready for.”

“Oh.” The gleam in Maki’s eyes dimmed, “don’t worry about the pizza. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Maki.” Nico swept in so fast Maki couldn’t dodge and kissed her cheek, “Play the piano again for me sometime, okay?”

Maki nodded, hand ghosting over her cheek. Nico thought the pianist wasn’t even aware the gesture had happened. Nico could definitely work with this.

Maki had been shopping for snacks to restock her mini fridge, then run out of errands to run. So she’d gone to see the latest blockbuster. Boring. Neither of these activities were nearly lively enough to follow up her accidental lunch ‘date’ with Nico Yazawa, so, once again, Maki found herself back in her hotel room, sprawled out on her couch, alternating between staring at stripey walls and the not so stripey ceiling. She hadn’t posted anything on TWIG today so she took a ceiling shot with the caption “needs more cookies.”

Immediate response.

StormCookie: Isn’t that your ceiling? Cookies will fall. Gravity ヽ(´Д`;)ﾉ

SantaChan: ｰ( ￣▽)_皿~~ On me ヽ(o♡o)/

StormCookie: SantaSpoiled, cookies don’t grow on ceilings. Or trees. You have to (σ`・∀・)σ BAKE them.

SantaChan: No (-_☆)V

StormCookie: You’re in a good mood. Need the second step yet?

SantaChan: Sure.

StormCookie: Are you sitting down? (-｡-;

SantaChan: Sort of…

StormCookie: Well, SantaSortof, the second step is...LOOK UP FROM YOUR PHONE

Maki was shocked that StormCookie would suggest that in the middle of their conversation. Was StormCookie bored? Or busy? Or…

SantaChan: But you’re here （´υ｀）

StormCookie: ⊂(ﾟДﾟ;⊂⌒`つ Actually, I have to run soon. So, step 2 is look up from your phone. Bonus: step 3 for advanced students, talk to the cute girl. I did it, so can you ಠ‿↼

“Talk to the cute girl.” That sounded like Rin. Maki chuckled before she heard the next part play in her head “I did it?” Was StormCookie dating someone? Or trying to? And what would that mean for...suddenly, Maki felt sick to her stomach again, cold sweat on her forehead.

StormCookie had sent another DM.

StormCookie: I have faith in you, apprentice (￣ー￣)ｂ Step away from the phone and the cute girls will flock.

And then Maki will forget to offer them slices of pizza and insult their music choices. Maki sighed, hugged her phone to her chest, reaching again for the blanket while calculating the hours she had to wait until the Channel 10 Weekend News.

A/N:

A little shorter than I'd planned (so you might get 4 chapters), but I wanted to post today.

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays or...Thanks for reading. It means a lot.

Take care!

#nicomaki #Christmas #fanfic #Santa Cutie And The Christmas Cookie Queen #Holiday #pizza #nishikino maki #yazawa nico #love live

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poeticandvaguelysweet · 7 years ago

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Prompt #207 - Charlie and the Christmas Concert

PROMPT: kids Christmas concert

I’m sure we’ve all been to one of these and if you haven’t, gee whiz I am envious.

12 days until Christmas. December 13th.

AO3 - C&E Index

CHARLIE AND THE CHRISTMAS CONCERT

Charlie had been ecstatic for weeks. She couldn’t possibly count her days down any faster, desperate to go to bed early in order to pass the hours faster. Her kindergarten was closing out the year with a Christmas concert. The children were encouraged to come in costume and where all the little girls were dressing as angels and twinkling stars, Charlotte Grady came home with the begging question to be a reindeer.

They did their best to make the girls’ wish come true.

‘It matches my song, Mama.’ The girl grinned, Claire turned her by her shoulders to reveal the finished costume in the ensuite mirror. Charlie gleamed, her smile one of the brightest Claire had ever seen. She couldn’t help but reflect it back, happiness creeping across her cheeks as she watched her daughter twirl in front of the mirror.

‘Do you like it?’ Claire asked, nervous. Charlie’s reaction was a happy one but ensuring everything was done to expectation for the four-year-old was her biggest worry. The costume consisted of a brown tutu skirt, speckled with white dots that Heather had acquired from some place or another. A cream henley and a faux deer pelt vest. She wore brown stockings and a pair of brown fluffy boots. Claire had painted Charlie’s face, a light brown smear coating her daughters face from ear to ear and over the bridge of her nose, popping with white polka dots. She painted her nose black, even though Charlie had specifically asked for red and dawned her daughter’s head with a pair of costume antlers that had been a staple in every household for years.

Charlie only started singing her allocated song, small fingers holding onto the end of her skirt as she swayed back and forth. Claire would take it that the girl liked her costume as she wiggled back on the floor to give the girl some space.

There was something about seeing her girl, dressed up and ready for her first school concert, ready to charm the socks off everyone who so much as looked in her direction. Claire couldn’t help it. Her daughter was remarkable, so small and full of might as she practised the hand choreography her teachers taught her with a concentrated frown. Charlie was singing Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer and her mother was crying. She couldn’t help the bubble of emotion, suddenly caught off guard by how big her baby was getting. Claire didn’t necessarily believe it when people told her that children grow up too fast. She could see it now, understand it and instantly wanted the girl’s infant years back.

There had been a time where Charlie butt shuffled into the ensuite when Claire and Owen were getting ready for various things, their daughter cackling madly at her reflection. Now, she watched herself, timing her movements, practising her faces in exaggerated steps all while remaining serious.

‘Is the baby making you cry again?’ Charlie had asked, frown still in place as she turned to face her mother. Claire laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. This wasn’t Claire’s first hormonal break down since they told Charlie about an impending sibling a few weeks ago. She shook her head, grinning at her girl as she pulled Charlie in for a hug.

She kissed the side of Charlie’s head. ‘You’re just getting so big.’ The girl sank into her lap giving into the affection she had at first resisted. ‘I was thinking about when you were a baby.’ She hummed.

‘Was I a cute baby?’

Claire kissed the side of her head again, repositioning the girl in her lap so Charlie’s back was pressed against her chest, the two of them sitting on the floor and facing the mirror. ‘The cutest.’ Claire squeezed her. Her four-year-old, dressed as a reindeer, quietly asked ‘what did I look like?’ and Claire couldn’t help but branch into a description. They had pictures on the walls in the living room, the hallways, the bedroom and Claire’s home office. There were even a few stuck on the fridge. It wasn’t like Charlie hadn’t seen any pictures of herself.

‘Well,’ Claire started, ‘You didn’t have much hair, to begin with. Daddy called it peach fuzz.’ Charlie giggled when Claire pulled on her pigtails. ‘And you had this cute little nose.’ She tapped Charlie’s reindeer nose making the girl crinkle up her face in an attempt to make it twitch. ‘And you were so little, Char, Daddy would wrap you up in a blanket and hand you to me. Your head would sit in my hand and your legs, all curled up and snug only managed to reach my elbow.’ Claire stretched out her arm, wiggling the tips of her fingers as she showed Charlie how long the girl was once wrapped up tight in a muslin wrap. ‘You were so precious.’ She kissed the top of Charlie’s head with a deep sigh, heart aching at the thought of her tiny little girl. They were expecting again, a baby due in July but Charlie was always going to be Claire’s baby no matter how bumpy the road had been.

‘There you two are.’ Owen hummed, relief in his voice as he stood in the doorway, shoulder leaning on the jamb like he had been settled in there for a while. Claire had no doubt he was listening, revelling in the moment between his girls as Charlie sat still for longer than ten seconds at a time. ‘Nana and Granddad are downstairs, you ready to go?’ Charlie jumped up immediately, tearing past her father to go see her grandparents. ‘She looks really good, Claire.’ Owen praised his wife on the child’s costume, grin wide on his face.

‘I’m putting a ban on Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer after the concert tonight.’ Claire gave him a tired smile. Charlie had practised and practised and practised to the point that Owen was sure he could get up on that stage and perform right beside her without a hitch. He was siding with his wife on that front, no more renditions of Charlie’s Christmas concert once the event was over. She could uncover a different carol for all he cared. ‘Ready to go?’ Claire nodded, accepting the hand Owen extended to her to help her up off the floor. ‘Lorna’s going to meet us there.’ He kissed her cheek because he could, watching as a small smile fluttered across her face. ‘You feeling okay?’ Claire waved him off, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t been through before and it wasn’t going to go away. Morning sickness had been a hurdle for a few weeks now and she was learning to get through. ‘Mom’s brought a picnic hamper.’ He told her, promising to slip in a few things that would keep her stomach settled until Charlie did her song and was tired enough to give in and go home.

‘We’re going to be late, you two.’ Heather appeared, smiling at them fondly, her hands on her hips. ‘What’re you whispering about?’ She asked, watching with a close eye as Owen tucked his wife under his arm.

They both shook their heads. ‘Christmas presents.’ Claire answered, appeasing her mother-in-law for a little longer. They just needed Heather to wait another week before they shared their news with her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Mom.’ Claire teased, winking at her mother-in-law as she stepped away from Owen and moved for the door.

The concert was loud and messy, children singing nervously lyrics to songs they couldn’t quite remember dressed as Santa Claus or a Christmas Star. Charlie’s group grinned brightly, four-year-old’s standing on the tips of their toes to spot their parents sitting on the grass in front of the stage. Charlie was no different, smile a little damp as she looked for Owen and Claire. Her father stood up and whistled sharply, catching Charlie’s attention and directing her gaze towards him. Her grin grew, little hand waving as she jumped on the spot. Owen waved back as his wife tugged on the belt loop of his jeans, encouraging him to sit down. ‘What? She couldn’t see us.’ Owen grinned, pecking his wife on the cheek as she rolled her eyes, his mother pointing out that Charlie would have spotted them eventually.

He filmed the whole thing, phone raised, grin bright and wide across his face. Their little reindeer didn’t miss a beat, Charlie was the only concentrated kid on that stage, doing the moves her teacher taught her and singing at the top of her lungs. The others, despite all their best efforts, were a little star-struck by the lights and sounds, not to mention the waving parents they were trying to spot.

Charlie bowed when the song was finished, causing her grandparents to laugh as her teacher set the kids free to go find their parents. They lost her in that haze, adults and kids spread out on the grass, Owen hyper-aware that he couldn’t see his little redhead. She sprung upon them, jumping into their group of five and sitting in the middle. ‘Did you see me?!’ Charlie asked and they all nodded, jumping to praise the girl as Lorna pulled her into her lap and gave her a tight hug. ‘Miss April says that Santa’s gonna come! Can we stay a bit longer?’

They had already been there an hour and a half, Owen looked to Claire, trying to gauge how she was feeling without asking. She nodded silently as Charlie dug into the picnic hamper her grandmother brought, helping herself to a sandwich and a juice box as she grinned.

They were only little once and while they had the time to appease Charlie’s childlike fantasies, they would do so.

#clawen #jurassic world #despite the odds #charlie and elliot #charlie grady

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newtothewaywardparty · 7 years ago

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The Ghost of an Idea 5

Read Stave One: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 1

Read Stave Two: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 2

Read Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 1

Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 2

Stave Three: The Second of the Three Spirits

The clack of hooves were the first sound to penetrate Dean’s dreamless sleep. “Huh?” he snuffled into his pillow as he canted his ear towards the motel window. The unmistakable sound of a horse blowing air through its mouth? Nose? Whatever, Dean wasn’t really a rural kind of guy, cowboy fantasies notwithstanding. Anyway, that was definitely a horse within earshot of his room. He groggily pushed himself up off his stomach and stumbled towards the window. It was still open, cigarette-scented curtains waving in the sharp December Kansas wind. Dean peered out, wiping sleep from his eyes. Yep, that was a horse all right.

A big fucking white horse stood outside his window. Atop it, resplendent in velvet green Renaissance-style gowns, sat Charlie Bradbury, her auburn hair long again and styled with a circlet crown of twisted gold. She haughtily peered down at Dean. “Hop on, Handmaiden,” she ordered, tacking a crooked smile on at the end.

Dean eyed the horse warily. Again, he was more comfortable around engines than livestock. “Uh, I don’t really…” he began weakly.

“Shut up, bitch. Atreyu can smell fear.” Charlie said, suppressing laughter. She pat the horse’s flank behind her, indicating where he should sit. She extended the hand to assist him up.

Dean was expecting an embarrassing interlude that would rack up a lot of hits on YouTube (He could picture the headline now: Dad vs. Horse, Who Would Win?) Instead, the instant Charlie’s hand touched his, he felt the same weightlessness Jo’s touch had bestowed upon him. In a blink, he was seated, comfortably if not confidently, astride the brilliant white horse. Bow-leggedness had its advantages at times.

Charlie leaned forward in the saddle. “Engage.” she whispered with a smile in Atreyu’s ear, and they were off, flying through the air back to the bunker.

Dean tried not to enjoy it but it was hard, grasping Charlie’s warm green robes, watching the countryside float past in the darkness below. He had always hated airplanes but this felt almost nice. Secure. Maybe it was just Charlie. He adjusted his grip on her waist.

“Don’t get fresh, cowboy” Charlie teased, glancing back at him enough to wink. Dean grinned. Damn. He had really missed her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” he solemnly replied. He swallowed. Stingy. The word ricocheted around inside his head, fresh from his encounter with Jo and his trip down memory lane. “I, uh, really” Dean took a breath. “Missed you, Charlie,” he finished haltingly. See? He could use his words like a grown-up.

Charlie threw a knowing look over his shoulder. “Enjoy the clip show, did ya?” Dean avoided her gaze. “Yeah, Jo can come on a little strong. You should know, though; Bobby told her to not take it too easy on you. That’s how she got chosen for that part of the mission. I wanted to do the flashback sequence but he thought I’d be too nice.” Charlie scoffed. “As if.”

She whispered a command for Atreyu to come out of Warp and they descended. “You know the drill here, right?” Dean loved that about Charlie. She never acted like he was dumb. And she was almost as allergic to chick flick moments as he was.

Dean swallowed. “Yeah. Ghost of Christmas present, right?” She nodded and they hit solid ground, Atreyu smoothly trotting to a stop in front of the bunker door.

“Ladies first,” Charlie said, indicating the door. Dean rolled his eyes and opened it. They descended the stairs together, unnoticed. The scene was exactly as Dean had left it earlier in the night. An assortment of found and recycled ornaments adorned the Christmas tree’s branches. Lights were evenly distributed throughout the branches, except for where Sam had obviously tired of detangling them. A large knot of lights clumped in the back, where Sam probably figured no one would see them. Dean bit back an affectionate smile.

Dean’s eyes were immediately drawn to Cas. He was the brightest thing in any room. His posture was unusually relaxed back in his chair, which was pushed back from the table so he could watch Jack by the tree. He had loosened his tie, and gripped a beer bottle’s neck loosely in a hand. His eyes were wide and warm, focused on Jack.

Jack was stringing popcorn with an intensity and focus Dean associated with Cas. Dean noticed the needle in use had been liberated from their medical stash, probably last used to give someone stitches. Jack’s tongue was sticking out slightly as he aimed the needle toward the center of a kernel. Dean’s chest tightened in that predictable way when he thought about the nephilim and his relationship with his chosen father.

Sam sat at the war table. He leaned back, jamming his chopsticks with finality into a take-out container, and pushed his chair back, humming in satisfaction. Dean peered into the white box with Chinese characters on it, frowning at the veggie tofu dish inside. “Typical” Dean muttered, under his breath. Charlie elbowed him.

Cas took this as his cue, and pushed his chair back. He cleared his throat, looking at Jack, who dropped his craft project. “I’d like to propose a toast,” began Cas formally. Dean couldn’t help smiling. What a dork, he thought. He could practically hear the air quotes.

Sam looked surprised, then amused. He picked up his own beer bottle and waited for Cas to continue. Cas looked at Jack and raised an eyebrow, waiting. A few seconds ticked by before Jack picked up his own beer bottle, looking sideways at Sam to copy him. Dean was grinning now. That was just fucking adorable. Not like when Jack was trying to learn by imitating Dean. His grin slipped a little at the memory of how hard he had pushed Jack away at first.

Cas nodded, satisfied now that all members of their little party were participating in this social ritual. “To Dean,” Cas began. Dean’s mouth fell open in shock. Cas was still talking. “Even though he wasn’t able to be here tonight, he’s in our hearts. Always.” Cas raised his bottle a bit at this and made to drink when Sam interjected loudly:

“In our hearts?!” Sam’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. “I wish he was here right now. I’d serve him a piece of my mind.” Sam scoffed. “Shit, I’d shove it down his throat.”

“Sam!” Cas said in a warning tone, cutting his eyes at Jack who was watching, nervous and confused. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, yeah.” said Sam, running his fingers through his hair in a familiar gesture of frustration. “Just another Winchester holiday to remember; drinking a toast to a cowardly, weak man who ran out on his family.” He was as angry as Dean had ever seen him, lips pursed, pacing up and down in front of the tree, clenching his beer bottle tightly.

Cas put out a placating hand and repeated: “Sam. Christmas.” in a gentle voice.

Sam raked his hair back from his face, stopping his route in front of Jack. “I’ll drink to Dean for your sake and for Jack’s” said Sam, indicating them both with his beer bottle, “but not for his. A very Merry Christmas, big bro, wherever you slunk off to.”

Sam tipped his bottle up and Jack and Cas followed his lead, subdued. Dean’s face burned. How could Cas defend him like that? Why would Cas bother toasting Dean at all, like he was a worthy man, in the face of all evidence pointing to the contrary? He felt a flood of affection for his friend.

Dean felt Charlie’s elbow jostle his side again. “Aw. That was cute.” Charlie’s words held real affection. Dean gazed at Cas, who in turn was beaming at Jack, hanging up grody old socks for Santa. “You’re in his heart!” she practically squee-d, smacking his arm. Dean blushed furiously and looked away.

The truth was, Cas deserved better. He always had, and recent events did nothing to convince Dean otherwise. Why wouldn’t Cas get the hint and move on? Maybe he just needed time. Time away from Dean. Time to listen to Sam’s fairly accurate assessment of Dean’s strength and courage when it came to emotional intimacy.

But what if he didn’t move on? “What will happen to Cas?” Dean asked Charlie suddenly. Now that the worry had entered his head, he found it impossible to forget. Dean could always run; he had the Impala, he had hunting, he had alcohol and one-night stands and long- and short-cons and violence. He had Sam. In short, Dean had a lifetime of experience with unhealthy coping mechanisms for heartbreak and loss. Cas had no such practice.

Charlie just gave him a look of pity and understanding. “C’mon” she urged, dragging him up the stairs. Dean gave one last look at the trio around the tree, now exchanging presents wrapped in old magazine paper. He caught a flash of Cas’ teeth as he smiled broadly at the assorted-flavored Osage honey sticks Jack had bought him at a convenience store in the Ozarks. The metal door of the bunker clanged, cutting off the beautiful sight of that smile.

With a snort and a whoosh, Atreyu bore them aloft and they landed in a field outside the bunker. Charlie dismounted with an imperious air. She strode away from Dean a few paces. “I want to show you something” she said, grimly.

She whisked her green velvet skirts out of the way to reveal two tiny figures huddled by her legs. One was a person of extremely advanced age: emaciated skin dotted with skin sores, balding head peppered with white stringy hair, mouth puckered with toothless gums, hands tipped with claw-like yellowed nails, eyes cloudy with cataracts. “This is loneliness” Charlie intoned.

The other was an emaciated young teen, bright red scars lining their arms and legs. Their eyes were red with tears and their hair was greasy and unwashed. They were curled in on themselves, clutching their stomach and rocking themselves. “And this is self-loathing” Charlie said carefully, piercing Dean with a knowing gaze.

Dean moved on instinct. He rushed forward to help, but Charlie halted him with a ghostly strong hand. “Can’t you save them?” he shouted at her angrily.

“Dean,” Charlie began in a mockingly cheerful tone sharper than any Dean had ever heard her use in life, “Better for them to be alone, to be the ones pushing others away, right?” Dean grit his teeth. He had never said those words aloud, had only thought them to himself every time he wanted to gather Cas in his arms.

Her face softened and she said “I know you like to pretend to be functionally illiterate but even you’ve heard the Tennyson quote. ‘Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.’”

Dean snorted in derision. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the opposite of my life motto.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Again, Charlie threw his words back at him. “Why do you think I’m doing this for Bobby? We’re trying to get through to you, bitch.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, re-covering the shrunken nightmare figures below her skirts.

Dean retorted ‘I’m as free as a bird, now, and this bird you cannot change.” He crossed his arms across his chest with a defiance he did not feel.

Charlie’s look was pure pity. “Did you really just quote ‘Free Bird?’ What’s next? You going to tell me how when it’s time for leaving you hope I’ll understand that you were born a ramblin’ man?” She stage-whispered, “Do you ever think learning about love and relationships exclusively from your grief-addled father and classic rock lyrics might not have given you the healthiest outlook?”

Dean meant to sigh dramatically, to cast his eyes skyward, to give a witty retort, preferably with a nerdy pop-culture reference. Instead, he found himself reaching forward to pull Charlie into a hug. To press his lips into her red hair, to tell her just how much she meant to him. Just as his arms extended, she abruptly disappeared. A glance behind him showed Atreyu was toast, too. And now he was choked up with the loss of her.

He saw the glint of light off metal across the field had Dean prepared to flee. As the figure drew closer, Dean relaxed, if only minutely. It was a woman with a glorious crown of black curls, perfectly painted red lips lips, and a leather jacket Dean could find himself coveting. It was Billie. Death.

Read Stave Four: The Last of the Three Spirits

#destiel #deancas #A Christmas Carol #Dickens Crossover #Supernatural #Season 13 #Charlie Bradbury #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #jack is too precious for this world #futurefic #fanfic #feelings #angst

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sonataliadyer · 7 years ago

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i'm never gonna let you close to me, even though you mean the most to me — part one. ( solo. )

Location/Date/Time: The Apartment of Natalia Dyer & Ryan McCord / 12.3.17 / 11pm Background Info: Things between Nat and her boyfriend have been tense as his suspicions and jealousy towards Joe grow. Featuring: N/A; mentions of Joe Keery, Charlie Heaton & Dacre Montgomery @joeeykeery @socharlieheaton @dcreisms TRIGGER WARNING: N/A

Natalia had set up camp in a tiny cubicle in her favorite section of the library-kids lit-trying in vain to finish up a paper that was due in two days. Instead, she found her mind wandering. To macaroons and all black outfits and nights in Paris. And Joe. That was the natural turning point in her mind; the moment Joe’s name or face appeared in her conscious, it was time to focus back up on the paper. Because even The Rise and Fall of the Grecian Empire was better than reliving the feeling of wanting to kiss Joe Keery atop the Eiffel Tower. Not when she was this angry at him. Not after what Dacre had told her. Her thoughts on the whole Parisian experience were like a stormy sea: when one wave passed, another crashed, threatening to pull her under. That day she’d spent with Joe exploring the nooks and crannies of Paris had been full of ups and down. The random girl taking stalker-style photos of the two of them sort of looking like they were holding hands. Down. That view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, how stunning it had been. Up. That friend date which, at times, had felt more like a real date. Down…and also a little bit of an up. How much fun she had with that brunette boy, how much they had laughed, how easy things had ebbed and flowed between them. Up. How she felt a constant pang of guilt gnawing at her heart for enjoying time spent with a man who wasn’t her boyfriend. Down.

She knew she needed to jam the rest of this paper out and head home; she had promised she’d be home to decorate the apartment for Christmas with Ryan. Oh Ryan. He towered over Nat at six feet two inches but was thin as a beanpole with wavy hair that certain shade of gold you can only achieve by being a born and bred Southern Californian. He was a film major emphasizing in directing; upon her return from shooting season one of Stranger Things, they had been in the same intro class together where they’d bonded over a mutual love and adoration for the greats: Spielberg, Scorsese, Hitchcock, and the rest was history. Back in August, they’d moved into a small apartment close to campus together. Cohabitation, however, was a tricky thing and it wasn’t until she’d signed that lease and they spent their first few months together-the first time the delivery guy from their favorite Chinese restaurant recognized her and asked for a selfie, when Ryan had slammed the door in his face and their kung pao chicken spilled all over the foyer-that he revealed what Nat called his not-so-attractive side. He was often the picture of a modern day gentleman; other times, he was possessive, aggressive, and controlling. Nat was still trying to figure out how she could accurately predict which Ryan she would be dealing with at any given moment. It was exhausting.

The small actress slid her key into the lock and gave it a sharp twist before bumping the door with her hip, coaxing it open with arms full of textbooks and decorations. She’d texted Ryan asking for help upstairs. He hadn’t replied. Upon entering, she was greeted by the sight of her boyfriend sprawled on the couch wearing nothing but boxers, eyes glued to the tv. She could have confronted him, complained about how he hadn’t helped her upstairs but she was too tired to go on the offensive. And she certainly didn’t want to ruin their night before it even began. “Hi, baby,” she said as she dumped her things on the kitchen table and pushed her blonde hair out of her face, gathering it into a tiny ponytail at the base of her neck as she looked around the messy kitchen. “So I bought a bunch of stuff at Good Will. Really cute stuff that’ll look really good in here. I do have a little bit more studying to do, though, so we should get started sooner rather than later.” Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Ryan remained unmoving on the couch.

With a simple shrug, determined not to let Ryan’s shitty attitude annoy her, Nat began unpacking her bags of treasures: small porcelain reindeer pulling Santa in a sleigh, a pack of vintage hand-painted ornaments, and a giant red bow she wanted to use for a tree topper amongst other things. Dacre’s texts were flashing through her head, despite her trying her hardest to forget about them. “The one person who can literally light a fire up under your ass thinks you hate his guts right now.” “…my other best friend is so in love with you that it has him fucked in the head.” She had promised Dacre she would reach out to Joe, in light of this new information, but she’d been avoiding it all day. In all honesty, she didn’t know what she would say, how she would even start that conversation. She was sure he wouldn’t be thrilled about Dacre spilling the beans on the whole thing so she wouldn’t want to mention it…but if she avoided that part of it, what else was there left to say? She was also certain he wasn’t dying for the chance to see her. Not after the way she’s spoken to him last time they’d been together that night on the streets of New York.

She was so completely lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even hear Ryan until he was saying her name with a level of annoyance that could only mean he’d tried to call her back to reality multiple times. “Sorry,” she said, turning to grip the table behind her, her gaze falling to the blonde boy who was now standing next to the couch, his eyes on her. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering how that trip to Paris went. With Joe.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair, the other held his phone down at his side.

Nat wrapped her arms around herself, instinctively going on the defensive. “Um...it was a press tour, Ryan. We’ve talked about this before. I was there for work, not vacation. And certainly not a vacation with Joe. Charlie was there, too.”

“Right. Charlie was there.” A silence settled over them but the silence had an edge, something sharp and biting that whispered in her ear that he wasn’t finished saying what he had to say. “And were you standing in line at the Eiffel Tower holding hands with Charlie, too? Or was that just with Joe?”

Nat’s eyes immediately fell to the phone, noticing how his bare leg was brighter in one spot, meaning that his screen was unlocked and active. “What are you talking about?” She asked the words but she knew the answer: he’d found those pictures. The ones that girl had snapped of them while Joe was warming up her hands in his. Fuck.

#( &. solo. )#( &. never gonna let you close to me. part 1. )#// this got HELLA long so i split it into two post #sorry not sorry

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untttitled · 7 years ago

Text

You are Mine

My very first msr fic! I always wished we’d get to see Maggie’s funeral and obviously Mulder comforting Scully so I had to write a little something.

Her hands were shaking way before she started shaking hands with long lost relatives who offered half assed condolences. The door continued to swing open and closed causing Scully to shiver even more in her elbow length black dress with the Fall breeze. Bill was next to her, a bit more welcoming than his sister. Charlie was here too, meandering somewhere with guilty tears welled in his eyes.

“Dana, I’m so sorry.” The older woman hugged her too long and too tight. It was Aunt Patricia, her mother’s kid sister. Aunt Patricia pulled back and held Scully’s cheek, her matching blue eyes reflecting with tears. “You must be so heartbroken, as am I. I wish I was there with Maggie, it was so sudden though, huh?”

“It was,” Scully cleared her throat, “so sudden.”

Aunt Patricia smiled in sympathy. “I’ll take my seat now, we can catch up later.”

After that, it was a blur of greetings and struggling to remember everyone’s name. She glared at Bill, hating his very presence even at this moment of supposed togetherness. Mulder had been there when he wasn’t, how dare he speak to him like that?

“Can’t you just leave my family alone? There is no reason for you to be here, you’re not even family.”

It was a blow to Mulder’s face. Bill wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t family. He wasn’t Scully’s husband or Maggie’s son no matter how much he wished it were true. At the beginning of the day, Mulder had been by Scully’s side, aiding to every need, comforting every heartbreak.

It was driving Bill mad.

This is his mother’s funeral, Mulder had muttered in the dim hallway to Scully who was hanging onto his wrist. Her eyes were wide with fear that he would leave, that he would abandon her just like she did a few months ago. With a kiss on her forehead and a promise to stay close, Mulder had disappeared leaving her alone to hold down the fort.

The last few stragglers shuffled in as ten o’clock rolled around. Scully’s eyes wandered around the usual, comfortable church that she and her mother attended every Sunday. The stain glass window of Christ hovered above her, His eyes peering into her guilty conscience. The Virgin Mary stood in all her glory with her child clinging to her. It was a dark irony, Madonna and child as Scully stood there childless.

“We should go in,” Bill cupped her elbow, “Mass is starting soon.”

Scully yanked her elbow back. “I need to find Mulder.”

Bill scoffed in disbelief. “We’re at our mother’s funeral and all you can think about is him.”

She turned away before throwing a nasty glare at her eldest brother. Her hands began to shake again, half from sadness of the loss of her mother and half from the worry that Mulder had not fulfilled his promise. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she practically ran around the church like a madwoman.

And there he was, slouched on the plastic covered couch with his head in his hands. She breathed a sigh of relief, loud enough to catch his attention. His gentle smile was all it took for her to fall into his arms, falling into his lap, awkwardly.

“I thought you left.” She whispered into the collar of his crisp suit. She didn’t recognize her voice. It was all too desperate, all too weak, all too vulnerable.

“Never.” His voice was deep and comforting in her ear. She was perched on his knee like a child and Santa Claus. If only that were true, she’d ask for her mother back for this Christmas.

And then she’d ask for her son back too.

“Mass is about to start.” She stated plainly, sitting up and wiping a stray tear.

Mulder held her damp cheek. “Scully, you know I want to be there. And I want to be there for you, but Bill was right-”

“No, Mulder, stop.” She finally found her voice. “He was not right. Mom loved you just as much as she loved him, maybe even more.”

The chuckle that rumbled in his chest vibrated against her shoulder. He sobered up and held her impossibly small waist tighter with his arm.

“She’d want you up there. I want you up there.” Scully stroked his cheek, the stubble familiar on her fingers.

Mulder swallowed thickly. “Well then we should get going then.”

There were times where Mulder missed his G-man job. He missed the rush of investigation, the victory of profiling, the banter with Scully. Hell, he even missed Skinner. But then he’s reminded of the bliss that the future brought. He can kiss Scully in public and take her to dinner like a normal couple. She gripped his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder as they made their way back up to the Church where the crowd was slowly quieting.

They took their seats in the front pew, away from Bill’s irritated eyes. The pictures of her mother from various stages of her life were displayed at the alter. It brought a fresh onslaught of tears to Scully’s eyes. Mulder glanced down at his weeping partner and felt his heart fall ten stories high. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her flush against his side. He placed his other hand on her knee so she could draw strength from him, what little strength he did have left.

“Good morning friends and family,” Father McCue began his liturgy with a solemn face for the loss of his friend.

Throughout the vigil, Scully seeked refuge in the strong, enveloping arms of Mulder. He could feel the unease radiating off her about her speech.

“Calm down, you’re going to do great up there.” He whispered against her hair.

Scully closed her eyes momentarily, the Homily fading away, the only sound was Mulder’s steady breath. She laid her hand atop of his on her knee, his much warmer than hers.

The announcement of family speeches came out and Scully took a shaky breath. Bill glanced down at her from the opposite pew, one eyebrow up asking who would go first. Scully took a moment to look up at the photos of her mother. There was one from high school that caught Scully’s eyes, she looked so young and beautiful. She smiled so bright in the picture with her sweater matching the color of Scully’s hair. There was another one of a family portrait that Mulder couldn’t keep his eyes off of. Scully looked to be about four or five with her hair in pigtails and bangs. He wondered if their daughter would have looked like that.

Scully reached for the papers in her pocket, her hands moist as she crinkled it slightly. Mulder kissed the side of her head before releasing his hold on her.

“Thank you all for coming,” Scully gripped the side of the podium, “for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dana, Maggie’s youngest daughter.”

Mulder smiled up at her encouragingly, his eyes twinkling with pride seeing her up there. She looked so frail, beautiful, but frail. She met his eyes and felt her heart flutter.

He’s here. Of course, he’d be here.

“My mom was the strongest woman I know. And I’m sure everyone says that about their mother, but she truly was. Having dad away at sea all the time, she was the one who took care of us. She cooked, the best meals by the way, she sewed our clothes, acted as our own personal chauffeur and so much more. One year, I begged her to let us wear store bought costumes and guess what happened? Missy and I were nuns while everyone else was the ghostbusters or Madonna.” The crowd erupted in quiet chuckles and Scully breathed a sigh in relief.

“I miss her so much-” Scully’s throat tightened and her wet eyes were glued to the floor. That simple phrase tore through her body, it was painfully true. “I miss our Sunday brunches after Mass, I miss her smile and her jokes. But sometimes it’s hard to miss her when I see her in everything I do. I see her in the birds that sing. I see her in beautiful days where the sun shines down warmly on me.��

Mulder shifts in his seat, knowing what was coming next. She’d practiced countless

times in front of him, asking if her voice was too quiet or the words were too depressing.

“I see her in her grandchildren.” He saw her swallow thickly, wiping her tears with the bunched up tissue in her right hand. Only a few knew how difficult this part was for her and Mulder’s heart broke. All he wanted to do was run up there and take her home, wrap her in a cocoon of blankets and cook her favorite soup.

Scully looked at Mulder, searching for strength in his eyes. He mouthed, it’s okay, with his eyes anchoring her to this moment.

“I saw her in my son,” she began again softly, “I saw her in his eyes and his smile. Mom loved William with every ounce of herself. Mom was his best friend and partner in crime. There was nothing Mom enjoyed more than being with her grandchildren.”

With a few last anecdotes, Scully had successfully finished her speech and wobbly knees, she left the altar and bowed like the good Catholic she was. She felt like she was betraying someone, giving thanks to the Lord. There was nothing thankful about this situation. No one won here. Scully lost her mother and Mulder lost the only woman who was nurturing enough to be his mother.

Scully resumed her position against Mulder and shed a few more tears when she felt Mulder’s kiss on the top of her head. No matter how many times she had hurt him, left him, he would always be here. He was always present when she needed him the most.

The piano began to play Maggie Scully’s favorite hymn. It was beautiful, really. The song encaptured what it meant to pass, what it meant to die. There was hope in this song. Scully knew it by heart from Sunday school and Mass choir.

Do not be afraid, I am with you

I have called you each by name

Come and follow Me

I will bring you home

I love you and you are mine

With those words being sung by the crowd, something in Scully snapped. It felt like her heart had finally shattered and everything flowed in like a broken dam. Suddenly, Mulder’s arms felt constricting and she had to be released to catch her breath. Mulder never underestimated Scully’s strength but was caught off guard at her shoving his hands away from her.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she scurried down between the pews. The tears were openly flowing and it felt like there was an elephant pouncing on her chest. As if to hide away from prying eyes, she ducked her head and pushed the heavy oak doors, relieving her off the suffocating air back there.

Mulder was behind her in seconds, his presence being made known by his gentle Scully and a hand on her shoulder.

“She’s gone, Mulder, she’s never coming back! I won’t see her ever again, I can’t call her and ask her how her day was or ask her for dinner because I’m just too tired to cook. I miss her, god, I miss her so much and it’s not fair! It’s not fair!” She shouted through her tears. Mulder stood there silently, his hand holding her arm lightly.

“And she’ll never see William again, she’ll never see how great and beautiful and wonderful her grandson grew up to be.” There was a desperation in her voice that he had never heard before. She hiccupped through her sobs and started again. “He will never know her either. He was too young for him to remember how much she loved him and spoiled him. That’s my fault, it’s my fault. She hated me for giving him up, she’d never admit it but I knew she did. She despised me for giving up on him. She never understood.”

“Scully, stop-”

“We’ll never see him again. He’ll never know me.” Her breathing became steady, but the tears remained.

Mulder was at a loss of words. She was right after all.

“I never understood how you can look at me like that when you know that I left our son.” Her tone gentled a little. Her eyes bore into his, begging for him to hurt her, to make her feel something.

“Because I love you. Because I know you did the right thing. Because how we lived at that time was not safe for him. If he would have stayed with us, he could’ve died. He wasn’t safe with us.” His voice was stern and tried it’s best to be convincing.

Scully nodded with closed eyes. She leaned her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him tight like a teddy bear. “I just want to see him. I need to know he’s happy and safe and taken care of.”

Mulder hugged her tight to commiserate with the loss of their son. Old wounds are still wounds after all. “He is. He’s not a kid anymore. He’s fifteen and a grouchy teenager.”

She chuckled softly, imagining her baby boy a lanky teen with a smart mouth like his father. “Did I make a scene running out like that?”

“Maybe, but who cares?”

Scully pulled back and craned her neck up to look at the love of her life. “This is an impossible situation, but I’m very happy that you are here.” She smiled when his much larger hands held her face.

“I’m happy to ease your pain, G-woman.” He leaned down to kiss her softly. Her lips were cold and salty from her tears but nonetheless sweet. Her small fingers clawed desperately at his hair, pulling him closer, closer, needing to feel him all over. If it weren’t for the fact that they were standing in a church, she would have taken him on this marble floor.

Falling off her tip toes, Scully pulled away from the kiss with a smacking sound. His arms were still around her waist when she spoke up.

“There are some amazing sandwiches downstairs and a slideshow of mom throughout her life done by Steven Spielberg himself, Charlie Scully.” She joked, eliciting a warm smile from Mulder.

“Aw shucks, Scully, you remembered Spielberg is my favorite.”

#msr #the x files #the x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder

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every-hetalia-at-once · 7 years ago

Note

This blog is awesome!! Can I pretty please ask for some USUK?

Okay so I was going to do something seasonal but summer is gross and I just really love Christmas so here have this little Christmas fic :) ((it’s half past two in the morning forgive me))

Arthur scowled as the doorbell rang shrilly through the house, disturbing him as he sat reading in his comfortable armchair in front of the crackling fire.

Actually, this wasn’t exactly true. Arthur had scowled the first time this had happened, and he had been greeted at the door by a group of carol singers.

The second time the doorbell had rung he had been forced from his chosen spot to find Feliciano and Ludwig bearing gifts of Stollen, panettone and pitying looks at the confirmation that he was, once again, spending Christmas Eve alone. They meant well, but damn those two were annoying in their air of bloody contentment.

The third time the doorbell went it was the visit he had been resignedly expecting – his three brothers. This visit went as it did every year – they arrived with a slightly slurred shout of “MERRY CHRISTMAS WANKER” in a ridiculous imitation of an English accent and a group hug that was more suffocating than affectionate, and they left half an hour later with Arthur physically shoving them out the door.

The fourth time it was Francis, Antonio and Gilbert, who appeared to be even more intoxicated than his brothers had been. He simply shared a resigned look with Lovino and Roderich, who were following the three friends from a safe distance. They were presumably there to prevent a repeat of last year when they had decided to become carol singers, which was a doomed plan from the start as the only song they all seemed to know the whole way through was “Fergalicious” and, aside from Antonio, none of them could really sing anyway.

The fifth time it was actual carol singers again.

The sixth it was Francis, Antonio and Gilbert. Pretending to be carol singers. To their credit, though, they also seemed to know Allstar this year. Lovino and Roderich were filming them. Ah, so that was why they had been there.

So no, by the seventh time the doorbell rang Arthur was not scowling. Arthur was ready to bludgeon someone to death with the book he was trying to read. Honestly, who else was there out there who had yet to irritate him tonight? He answered his own question the split second before he met the eyes of the man standing behind the door. Alfred. Of course it was Alfred. And he was wearing a Santa hat.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” shouted the American, holding out a paper plate of brightly coloured iced biscuits, slightly soggy from the snow.

“Oh bloody hell,” muttered Arthur to himself. Then, glaring at Alfred, “What do you want?”

“Uhh… to wish you a Merry Christmas?”

“Obviously. Well, you’ve done that now so I suppose you can be on your way. Good evening,” said Arthur curtly, beginning to close the door.

“Hey, wait! Don’t you want the cookies I made for you?” yelped Alfred, rapidly disappearing behind the door.

Arthur stopped, and poked his head around the door enquiringly.

“You- you made those for me?”

“Well yeah! I was thinking about all those Christmasses we spent together when I was a kid, when you’d make cookies for me and they’d always get burnt so we’d end up just eating the raw cookie dough straight from the bowl and that one time I got salmonella and nearly died but you nursed me back to health and the next year Francis came round and baked the cookies for us so it wouldn’t happen again and he brought Gil and Toni and Liz and Lovi and Roddy came too and we all had turkey and anyway I cant remember where I was going with this but the cookies are for you.”

Alfred’s face was now slightly pink, whether from saying so much without pausing, the cold evening air, or something else.

Arthur was stunned. The fact that America had not only held onto this fond childhood memory (aside from the salmonella part) but had also come to see Arthur with a gift made his heart do an unexpected gymnastics routine in his chest.

“Anyway I should probably g-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

The two men stood there for a moment, Alfred smiling brilliantly and Arthur blushing furiously, before Arthur held the door open wider.

“Well? Are you coming in or not?”, he said, rather aggressively for someone inviting another person into their home. Alfred seemed not to mind though, and handed Arthur the plate of biscuits as he walked inside, wiping his shoes on the mat.

“Tea?”, asked Arthur, looking up from where he was busying himself with the kettle. “Oh do take that ridiculous hat off. It’s rude to wear them inside you know.”

“But it’s Christmas, Arthur! Get into the festive spirit.” grinned Alfred as he sauntered through to the living room. “And tea would be great!”

Arthur smiled into the cupboard as he rummaged for a box of mince pies.

Ten minutes later, Arthur came through to the living room with a cup of tea in each hand and a plate of mince pies balanced precariously between his elbows. He opened his mouth to announce the arrival of himself and the tea, but was amused to find that Alfred had fallen asleep on his sofa. He was exasperated to discover that the thing that had put him to sleep was the book Arthur had been trying to read all evening. Although, he thought, chuckling softly to himself, it was a bloody boring book. He probably would have dozed off himself if it hadn’t been for that damn doorbell. Arthur shook his head, still smiling softly to himself. Pushing aside piles of books and paperwork, he set the tea and pies down on the coffee table and walked up the stairs to the airing cupboard, where with a bit of rummaging he found the blanket Alfred had always slept with when he was younger. When he got back downstairs he carefully placed the blanket over the sleeping man and settled back into his armchair. He sipped his tea and looked at Alfred. He looked so peaceful, just as he had when he was younger. Although when Arthur studied him now, he saw not the face of the child he has been then, but the handsome features of a man. He knew every shade of blue in those beautiful eyes – even now, when they were closed, he could picture them perfectly. That ridiculous bit of hair that stuck up was there as always, and as always Arthur had to restrain himself from walking over and flattening it down.

“God, I love you.”

Arthur gasped and covered his mouth with his hand. Jesus Christ, had he really just said that? It was okay, though. Alfred was asleep. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that he had just confessed his love to somebody who hadn’t even heard him, but it was probably for the best, he told himself. He reached for a steadying sip of tea.

“I love you too.”

Arthur jumped, spilling tea everywhere.

“SHIT”, he managed to choke out, before dissolving into a fit of spluttering.

Alfred was off his seat in an instant, looking concerned.

“Hey, dude I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Were you even asleep?”, glared Arthur when he had recovered, doing his best to wipe the tea off his shirt. Or rather, he tried to glare. It was difficult with all the feelings that had obviously decided it was okay to invade his brain and chest.

“Nope, I just wanted to make you think I’d found your book really boring. It was actually alright. Then I got my blanket so I figured I should just go with it, y'know?”

“Of course”, added Alfred, with a grin, “If I hadn’t pretended to be asleep you never would have confessed your undying love for me, so I figure it worked out okay in the end.”

“Wh- I never said that, wanker!”

“I was paraphrasing.”

“You said it too.”

“Yes”, said Alfred, suddenly a little more serious, although he was still smiling, “and I meant it.”

That was it. The moment the feelings of hope, pain, and pure, breathtaking love that had been building in Arthur’s heart since before he had realised what they were finally exploded, and he pulled the taller man down into a kiss. Alfred seemed surprised, but thrilled, and the kiss was as sweet and perfect as he was.

For the first time in many years, Arthur felt safe, and warm, and happy. He also felt suddenly exhausted, and sagged slightly against Alfred. Alfred smiled, and easily lifted him into his arms and placed him on the sofa, where they fell asleep wrapped in the blanket together.

The next morning Arthur awoke to the feeling of soft lips pressed against his forehead, and a sleepy “Merry Christmas, sweetheart”, whispered in his ear. He smiled, happy at last.

Ahhhh I hope this was ok?? And thank you!

- Mod Charlie

#mod charlie #I am going to hate myself tomorrow I can feel it #wow that was my first ever fic #you can probably tell all this I don't know why I'm saying it in the tags #hetalia #fanfiction #usuk #aph usuk #aph America #aph England #human names #Arthur Kirkland #alfred f jones #hetalia fanfiction #christmas #hetalia usuk

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krysnel-nicavis-blog · 18 years ago

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HP: The Tape

Title: The Tape

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters/Pairings: Percy Weasley/OFC, Oliver Wood/OFC, Marcus Flint/OMC Molly/Arthur Weasley, Weasley family, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger

Wordcount: 1,862

Notes: Holiday fic/Christmas fic, family - Inspired by Michael Buble’s version of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” -

SUMMARY: The Weasleys receive an interesting gift for Christmas.

#Fan Fiction #Harry Potter #Percy Weasley/OFC #Oliver Wood/OFC #Marcus Flint/OMC #Holidays #Christmas #Family #Romance #Based on the Michael Buble version of I'll Be Home For Christmas

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rememberinggraceface-blog · 6 years ago

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Remembering Grace Face

This is the face of Grace Face. Those complex golden eyes, soft black ears, and though you can't see it, a missing tooth from an unfortunate (and if we're being honest, a kind of funny) mishap with the cat's laser pointer and a wood floor. We loved her. And every day for nearly 10 years, she loved us more than we deserved.

This is really a love story. Early on, we had a little talk. Decided it would likely work out. That we were stuck together anyhow so we might as well make the best of it. Shook on it. And our life together began.

See, I didn't intend to end up with her. It was an unexpected love. She was afraid of every dog, human, car, inanimate object when we first met...and nipped, sometimes bit, to defend herself from these "threats." But I was the exception. We were old souls from a past life, or she saw me for the giant sucker that I was, but she never feared me. I waited and watched as no one adopted her or even expressed an interest in her. And then I called a professional to find out what sort of training a dog with "fear based aggression" would require and was told "you probably shouldn't adopt her." Good thing for Gracie that I like being told what not to do.

It struck a chord. I knew she deserved a chance, that he was wrong, that no trainer should ever say that to someone over the phone. She deserved a good life and I intended to give it to her.

But it also wasn't always easy. Especially not at first. Once a dog we met that got too close once later found a piece of his ear missing -- don't worry, he was okay.

I remember waking up at 6 am before work to take her to the river so that she wouldn't have to encounter people or dogs. So that she could just hike and feel at ease.

Truth be told, I didn't know what I was doing. I made a lot of mistakes early on. But we grew together, learned together, and slowly, her world expanded. Watching her gain confidence was rewarding. She grew calmer and trusted more and more.

Just as we as humans never fully conquer our anxieties and flaws, neither did she. In fact, there was something admirable in her struggle. I saw victories and progress, but also setbacks, and, worst of all, judgments from people who didn't know our story.

I witnessed her always living on the boundary of fear and the fullness of all life had to offer. She was both fierce and gentle. Relentless in how hard she worked for a good life.

Before we give her too much credit, she didn't work THAT hard. I mean, look at her. She laid around a lot. She liked soft blankets, our bed, she wasn't always the thinnest, which can be fully attributable to her "meat" tooth.

Much to Charlie's chagrin, she preferred to walk with me. This is her "I melt when exposed to Vitamin D" face.

She could adventure hard when she wanted to, though. Cabin and hiking trips were her favorite. Like us, she was most alive in the woods.

With the caveat that all adventurous days must end in a fluffy sleeping bag. Especially if it inconvenienced one of her parents.

And living in Richmond, there was a lot of swimming. Including furious rock hopping across the James River.

Once we made it to Colorado, Gracie saw her fair share of sunsets and mountains. She stopped to appreciate mother nature more than most humans.

And then, there was her sense of humor.

Like the time I made her dress up as Santa on the tacky light tour.

And every Christmas, she willfully sported antlers as we decorated the tree.

Not to mention that goofy under bite that was so endearing.

Yet it was the quiet moments that meant the most. The early morning coffee walks on the James River trails before work, just me, her and the solitude of the woods.

While she didn't know as many people as other dogs, she was deeply loved by a small crew who never treated her as a "difficult" dog.

And she had a cat brother, who loved her, and showed it -- in the way he knew best -- by constantly stealing her bed. She never minded.

As she aged, she continued to grow and even mellow. Several years ago, we fostered kittens for the first time, and to our surprise, we discovered we had a kitten whisperer on our hands. She loved nothing more than having them crawl all over her.

And life really picked up for her when we moved to Golden, Colorado. Her exposure to new people and dogs was greater than ever before. It turns out, we had underestimated her in Richmond. We hadn't exposed her nearly enough.

At her mature age of 10, she learned so much in so short a time. It had been years since she had freely interacted with a dog due to a few close incidents, and now, she had met so many new friends. Riley (pictured here) is a case in point. We would go on many walks together in the neighborhood, looking for wandering elk and rabbits.

And as old folks do, she took up the art of gardening. She wasn't much for weeding, but she did enjoy nibbling on the chives as we did most of the hard labor. Our community garden was one of her favorite places to kick back after a hard day of doing nothing much at all.

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She also got a lot more of her favorite white stuff. Apparently we had been depriving her of real winters all these years.

And of course, in Colorado there was plenty of backpacking, or "glamping" for Gracie. (Yes, we carried her bed into the woods on our 30 lb packs because an old gal needs her creature comforts.)

We would have liked to have shown her more of Colorado. It was definitely her place as much as ours. Maybe we took too long to move out here together. But in those 9 months, we squeezed in so much life.

Even if good photos with obedient dog models wasn't part of that life...

Then, the end came too soon with just 36 hours to say goodbye. We had one final sunset picnic on a mountain top. We think she knew it was her last day. She felt it was special -- every minute was spent together, touching her, comforting her, reliving our best moments, and explaining to her that it would feel like a momentary separation -- but longer for us than for her.

When the time came to say goodbye, there was nothing but gentleness left in that soft rounded head and those golden brown eyes. She seemed to thank us for giving her so much, and we already felt empty knowing how much we were about to lose from a dog that the world said had nothing to offer.

In the last moments, we wrapped her in this quilt -- a quilt I made a few years ago when I was sick myself and she was endlessly by my side -- and scattered her ashes deep in the gentle creeks of Rocky Mountain National Park the following weekend, a place we know she would have loved.

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So, to the dog who loved fiercely but was seen by the world as too fierce to be loved.

....who never let fear stop her from living the full life she so desperately desired.

....who gave every bit of her soul to us and only us, making us feel chosen, since she didn’t exactly trust everyone.

....who proved that rehabilitation is possible and rewarding. That patience, hard work, (of course some professional training), realistic expectations, but really, just heaps and heaps of love and a "journey" mentality is all that matters.

And to the dog who totally chose us for that journey, because who knows if we would have taken the harder route willingly. It was entirely worth it.

Very lastly, to the PEOPLE who showed her so much love. Who convinced a dog that the world was a safe, happy, loving place to be. Thank you for being part of her story.

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