#oakwood inspiration wedding

[missfiggy]

I've been having so much fun with #thediscourse and thinking about how James Potter is absolutely from Devon that I may have been inspired to sit down and write my HC for Potter manor (which has another name in my HC) instead of doing actual work and stuff.

@clare-with-no-i and @thequibblah y'all are inspiring, brilliant, talented writers and it's. so. dang. distracting!

Click below for LONG hc ramble.

A residence at Hartscombe was first mentioned in the Domesday book as belonging to the feudal barony of the Lynleighs of Devon. Following the Norman Conquest, the lands were seized and the heiress of the Lynleigh barony was married to Nicolas de Ferrers who came over to England with William the Conqueror. The house stayed with the de Ferrers, eventually shortened to Ferrers for generations. They developed a reputation for being a great family and very important to the growth of the villages surrounding their estate. They were generous to their tenants and always condescended to join the town fair at Hartscombe celebrating the berry harvest every summer.

Unfortunately, at the end of the Elizabethan era, the Ferrers encountered a problem most dreaded among England’s most illustrious families: they lacked a male heir. Morgana Ferrers, beloved wife to Charlus, died in childbirth, leaving being the heiress of the great Ferrers’s estate and land holdings. Further complicating matters, Mariah was no normal child. On her eleventh birthday, a wizened old man knocked on the door of Hartscombe Hall. After a lengthy conversation with Charlus, the old man whisked Mariah off to a mysterious school in Scotland. While it was most shocking for a girl to be educated, let alone educated at a public school, the townsfolk were used to Charlus’s indulgence of Mariah’s whims. While at school, she met a young man named Ralston Potter, with whom she quickly became besotted. They were wed after graduation and possession of Hartscombe Hall passed into the Potter line.

The townspeople of Hartscombe noted a marked change in the relationship between themselves and the new landowner. Ralston and Mariah were perfectly amiable and certainly kept rents at a fair rate. The family withdrew from the general social intercourse of the town. They no longer presided over the berry festival, and even let go several of the domestic staffers who’d overseen the house for ages.

With every generation, the distance between the Potters and the people of Hartscombe grew, as did the rumors about the Potter family. The townsfolk became accustomed to hearing odd whizzes and bangs coming from Hartscombe Hall at all hours of the day. There was a rumor during the Georgian era, that a local boy wandered into the family’s vegetable patch and received a nip from the dog. The boy maintained he was bitten by a cabbage not a dog, but no one with any sense gave that story credence. Still, people started avoiding the grounds of Hartscombe Hall. Those that did wander in tended to end up on the other side of Exmoor with no memory of how they got there. During the celebrations of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, a local sot named Wilbur swore he saw great plumes of purple smoke coming from Hartscombe Hall as he left The Stagshead Arms, the town pub. Naturally, people attributed this to too much liquid celebration of Wilbur’s part.

At the end of Victoria’s reign though, the Potters had all but decamped from Hartscombe Hall. There were rumor’s that Henry received a political appointment though no one could figure out exactly what position, since he certainly wasn’t an MP. Like most great families, the attractions of London proved too tempting, and the Potters only returned for very brief stays during the holidays. When it was rumored that the last Potter heir, Fleamont and his wife Euphemia were in their fifties with no heir, the town expected that the great house would be sold to the national trust or be turned into a private hotel. These things were happening all across Devon, and it would be only natural that such a change might come to Hartscombe too.

Only it did not.

In the late 1950s, Fleamont and Euphemia took up permanent residence at Hartscombe Hall. They hired all manner of local tradespeople to upgrade the house with “every modern accommodation”. Plumbers, electricians, bricklayers, stonecutters, carpenters, and builders were brought in from the town and several neighboring villages. This marked the first time most of the townsfolk had ever seen the building up close. They thought it every bit as impressive as its storied reputation supposed it to be.

The long, curved drive that leads to the estate runs up from a stream at the base of the valley and serpentines up a large hill. Finally, the dense oakwoods surrounding the drive give way to a grassy clearing where the house stands. Constructed of roughhewn, grey stone, the sprawling manor claimed three floors and ten fireplaces whose chimneys rose over thirteen gabled roofs. The grounds are simply and tastefully landscaped. Flower and vegetable gardens are tucked around the sides of the estate, out of sight of the house’s facade. The front of the house opens onto a rectangular gravel drive that was outlined by grey stone bricks. These are rumored to be the footprint of the medieval great hall that gave the estate its name.

The house looks out onto open parkland extending beyond the formal gardens. The manicured lawn gave way to wild grasses that beamed golden in the sunset. Green alder trees sprung up from this yellow sea, bounded into large plots by verdant hedges. In the distance, where the two slopes of a neighboring valley met was covered by a stubby woodland. Following the east side of the valley up, exposed rocks jutted out from the hillside. To the west of the house, the land fell steeply off into a ravine cut by two converging rivers. The tradesmen never liked to explore these areas. If they wandered too far from the house or the main drive, they found themselves very easily confused in the dense woods.

Some townsfolk found it odd that the house had yet to be wired with electricity. Others found great amusement recounting the story of Fleamont being utterly dumbfounded when a builder wheeled a refrigerator into the refurbished kitchen (“You’da thought ‘ee’d never seen one in ‘is life!”). Though the more generous in town attributed these oddities to the nature of the aristocracy. Really fine people after all could afford chefs and never actually step foot in a kitchen.

Hartscombe flourished under the influx of money from the refurbishments. Though the townsfolk did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth, several people wondered aloud whether the Potters were really back for good. Such talk stopped in the fall of 1959 when Euphemia rolled out her grand designs for a new nursery. The Potter’s were expecting a baby.

Fleamont remembrance of Hartscombe from his own childhood, as he relayed to the workers building the nursery, were of traipsing through wild moors and ancient forests. He clambered up great oak trees and watched the massive red deer graze. The unrestrained beauty of the long, golden grasses flowing over the rolling hills, meeting up with dark forests and tumbling waterfalls were the perfect situation in which to raise a child, encourage an active imagination, and build a healthy constitution. Though raised in the city, Fleamont was at heart a son of the country, and he could not wait to raise his son there.

[peachebunnys]

Pain, with love V

pairing: Horacio Carrillo x reader

summary: Arranged marriages are tough, but add that with have a drug lord on the loose? Horacio Carrillo can only imagine what’s coming for him. 

warnings: none

a/n: I want to thank Twice for making the song ‘Feel Special’ which evidently inspired majority of this chapter :) Yet another filler lmao, things will pick up pace next chapter I promise 

4.2k words

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4

Chapter 5;

The constant cooing that came from the nearby window had woken Horacio up. A pigeon, in colours of black and white, was staring straight at him from the ledge, peeking past the undrawn curtains. Horacio blinked away the slumber, eyes trained on the bird as it continued looking at him, with an expression that he was sure was unamusement. 

The room was bright again, indicating the dawn of a new day as the sunlight shines yet again into the huge bedroom. It has been almost two weeks since Horacio and you moved into this place, but his items still sat by the door in brown boxes that were already collecting dust. He noticed that your items have been placed away, and the only thing left was Horacio’s personal memorabilia. There weren’t many things that Horacio kept with him, with just enough to fill two small boxes that were piled up on one another, neatly placed next to the huge oakwood shelf that was home to your vast collection of books. He hadn’t seen you read yet, but he blames it on the fact that he hadn’t been home enough to notice. 

His thick case file that he was going through the night before had documents sprawled across the floor, papers now disorderly unlike the way it was when Horacio had first brought it into the room. He silently cursed, asking himself why was it that he kept dropping items on the floor, especially in the mornings. 

He tries to turn his body to lie on his right arm, only to realise that there was a dead weight preventing him from doing so. Peeking downwards, he was pleasantly surprised to see you, curled up in his arms and still fast asleep despite the noises that came from outside. The sound of nearby cars and birds did nothing to budge you from your slumber, and Horacio was starting to think that maybe you were the heavy sleeper instead. 

Your hair was a mess, strands covering your face as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. His left arm was still around you, holding you against him as he gently stroked your shoulder in a comforting manner. Thoughts of the night before came back to him, and he continued running his fingers through your hair, smiling how close you were snuggling him throughout the night. Horacio, from his current laid position, could see the twinkle of the diamonds that decorated his wedding band, reflecting off the morning sun. 

His arm was starting to fall asleep, with that static-like feeling that he was all too familiar with after years of being in the Police Force. As much as he wanted to move away from you, he didn’t want to risk waking you up, especially since you were still in deep slumber. The room suddenly felt way too hot all of a sudden, and Horacio opted to remove the blankets that covered his body, only to find that your left leg rested on top of his.

She’s practically clinging onto me, he thought, letting out a shaky breath.

Your soft smooth skin against Horacio was starting to make him redden, and he covered your tangled legs with the blanket again, head leaning back into his pillow as he thought of what he could do to leave this compromising position. 

You shifted again, and Horacio instinctively closed his eyes, pretending to still be asleep to avoid any awkward confrontations. Your hand, which was once tucked under your body, had now rested on Horacio’s chest. You moved in closer to him, basking in the warmth that he radiated from his body, while still being very much asleep. Horacio peeked at you again, noticing your soft snores as you continued cuddling him, pushing him closer to the edge of the bed. 

This would’ve been nice, if it weren’t for the fact that Horacio’s left arm was starting to ache badly. He thinks through the many ways he could get out of this situation without waking you up, in which he came to the conclusion - he couldn’t. The way your head rested so nicely on his biceps made him wonder if it was a comfortable position for you to sleep in. He couldn’t possibly imagine his bulging muscles were soft enough to lie on, let alone sleep on throughout the night.

He takes a quick breath and grips your head pillow tightly, sitting up so he could move you properly. He gently cradled your head with his free hand, lifting you up just enough till he has you on your side of the bed, resting comfortably on your pillow. He retracts his arm, now firmly massaging the muscles as it started to throb with pain, the static-like feeling now flooding his entire limb. Still on his knees above you, he pays little attention to you, missing the way your eyes were starting to flutter open. 

His face was merely inches away from yours, still occupied with kneading his fingers against his muscles to notice the close proximity between the two of you. The sunlight illuminated half of his face, his brown eyes becoming a more prominent hazelnut shade that was so beautiful, you almost felt yourself get lost in them. You had let out a soft gasp, which made Horacio snap his head towards you, staring at your half asleep state. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, did I wake you up?” His voice was smooth and deep, laced with concern that made you squirm from under the sheets. 

“No,” you paused, noticing he was still so close to you, doing nothing about the current situation, “you didn’t.”

 His stubble was starting to grow, the small hairs long enough to give that scratchy texture that you so desperately wanted to feel, and in the heat of the moment - you did.

 Horacio’s eyes widened by the tenfold, his heart racing as your soft palms cupped the right side of his face. Your eyes were focused on his growing stubble, ghosting your fingers along his jawline to feel the slight prickly feeling. 

Horacio slowly brought his hand up, holding yours against his skin as the two of you stared at each other, almost like in a trance. His lips were so pink and full, something you were sure was soft as well. Your eyes danced around his face as you observed how intently he was staring back at you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite pin down. 

You were looking back at him, mouth slightly agape, and Horacio wanted nothing more than to kiss you and feel your soft lips against his. There was something so intoxicating about you in this moment, and how you looked at him with admiration. He was practically drunk on the feeling of how you were so addicting, like a force between the two of you that was pulling him in. He could, he thought, he could do it right now if he wanted to.

He could lean his head just a bit forward and kiss you, giving in to the temptation to finally feel your lips against his. You could sense the conflict in Horacio and you gently rubbed your thumb over his cheek, smiling as he leaned into your touch just a bit.

“Thank you,” you spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of you, “for comforting me last night. It really meant a lot to me that you were there for me.”

Horacio blinked slowly, struggling to fight the temptation that wanted him to pull you close to him, just as he did last night. “I know how tough it can get when you lose a loved one,” he smiles sympathetically at you, “I see it almost everyday at work.”

Your thumb had stopped caressing his face, and now your expression took a more serious one.

You shifted your position to look at him properly, letting out a shaky breath before you continued.

“Horacio, promise me one thing,” you plead. Your eyes staring straight at him, searching for something that Horacio could only wish he knew what it was. “Promise me you’ll be safe, and that you won’t purposely put yourself in harm’s way again.” 

Horacio opened his mouth, almost replying to your request until he caught a glimpse of your eyes, now blurry with unshed tears. 

“I know this relationship between us is still new but,” your voice was getting higher, mind plagued with thoughts of the fact that your husband could die at any minute out on field, “I don’t want to lose you too, I don’t want to be alone again.”

The tears spill down your face, rolling slowly down your temple as you shifted your position in bed, hand still cupping Horacio’s face gently. He swallows slowly, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as your words settle in his head. It was true that he could potentially die out there, as the war on drugs was an unforgiving one. You even witnessed it first hand when he had stumbled home, covered in blood that was unfortunately his, almost bleeding to death in your hands. Even so, you doubt this was the worst he’s seen, and that made you panic.

This incident made you realise that you were just one call away from becoming a widow, and the nightmare of your father the night before had opened your eyes to the imminent danger Horacio faced every day at work. You could lose him, and when- no, you refused to think that way. If something bad were to happen to him, you wouldn’t know what you’d do with yourself. 

As he held you in his arms last night, you thought about how the rest you’ve gotten was the best you had since the passing of your father. There was just something about Horacio that made you feel so safe, like nothing in this world could hurt you as long as he was here next to you. You didn’t miss the way Horacio’s eyes were also starting to get glassy as well, closing his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. 

He was close enough that you could smell the faint scent of bergamot and wood, a scent so uniquely his that you’ve grown to love. The gears in his head were still turning, and you slowly brought your hand down from his cheek. His focus was on you, smiling as you waited for his answer, in which he replied with absolute conviction. 

“I promise.”

The way he had said it, the promise and the weight behind the words gave you chills. You nodded at him, wiping away the stray tears from your face. You turned your head to notice a whole flock of pigeons by the window, cooing and fluttering their feathers against the glass panels. You could hear the children on the streets giggling and screaming with joy, indicating that the day had already begun. 

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Horacio already moving out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. As soon as the door closes behind him, your body relaxes and you stare at the ceiling, thinking back to the conversation that you had earlier. You move to curl your body into a ball, too deep in thought to notice Horacio coming out of the toilet and staring at you, heart breaking at how upset you looked. He didn’t think he would’ve had this conversation with you so soon, but it looked like his injuries had bothered you more than he anticipated, making his heart ache at how much he’s unintentionally hurt you. He slowly walks over to you, footsteps light as he takes a seat next to you on the bed. 

“Hey,” he calls out, “you should wash up, I’ll prepare you breakfast.”

“Oh no Horacio it’s ok-”

“I insist, please.” His eyes twinkled as he moved towards the door, “what was it that you liked again, eggs?” 

You let out a soft gasp at his question, “you’ve noticed?”

He scoffed, eyes widening as his face had a very telling ‘are you serious’ look, “you’ve been eating it almost every meal.”

Without a second thought, you slapped yourself on the forehead, totally forgetting the fact that the two of you have been eating together more often lately, “oh right, I forgot.”

He beams at you, head tilting over to the direction of the door, “I’ll see you in a bit then.”

The eggs in question were surprisingly good, and you were pleased to find out that something so simple could be even more delicious than it already was. You practically devoured it, licking your fork as you finished your meal. Horacio grinned at how you ate so quickly and continued finishing up his meal, taking both of your plates once the two of you were done. 

“Maybe you should rest today, I’ll handle the household chores.” Horacio had poured the soap on the dishes, reaching out for the sponge by the sink. 

“You’re kidding!”

“No,” he eyes you with amusement, “I’m not.”

You walk over towards him, grinning from ear to ear as you watched him carefully clean the plates. “Alright then, let me give you a list of chores that need to be done by today.”

Horacio paused to look up at you, noticing your gleeful expression. You started looking around the room, observing the various items in silence. You were an arm’s length away from him, deep in thought before quickly rattling off the things he needed to do for the day. Which was unsurprisingly a lot.

“Could you wash the curtains, and bedsheets today? Oh, and we’re out of some groceries like milk, onions, cheese and carrots. I think today is a good day for you to pack away all your belongings too, the boxes by the doors? And before I forget, please do the laundry too, the sun is out so it’d be a good time to finally dry them.”

Horacio frowns as you listed out the activities, mentally trying to remember what you had just mentioned while counting on his fingers. His head was tilted to the side, lost in thought before being disrupted by your light smacking on his arm, “too much to handle?”

“Of course not, I’ll do all of it for you.”

You watch as he continues cleaning the dishes, muscles flexing every time he exerted strength to clean a tough stain. It certainly was a sight to behold, you thought, something you could definitely get used to. However, as time went by, you noticed his unusually stiff movements, especially when he had crouched to pick up the fallen rag. His body jerked up and he immediately gripped his sides, clear that his wounds were still causing him pain.

Oh!

You had forgotten to change his bandages!

You walked over to him, hand gently resting on his broad shoulders, waiting for him to look up at you before you spoke. “Let me re-medicate your wounds for you, it seems like both of us have forgotten to tend to your bandages.”

Horacio looked up at you, noticing your gentle smile towards him. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as you slowly dragged your palm down his shoulders and to his arm. 

He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to someone looking out for him and wanting to be near him. 

For years he has been living alone, delving into work without giving a second thought towards having a relationship with anybody. He was always so busy, more at work than at home most of the time. Horacio didn’t even think he would ever get married, and the idea of being in a relationship with someone was a distant one - if not there at all. 

His parents, when they heard of your father’s final wish, were taken aback to say the least. They weren’t quite sure themselves if it was a good idea to wed their work-obsessed son to their best friend's daughter, afraid she would spend more nights alone than with him. Horacio was the one who told them he’d make it work somehow, and here he was, trying to do exactly that. 

Having you wake up next to him, bodies entangled to no end, made Horacio realise how badly he always wanted a domestic lifestyle - to just relax for once, with his lover in his arms as he softly sang them a song from his childhood, sharing fleeting smiles and kisses. 

But you weren’t his lover, not when everything he feels for you was one sided.

Loneliness.

The more time he spent with you, the more he yearned for a normal life with you. How he wished that everything was different. That he wasn’t a cop, or that this relationship wasn’t arranged, and that the two of you had genuinely fallen in love with each other. Maybe then, would he be able to take you in his arms, just as he wanted to now. 

“Horacio?” Your eyebrows were cocked up in confusion, “you alright?”

He stuttered out a response, managing to answer ‘yes’ to your question as he slowly stood up from his position. He walked over to the nearby stool to take a seat, removing his soft cotton tee without hurry. He tossed the shirt over onto the counter, looking back at you as you gathered all the items needed to clean his wounds. 

You took out the bandages, one by one, and Horacio was starting to feel the slight sting of the cool air against his skin. His breathing had become laboured again, feeling your soft touch against his chest. You began dipping the clean cloth in medicated water, lightly dabbing it on the area around the punctured skin. 

He could tell you were getting nervous, hands trembling ever so slightly as you struggled to replace the first bandage. Horacio noticed your eyes were once again watery, blinking away harshly to prevent them from falling like they did this morning. 

“Don’t,” his large hands holding your smaller wrists tenderly. He shakes his head as you look right at him, eyes wide and welcoming, “I’ve already promised you, haven’t I?”

You sniffle, silently nodding at him as you plastered the bandage onto him. You managed to steady your hands the rest of the time, glancing up at him to see if he was facing any form of discomfort, only to be met with a reassuring smile. God, how was he even more handsome up close? His high cheekbones, beautiful brown eyes and comforting smile was doing nothing to ease the butterflies in your stomach. You were practically acting like a schoolgirl who had a crush, swooning over how gentle Horacio was being with you. 

You carefully finished patching him up, silently admiring the good work you did as soon as it was over. You packed away the medkit and walked over to wash your hands, hearing the loud scraping noise from the stool as Horacio moved out of his seat to continue his chores. 

“Horacio,” you quickly glanced over at him, “I’ll help you out, it’s too much for one person to do!”

“Nonsense! If you can do it all by yourself, so can I.”

“Horacio, you’re injured, remember? I don’t want to risk the wounds opening up again and getting infected.”

Horacio pauses in thought, thinking over your words before reluctantly putting away the broom he was currently holding, “what would you like me to do now?”

You move your head in direction of the stove, signalling him to come over. “Since you cook like a five star michelin chef, why don’t you cook lunch for us?”

“You sound sarcastic about the chef part,” his frown deepened as he registered your words.

“I’m not! I swear! You’re really good at cooking, should’ve become a chef, huh?”

He beams at your words, walking over to the refrigerator to take out the food, “that’s what years of staying alone does to you, I couldn’t just eat eggs everyday.”

“What? I wouldn’t have minded that.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” he places all the ingredients out on the kitchen counter, washing the vegetables under the sink before placing them in a bowl, “you’re the first person I’ve ever met who loved eggs so much.”

“That’s impossible! Eggs are amazing! You can have them in so many ways! Scrambled, hard-boiled, sunny side up, soft boiled, and those are just to name a few.” Your fingers were up, counting the various ways to consume the eggs. 

You were now leaning over the kitchen counter, watching how swiftly Horacio chopped up the vegetables. You were in a trance, mesmerised by how he was so quickly chopping up the onions and placing them in a bowl next to you. The rhythmic thud of the knife against the chopping board was so pleasing to hear, and if you didn’t have anything else to do at that moment, you were sure you would’ve watched Horacio cook all day.  

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Horacio’s once serious face breaking into a huge grin. 

“Sorry?”

“Oh you know, like washing the curtains, doing the laundry or buying the groceries?” He teases, eyes sparkling with mischief as he glanced up at you. 

You let out a loud groan, dragging yourself towards the laundry basket, carrying the bulky item towards the yard, “alright alright, I’ll see you later then!”

The rest of the day went by smoothly, with the two of you working together to finish up the chores quickly. By the end of the day, the two of you were spent, resting your bodies for what felt like the first time in forever.  

Horacio was busy with his case files again, studying each detail carefully under the warm orange light that came from the bedside lamp. You watched him flip over the pages every few minutes, eyebrows tightly knitted together as he scribbled notes by the margin of the documents. 

The room was cold again, but luckily it was clear out, with the moonlight shining into the room and onto the foot of your bed. You absentmindedly ran your fingers over your left hand, feeling the ring on your finger and smiling to yourself. 

Just by spending two full days alone with Horacio, did you start to learn a lot about him. Like how he always intently listens to you share stories about your childhood, or how he would always be there to help you with anything, no matter how small the favour. These were the things about him that you found endearing, that only ramped up your butterflies whenever he was close to you. You knew that he struggled with words to say to you, but even so did he remember to always thank you for helping him, showing his gratitude in other ways like offering you food to eat - knowing that whatever he cooked was definitely going to be your new favourite. 

You listened to the soft hooting from nearby owls, eyes fluttering close as you allowed your body to succumb to its exhaustion. The wildlife sounds from beyond your windows were like a soft melody, lulling you to sleep before you even knew it. 

Horacio too, was struggling to keep his eyes open again, yawning ever so often as he continued looking through the file. As he flipped the pages, he heard your soft snores which made him realise you had fallen asleep rather swiftly - on a more peaceful note this time. 

He studied your sleeping form, thinking back to the events that happened throughout the day. How you were so good to him, and how he didn’t quite believe he deserved all the kindness you gave. The encouraging smiles and compliments you whispered to him whenever he did a chore well was something he never knew needed, and it only made him yearn for you more. 

He didn’t think it would be possible to catch feelings this quickly, but boy was he falling for you fast. Like a drug, he couldn’t get enough of the feeling you kept giving him - as if he meant everything to you in the world. 

But he knew better. 

He doubted you felt the same way, especially since everything between the two of you was happening so rapidly. And so he decided to keep it to himself, in hopes that maybe his feelings will be buried amidst other things. 

He takes one last glance at you, noticing how soundly you slept next to him, closing the gaps between the two of you just as you did the night before. His heart melted, watching you with a smile on his face as he finally switched off the lights, placing his case file on the nightstand.   

He rubbed his eyes roughly, letting out a soft sigh as he turned his body towards you. Horacio felt your hand instinctively rest on his stomach, leaning closer to bathe in the warmth he exuded. He thus moved closer to you, pulling the blankets to cover the both of you entirely. 

With your hand resting on his chest, his heartbeat spiked again, cursing himself over how a small gesture could make him feel so much. He closed his eyes, feeling himself slip into a gentle slumber, to only the sounds of your soft snores and the ticking of the clock that bounced around the room. 

Maybe it’ll work out, but it wasn’t falling in love that Horacio was afraid of. 

It was falling in love with someone he felt deserved better. 

Falling in love with you. 

[gypsy-caravan-found-objects]

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[writedelights]

Little Failures - Short Story 

Frank Rooney had been the manager of the Shop & Save for thirty-eight years, and he wasn't retiring anytime soon. From high school graduation up until now, at the ripe old age of fifty-six.

Working at a grocery store was least among his failings and flaws. He liked to believe that his greatest success had been his two girls. He acknowledged this every day he passed the traffic stop en route to their old school, or adjusted his mirror to get a look at where their faces should have been, down to where their skipping exit would be when the afternoon bell rang, and spilled a chaotic racket onto the sidewalk. Altogether as a family they had survived.

Most people considered living in the town of their birth the ultimate failure, and Frank knew this, he could see it in the smirks that people like him, normal, plainspoken, were usually the butt of every joke, but he didn’t let it bother him.

But it had bothered the girls, they inherited the same ‘bug’ as those people who derided him.

He had tried to fix it with a roadmap, and set out in an old Dodge Xplorer. A cleansing road trip was a cliché solution for family troubles, but then so was the mind of a man who had holed himself up in a town with a population of 1,300. He and Bridgette found a way to make it work, she was a middle school history teacher so it was easy for her to take time off.

The van made its way through the sunken forests of the Smokies, and past berry picking black bears in the brush. On the descent into the valley, his wife and the girls seemed to enjoy the letting in the breeze of change through the window. Trees stretched to the horizon, but it didn’t assure them sanctuary from reality.

Collections of backpackers, and buses, lurked at the stop points. So, Frank parked their van near a creek away from it, and pitched a tent in a clearing. By light of fire he told bad ghost stories, until a bear got a bit too close and curious. Bridgette and Amy dashed for cover, leaving Karla behind laughing as the bear burrowed its way into the cooler. He had to wrench her from the spot and into the van with the rest of them. Even after it was over, and they were safe inside, Amy continued to quiver in Bridgette’s trembling arms.

They made it, though it spelled the end of their vacation. He moved them to the camping grounds to get a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Soon, another family’s jersey wearing son caught Karla’s attention, and she came in late smelling like dope. Bridgette pulled her into a hug, and rubbed the scrappily piled brown hair. Naturally, as her father he gave her a stern talking to, but she walked out and slammed the cabin door on him. By the time the whole thing had blown over, he lost his former stamina, and decided to pack up.

At home again, Amy stripped off the pink lining of her Oakwood shelves and enlightened them with authors like Nathanael West, Camus, Dostoevsky, and Orwell. While Karla covered her side of the room in concert posters, and her taste in music became an ode to modern pathos, courtesy of her older friends, none of which she would introduce to her parents.

 Once Amy began her part-time job at Shop & Save, neither could come to agree on respective bed times, so Amy drew a demarcation line along the center, and Karla avoided it by staying out later.

Amy’s blind ambition worked like a jinx to Karla, the more ribbons, honor rolls, and trophies she brought home, the more trouble Karla seemed to attract, in the shape of habits and words she used. Frank threw in more hours just to contribute to Amy’s college savings and Bridgette got caught up in the fever of ambition along with her.

Over meals, Frank tried incorporating reticent questions, to get them talking, but the challenge of bringing the two to even speak proved more aggravating than the silence, chatter brought about as much cheer as the overhead fan threading through the table.

The school had to point out Karla’s nameless struggle, and her resistance to change anything made assigning labels with treatments harder to come by. Karla’s fill of plight doubled only as Amy’s hunger for recognition deepened.

Half a decade went by and Amy moved, during her first semester at college she chose to major in philosophy, which both Bridgette and Frank were disappointed to hear. After all, what good would talk do?

But she was determined to prove it worthy. She married a classmate, Brian Fancher whose well-mannered Southern accent did not betray his disgusting underbelly. He went on to work for a prestigious law firm, and as they later learned, developed a prestigious list of sins and vices to accompany it.

He shook Frank’s hand with all the sincerity of a car insurance salesman and flaunted his unnecessary double-breasted suit.

“You think you’re well-suited to my daughter?”

“Not exactly a mot juste?”

“Excuse me?” Frank said.

He looked from Frank to Amy, and then back again to her hopelessly uncultured and confused parents. Amy laughed apologetically, and continued with what she must have seen as more vocabulary fitted for her parents.

Karla’s became an obscura of what she was before she suffered from addiction. After her lightning and thunder marriage and divorce, before or after that, it was never clear with her.

She returned home after a stint in rehab, and when there was any mention of Amy she would leave. She retreated into her comic outlook, which she sustained even in darkness, but it only became a cloak for the breakdown.

Karla would leave her phone at home, disappear for hours at a time, so that Frank and Bridgette had to scour the streets around the town for her wandering form. Afterward, she would walk around the house in a tube top and smiley socks to offend them and their effort to tame her.

These inspired conflicts blocked any improvement, it seemed to come less from her struggles and more from the way she interpreted things. Frank gave encouragement and advice as best he could, but Karla as always, remained unavailable, her progress was her own. Finally, the swinging defeats pushed her to announce that she would move out and live on her own again.

Bridgette and Frank, again, had been reduced to extras in their daughters’ lives.

One Christmas get-together, over a customary Santa centerpiece, Amy started talking about herself, painting images of a pristine city apartment with high ceilings, and expensive holidays in Florida. Then suddenly she remembered Karla, sitting there stonily, whose job was at Shop & Save kept her from these luxuries. Amy followed it up with a prompt apology, but manners could not make up for the embarrassment itself was a put-down. An argument ensued and Karla told her she had become the worst version of a sister, a Frankenstein. That was the last time Amy visited home, and they were altogether, even without Brian it was clear that this was more than a whistle stop for the pair.

And when it happened, and word reached, Bridgette called the store, as she spoke, carefully chosen words, a confused array of memories swept by Frank’s eyes. He couldn’t speak.

Bridgette made all the arrangements, and one was for Karla to say a few words, but she had already left, and didn’t show up at the funeral, and no one knew how to get ahold of her.

Like surreal glimpses of motion of drama in a film, Frank saw his strong and lovely daughter reduced to a mannequin in the wedding dress she had requested she be buried in.

Brian only suffered a few minor injuries, and the Police Report said that it had been Brian at the wheel, and he had probably steered too far to the left, and because of the ice could not take control fast enough.

He had never been an eligible husband for Amy in Frank’s eyes, but somehow, he had gotten her, and kept her, selfishly, up to her death from her family. To honor Amy, and show respect at her funeral, Frank waited until the wake to throw a punch in Brian’s face. He never fought back to Frank’s disappointment, and as if to spite him went on to marry and have kids.

Bridgette found some way to blame Karla and Frank for her death. Amy had loved Brian, in spite of all his shortcomings, and as her mother she had found a way to shield herself from the worst of him, too.

A deliberate bam came from the living room, and Frank ran in to see what had happened. Bridgette was on the floor and a lamp, lay stubbornly unbroken beside her. Karla stood helplessly by, she offered her a hand to help her up, but Bridgette slapped it away.

Bridgette unleashed a string of curses at her. Coming from a church-going mother, it left a usually foul-mouthed Karla speechless.

Bridgette would sit in their old bedroom sorting through her old things, stroking them as if each were timeless treasures, when he asked to help she would turn away. If he suggested she at least take them someplace else, give them away, or sell them to a flea market, anything. She would respond bitingly, her lips curdling as if he were sewage.

It got worse when she finally got to clearing out and read one of her diaries. She held it out to him, “Look, look how sweet she was, her poetry.” She peeled away a graying strand from the damp of her face. “It was so inspired.”

He shook his head, and waved the offer away. There was nothing he could say to this, besides that words didn’t do any good to the dead.

His job sometimes required late hours, and the house was usually in darkness at his arrival, and Bridgette fast asleep. Until one night, the bright lights coming from inside the garage alerted him something wasn’t right. He found her just in time, and she managed to recover from it, but he remained forever fearful when he said goodbye in the morning Bridgette.

He even considered stepping down so that they could spend more time together. Thoughts of her plagued his lunch breaks, and the security he has sought in his job. Help was needed. Even though he didn’t too much trust it, as it had never done Karla any good. Still, he got Bridgette to see a therapist, and eventually joined her. There wasn’t much else he could do, since she had started refusing to go to church.

Months after their first session, something happened, she started to open up, and said she was getting better. Of course, this was good news to him, if she could move forward, so could he, but he had never given much thought to what variety of moving on it was she had selected.

It was like experiencing the same heartbreak all over again. The debris of all those years rained down on him. She had taken what shred of manhood he had left, and stamped all over it. The only remembrance he had of that day was he had stained his shirt with mustard in a hurried attempt to eat before the session, and then only because she had continuously pointed it out to him.

Talk only secured that the synapses to Bridgette was lost without Amy and Karla around.

The therapist, Waterson, stared like she expected Frank to seek help to convince her to stay, but he couldn’t muster it, even though he really didn’t want her to go. Even more remarkable, the whole time she never once used the word ‘divorce’.

Frank’s existence exasperated her.

When she packed her things up, he would think of things he could say to comfort her, make it smoother, but no words came, only the strange notion that theses peculiar monologues were being transmitted to Bridgette aloud and rejected.

Days creeped by, and then came the inevitable agreement that things were beyond failure, that a separation just wasn’t enough, psychology had become the only mouthpiece they could communicate through and now it was gone.

After it happened his co-worker McKnight gave him a Churchillian speech about moving forward. And Frank could not even bring himself to feel insulted. He had accepted it, the least favorable solution to a painful equation.

He stopped worrying about money, gas, and all the other mundane things that had usually consumed him. Now, he became a forgotten man, at least he made himself determined to become one. The morning itself became an alluring reward. Life took on a distinctive rhythm.

Somewhere deep in his subconscious he realized that the understanding he had of himself up to that point had been a façade. The face he wore every day, the usual Frank was wearing a mask, that fooled him as much as it had fooled other people. That he had not really encountered any struggle up until that point for him to see it. Accepting it was the hard part. There is no such thing as transcendence for the worst events, but struggle to get through it in itself ushered in a form of meditative ease.  

These days he was taken to getting up early, turning on the radio, and not listening while he drank his coffee. Despite this, his colleagues, and other members of the staff became concerned when he refused a promotion to Marketing Officer at one of their regional offices. They had heard about his wife and were afraid that he might take a gun to his head.

So, Frank called up the Head of Regional Offices, Dale Wiley and personally thanked him for the offer, but that he was accustomed to small town living, and had to turn it down, but meant no disrespect to the company by it. He was thankful to hear this in person, and it put the worries of suicide to rest, at least for the moment.

He wondered why he still lived in the town after all that happened, all the memories, he even started looking at job offers in the city to convince himself a change of scenery might offer prospective, but almost as soon as he started to get down to it, the setting took on the tint of hope again, and the effort of moving dulled.

One particularly warm Sunday morning, Karla showed up on his doorstep. She looked better, and she didn’t seem at all surprised to hear about her mother.

There were no embraces, but she spoke about her treatment, her voice magnetic, her tone riveting. She had accepted Karla. What exactly had brought her to come to this conclusion she didn’t say, but it had the ring of sincerity and that was good enough.

She had given up her feathered hair in favor of an intricately woven braid that fell neatly to one side.

She covered the delighted notes in her journey so far, she had remarried and was thinking of having a baby soon. The crucial scale by which she had measured herself had altered somehow, and she had done it all on her own. She didn’t say it, but he could see it in the way she had taken the time to speak, that she wasn’t trying to hide who she was.

As the youngest she had become so attuned to the group that she did not know how to express what she felt, what she knew, or much less stop it. Her dad, her relatable and hardworking father was the basis of that knowledge, and in that way, they were similar.

He handed her a plate of store bought cookies, which she accepted. She stopped and scratched a crumb off her lips as if were interfering with her thoughts.

She asked him what he’d been up to since she left him. He told her he took long strolls in the park crucial for extracting what good is left in his wrinkling body. Rightly, she thought this was a poor attempt at humor, but she still laughed as if it were hilarious.

“Are staying on at work?”

“Yeah, don’t see why I should give up the benefits.” He sniffed.

“You’re such a masochist dad, putting yourself through all this trouble. It’s quite a penance to pay for something you had no part in.”

He shrugged. “I don’t regret anything.”

“Then maybe you could help me get a job there?” She smiled to herself.