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docholligay · 4 years ago

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An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave IV-- The Last of the Spirits

Creeping out of the shadows of the subway station, little bits of shadow began to move toward her, and even as Ana stepped back, they came into a pile on the ground, growing higher and higher. As it grew she heard voices overlapping, little snippets of conversations, things that could not be, in contradiction with each other, wave upon wave of idea, none real and all real, at once.

The shadows became one. It was a tall, imposing figure, the face unable to be seen, its body barely formed, wavering in the air. The darknesses overlapped one another, shade upon shade, and Ana felt a chill knowledge come into her heart that she was looking at her very own future. Darkness upon darkness. Shade upon shade. Moving and whispering in every second.

The future.

“Are you,” her voice sounded so high and so fearful even to her, but she could not control it, “Are you the ghost--the spirit---that Jack and Reinhardt and Tra--my friends. Are you the ghost that my friends have sent to me?”

No face fell into view, just that same blue and grey and black in a muted palette, brushing up against each other, as the spirit nodded and whispers of a dozen different voices emanated from in it and around it.

Nem. Ja. Tak. Of course. Ken. Oui. Yes.

“You’re here,” she walked cautiously about the spirit as it towered over here, “to show me things that haven’t happened yet.”

More nods, and more whispers, and more shadows. The shade of an arm outstretched, and pointed on toward the stairs that led up and out of that tube station, toward the future. No longer was Ana concerned with narrative structure, nor surprised at the spectre of a spectre itself, and yet, in a way that no spirit before it had managed, she felt herself tremble before the gliding shadows and barely audible whispers in some form of human shape before her.

“Are you,” she thought of those that had come before, “A friend?”

No. Nein. Nyet. Nej. La. Meiyou.

She gave a low, shaking chuckle. “Not that you need to be. I’ve worn out my chances with that, I think.”

The spirit did not respond but with the same hand, pointing up the stairs, out of the darkness into a far more terrifying morning gloom. Ana’s eyes followed the hand, knowing where she had to go, wishing she could go anywhere else.

“I am afraid of you,” she steadied her voice, let herself like in that terrible, vulnerable truth, “In a way I have not been of any ghost before you. But I know they would not send you if you couldn’t help me. I will try to learn from you, more than I ever have have before, Spirit.”

A shadowed finger to the stairs, the only response.

“Yes.” Ana tightened her scarf and tied her robe tight, trying to crack a smile, “Come on, then, as Tracer would say.”

They started up the stairs, but they did not so much climb them as the stairs fell down around them, revealing the city as they fell away, and suddenly Ana was on a snow-dusted street, and then the cafe with the black awning and the gingham tables, and then they were inside of it, the two women behind the counter, same as they were every morning.

Ana looked around, not much about the place but a few pastries left here and there, the two women cleaning up tea pots and chatting amongst themselves. She knew this place well, had frequented it many times before, and yet she was nervous to enter it again.

“You seen that old bat of ours lately?” One of them said to the other.

“Oh, the one grumbling every morning, with the coffee? Naw, not for a week or better now.” She did not seem to give the matter any thought, but squeezed out a mop.

“Wonder if she’s died.” From over a wiped off counter.

“Think we might have heard?”

The first burst into a peal of laughter. “From who exactly? Not as if she’s ever with anyone, right? And I’m more noticing than mourning, mind you.”

The other chuckled appreciatively. “Maybe it’s only that she’s decided to grace someone else with her growling.”

“We should be so lucky, I think!”

The women collapsed into laughter as the sides of the cafe fell away, and then more walls began to be constructed in its place, newspapers on the walls falling away to clean, crisp white, the floor from wood to a highly polished stone, the counter becoming a front desk with pictures behind it, the plaque above them reading For Those Who Gave All In The Cause Of Good.

“Well I don’t know anything about it, just that she couldn’t be reached. Commander Amari said to send someone over later, been two weeks since she checked in,” the little secretary laughed behind the desk, ‘She told me, the agent is either gone rouge or dead, and handed me plans for both, said not to worry till after the holiday. Commander Amari said I should go home to me and mine, it’s nearly Christmas.”

“That was kind of her,” a dark haired man leaned against the edge of the desk, “I think it’s only a handful of us that don’t bother with it on today. You know,” he laughed, “I’d really rather her be rouge. More entertaining, and I don’t have the energy for an official Overwatch funeral.”

“Oh,” she stood up and grabbed her coat, “I doubt there’d be any kind of funeral, even if the devil has taken his own at last. Or a cheap one, none of the trimmings.”

“I mean,” He laughed, “I’ll go if there’s a tea at least. I heard when Commander Oxton died, there was a spread for the gods.”

She slipped on her coat. “Not likely to be that. Maybe a bag of crisps, for the memory.”

They laughed together, him wishing her a Happy Christmas with her family, and again the walls fell away as Ana turned to the spirit. These conversations were so small and could have been insignificant, and yet Ana felt something twisting around her heart, tighter and tighter. It came to her so fast, here with this cold and silent spirit, this lesson, and yet she cursed the Ana of the past, and the present, who had taken so long to see their own lessons.

“I understand, Spirit.” She nodded slowly. “This woman could be me. My life--it does support that sort of treatment, right now. I won’t ever forget this lesson that you’ve taught me, but--what about...my Fareeha? She must--”

But before she could finish the thought, the walls fell away again, and constructed just as quickly, until they were on that same street she had seen with Tracer, in what had been earlier this evening, and so long ago. It was no more impressive than it had been, though certainly more built up, no longer many empty shells of what had been bombed and shot out in the Battle for London, but apartments and a market, a pub and a bakery, all the street looking so much more complete for all of it.

Pharah and Mercy’s home was there, standing where it had before, in a row of newer apartments made to incorporate the old bits of what had been there before the unpleasantness of battle.

The apartment was not at all decorated, a light in the upstairs window the only indication of anything at all. In the dim light it glowed like a candle, beckoning them on. The doors to apartments around them were covered in garland, trees lighting up the windows, but this one was quiet, and undecorated.

“Fareeha.” The name escaped her lips before she could even finish the thought, “I know this part of the story. I mistook Tracer for Tiny Tim but--She must have---” she paused, and looked down at the snow made dull and muddy by the traffic that had already walked by. “She was so angry. And I never did anything. I encouraged it, in her. I told her to set it aside. I never helped her deal with it. And now--”

She looked back to the spirit, who simply pointed to that grey door, a hole opening in it, darker grey still, overlapping colors of the night so much like the spirit itself.

Kommen. Ma. Priyti. Come.

“But, I have to see. Yes.”

She walked into the house, and looked around. Still dark, thought it was fully eight am and if Pharah had been here there would have been a flurry of activity, certainly. She smelled a hint of cinnamon in the air, that must have been wafting over from one of the other close-knit apartments, but she stared and stared up those stairs, where she knew that bedroom sat, where she knew she would have to look and see what all her failures had wrought.

The Spirit pointed up the stairs, not even whispers from its lips as it points, Ana looking up into the hallway that should have been cheerful and bright, but seemed so foreboding, so dull, so frightening. A step. She had to climb.

“Poor Angela.”

It surprised her even as she said it. She had spent so long thinking that Mercy was weak, that she wasn’t built for the work that she had chosen to do, that she would have been better off choosing a softer job, marrying into a softer family. Now, she felt a stirring in her, something that could remember Mercy had lost her parents young, Mercy had seen soldiers crying for their parents in their last moments, Mercy had plucked dead children out of rubble. And she refused to callous. She cried every time.

Maybe she was braver than Ana had ever given her credit for. Maybe she was braver than Ana.

She turned around, nearly up the stairs now, to the Spirit. “Are you going to tell me what happened to their child?”

An outstretched hand, pointing.

Another step. Another turn, another pause.

“Pharah can’t be dead. I know this, because she was mentioned at Headquarters.”

Nothing but that finger, those moving, shifting, shading darknesses. Ana turned around, and took those final steps. Staring down the hallway where the light circled the door, waiting to be opened, knowing she had to do it.

“I can’t imagine Fareeha leaving…”she kept walking, even as she feared it, “Angela must have left her. I should have...This is all my fault. ” She stopped at the door. “Oh no. Angela can’t have died, Spirit, that would be the most unfair thing of all. I could have--I will stop it. I will.”

She rested her hand on that cold, hard doorknob, and let the rage flash in her. Knowing that she would change Mercy’s death, knowing that she would heal Pharah, knowing that she would go back and fix it all. She twisted, and let it open.

Pharah lay in bed, her arm not even on, reading a book in the dim light. The smell of coffee filled the air, and that cinnamon she had been so sure earlier was coming from another house was the cinnamon roll sitting by her side of the bed.

And Mercy’s. Mercy was tucked in next to her, hair piled high on her head, in an oversized t-shirt and her glasses, paging through her own novel. Between them was a little blonde girl, sitting crosslegged and also determinedly reading her own book, a blanket drawn around her shoulders, a battered stuffed sloth tucked into her lap, helping her read.

“Mama,” she turned to Pharah, “Can I have a bite?”

“Of course.” Pharah smiled warmly, and the little girl crawled onto her, mouth open as Pharah chuckled and stuffed a piece in her mouth.

“I love you, Mama.” She chewed on the bun.

“I love you, too,” she swung over her arm and pulled the little girl onto herself, “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You could choke.”

The little girl nodded, and carefully swallowed, then treated Pharah to a sticky kiss, Pharah smiling contently all the while, as Mercy looked on, licking her fingers from her own cinnamon roll. Pharah tucked her own blanket around the little girl, and patted her affectionately.

“We’ll have to dig into the cookies, at this rate. And so early.”

“Oh do we?” Mercy sat up and looked over at the both of them.

“Avi’s stolen most of my cinnamon roll, you see.”

“Nuh-uh!!” Avi protested. “You said I could have a bite, Mama!”

Pharah gave a deep laugh. “I should have made more.”

Ana looked at her daughter as she leaned against the doorframe. She had told herself as she came up the stairs that now was the time when she would see all the mistakes that were made, that now was the dark part of this story, that there was nothing but sadness to be seen here. And yet. It was warmth and coziness and comfort, all. There were none of her fears, either of the old Ana or the new, in this family.

“But I thought…” Ana stepped forward a few steps, staring at Pharah.

There was no red about her at all, no halo about her spelling trouble, just, if anything, the gentle light of a contented love.

The breath left her as she realized.

“It has nothing to do with me.” She felt it catch in her throat. “Her anger...she didn’t need me. She, she let it go herself. Because I mean nothing to her.”

The floor dropped out from beneath her, falling, falling, through all the grey and the darkness, like smoke surrounding her and clouding her, entering into her as she opened her mouth to scream.

And then, as soon as the fall started, it stopped.

She was on the floor of that same raggedy hallway in her apartment building, with that same flickering light, though it seemed somehow even dimmer than the last time. She struggled to her feet as the Spirit materialized beside her, extending that same arm, pointing to the door that she knew, oh, very well indeed.

“Am I--going home?” she looked for a moment, confused, and then let the moment settle in. “No. This is the woman everyone was talking about. This is the woman no one was talking about.”

She took a step.

“I have a question. The future, I mean, these can only be the shadows of what might happen. Things could change, in any moment. This is true of the future, it always is.”

There was no response, not even a whisper, just pointing, pointing. Ana looked at the door, and slowly inched forward, knowing she had to see the truth, knowing she could hardly bear it. She reached out her hand to the knob, and could feel the cold breeze coming from inside the room. She took a shaking breath, and tightened her grip.

She lost her nerve, and pivoted, looking back at the Spirit, so close behind her she could smell those hundreds of smells, just like the whispers, one overlapped over the other.

“I know what’s behind that door. What is the point of any of this? Why bother showing it to me if I can’t change!? It exists only to torment me!”

Ana felt her hand on the doorknob, though she could not remember placing it there, and heard that horrid, dark click as the door creaked open, calling her inside.

“No.” She whispered.

But she looked, because she must look, and there it was, on the terrible, dank, threadbare carpet, but her own self, stone dead where she had fallen. There was a squeaking Ana realized could not longer be coming from the door, and she adjusted her vision a moment, saw two rats eating at the edge of her hand, their own Christmas feast offering the filling warmth Ana never had otherwise.

She cried out, bent against the doorframe. How long had she been here? Days, and no one had noticed she was missing, more than a week, at least, and in that time not one person had reached out to see her, to check on her, to even know that she was dead. How much longer might her body lie there, eaten by rats in the cool of the evening?

Ana looked up at the Spirit, hurt and angry, most of all with herself and her own thousand failures.

“Tell me who you are! Let me at least know the face of my accuser!”

The Spirit stepped back away from her, and slowly, slowly the shadows began to drift, two hands becoming many tiny hands as they ringed around the cowl that hid the face, the horrible face that Ana had asked to see and yet now wished to see no longer, and she took a step back as it pulled away the cowl, like a peel slowly retreating from the fruit.

Pharah’s eyes glowered at her, and Ana shrank back, shaking her head, opening her mouth to apologize, to say something, and then the shades turned and moved and became Waldemar, and then again to Mercy, to Tracer, to Zeina, to Reinhardt, moving and shifting between all these people she had known, all their voices and whispers surrounding her and cutting her as she held back, and then, there it was, locked in and staring furiously: Ana herself. The whispers started, the accusations, everything she had learned and already known coalescing in her head, tying tight around her, and she felt that same chain, cold and hard.

She fell to her knees, grasping at the Spirit.

“Please! I can change! Jack must have sent you because he knew!” The words choked up in her throat and stuck there, tears coming to her eyes, “Tell me these things can be changed. Why show me if these things can’t be changed? A life CAN BE CHANGE--”

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gamergirl929 · 5 years ago

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Bah Humbug! (Becky Lynch x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Hi! If possible, may I please request a Becky Lynch imagine, where Christmas is coming and Becky is acting kind of like the grinch so her gf R decides to show her the Christmas spirit by surprising her with a Christmas themed lingerie (Santa) and some fun with handcuffs for being naughty.

WARNING SMUTTY SMUT SMUT AHEAD.

Becky rolls her eyes at the sound of Christmas music emanating from somewhere backstage. She’d never really enjoyed the holiday per say , she hated the carols, hated the weather, but what she really hated was the fact that she couldn’t spend the holiday with her family.

In Ireland, the celebrations were held on the 8th instead of the 25th, and the parties were massive. It was a big deal overseas, but the more time Becky spent away from her family, the more she grew to hate the holiday.

Luckily for her, you were around to change that.

Becky steps into the locker room, shaking her head when she sees the source of the Christmas music is in fact you, dancing to one of the many overplayed songs on the radio.

She could help the small smile playing on her lips when she watched you dancing goofily.

The two of you had been together for almost a year, and Becky was happier than she had ever been, with anyone.

You were silly, sweet, selfless and more, Becky could go on all day about you.

Becky’s eyes widen slightly when you walk over and grab her hands, pulling then around so Becky will dance.

“No.” She mumbles and your brows furrow.

“What? Tired of Christmas music?” You ask and Becky sighs, she knew she’d eventually have to tell you that Christmas was far from her favorite holiday; she’d just put it off when she realized how happy it made you.

“I’m just, not a fan of Christmas.” She shrugs and your eyes go comically wide.

“Wait, not a fan of Christmas? How?!” You exclaim, drawing the attention of a few of the other women; Dana Brooke, Naomi, and Sarah Logan in the locker room.

“I just.” Becky shrugs. “I’m use ta spending it at home with my family, it’s just not da same.” She shrugs and you frown, cupping her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I know you miss them.” You whisper as the Raw Women’s Champion leans into your touch.

“Da longer I’m away, da harder it is, and da more I start to hate Christmas.” She shrugs and you nod, frowning.

“I’m sorry.” She frowns and you shake your head, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.

“It’s okay, maybe I can find a way to cheer you up.” You shrug, winking and Becky’s brows arch.

“It’ll take a lot ta cheer me up lass.” She says and you hum.

“I think you may like what I have in mind.”

***

You’d given Becky an excuse, saying that you needed to head back to the hotel early to relax, your match had been a brutal one, but you wanted to go back to the hotel for different reason.

Well, you weren’t going straight to the hotel, in fact, you had an idea and you planned to see it through.

You just hoped Becky would like it.

***

Becky’s head is down as she opens the hotel room door, but the second she picks up her head, her eyes widen.

Multicolored lights are strewn around the room, the lights off, leaving the room glowing, multiple colors around the room.

Becky steps inside, glancing around with a small smile on her face.

She spots you when she steps further in the room, grinning when she sees the small Christmas tree you’d set up in the corner.

“Y/N, it’s amazing.” She says as she steps towards the table, realizing that you’d lit a few candles on the table and set two hotel room service menus on its surface.

“I figured, I hoped, you wouldn’t mind a little Christmas dinner in? I know it’s probably not the same as being at home, and it’s not the same as being with your family... But...” You shrug and Becky smiles leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

“I love it.” She whispers as she repeatedly brushes her nose against your own in an Eskimo kiss.

You giggle, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. She cups your cheek with a grin.

“Well? Let’s order some room service.”

***

The last thing Becky felt towards Christmas was disdain, not after you’d bent over backwards to decorate the room and to spend your own little early Christmas together.

Becky smiles as she props her elbow up on the table, grinning at the way you excitedly wiggle in your seat as you watch a Christmas movie on the hotel’s television, the Christmas lights around the dark room sparkling in your eyes.

“What?” You say as you turn to her and Becky shrugs.

“I just love ya.” She grins and you beam as you lean across the table and press a kiss to her lips.

“Oh, I forgot!” You jump to your feet with a grin.

You pull Becky to her feet only to drag her chair out from under her and sit it in the middle of the floor.

“Sit, I forgot to give you your present.” You beam and Becky’s brow furrows as she takes a seat.

“Stay here, don’t move.” You back away from her before darting into the bathroom, much to Becky’s confusion.

Becky glances around the room, smiling at the decorations that had once made her heart ache, now made her heart soar, because you did this, and you did this for her.

The bathroom door opens slightly and Becky watches as you peek out.

“I need you to close your eyes please and no peeking, or I won’t give it to you.”

Becky cocks her head to the side.

“What’s dis about lass?” She asks and you shrug.

“You’ll see.”

Becky decides to play along her eyes fluttering shut.

“Ready!”

She hears the second you walk out of the bathroom and fights off her eyelids considering they want to open to see exactly what it is you are doing.

Suddenly, she feels something slipping over her face and covering her eyes as you tie it to the back of her head.

“What are ya doing?” She asks, but before you answer, you pull her arms behind her back and cuff them to the chair.

“What da hell Y/N.” She says turning her head back and forth in search of you.

“Good girl.” You lean down from behind her, your lips brushing the shell of her ear.

Becky lets out a shudder as you press kisses to the bit of soft flesh just behind her ear.

“Just relax.” You purr into her ear as you take her earlobe between your lips and give it a tug, the Irish woman groaning.

“What are ya doing Y/N?” Becky sighs as you walk around her, standing in front of her your hands on your hips.

“You’ll see.”

Suddenly sensual music softly fills the room and Becky’s breath hitches as your lips brush against hers.

“Y/N...” Becky breathes out as you press the softest of kisses to her lips.

“Shhhhh.” You bump your nose against hers.

Becky shudders when you straddle her waist, your fingers tangling in her hair as you press your lips against hers.

The kiss grows heated very quickly, tongues swiping at one another as you moan into one another’s mouths.

Becky lets out a gasp when you roll your hips into hers, her eyes closing and her brow furrowing.

You grin.

“You like that?” You ask as you roll your hips harder and the red haired woman nods rapidly.

Your hips still and she lets out a frustrated groan, that groan turning into a moan when you slip her coat off of her shoulders and pull her shirt over her head.

“Do you want me to keep going?” You ask as you gently pull on her bra strap.

“Whatever yer doing Y/N, don’t ya stop.” She moans and you grin as you unhook her bra, leaving her torso bare.

Without warning you duck your head, nipping playfully at the swell of her breasts before burying your face between them, kissing and nipping at the soft pillowy flesh.

Becky’s hands fight against her restraints and she groans, leaning her head back when your lips brush an already stiff nipple.

“Oh...” Becky inhales sharply as you give her stiff bud a nip.

You grin pulling back, though you flick your tongue against it one final time before turning to give her other breast equal attention.

Becky jerks against her restraints again.

“I wanna touch ya.” She says breathlessly and you smirk, giving her nipple a bit of a hard nip that has her groaning loudly.

“No.” You smirk as you press a kiss to her lips.

You leave her lap entirely and grin when she lets out a growl.

You go down on your knees in front of Becky and slowly, reach for the zipper of her jeans.

Becky gasps when you give the zipper a tug, revealing the woman’s black panties beneath.

“Lift your hips up.” You say and not even a split second later she does, giving you all the consent, you need.

You jerk her pants off and toss them to an unknown place in the room.

“Spread your legs.” You command and with a small hum, Becky does, revealing the damp spot in her panties.

You smirk as you lean slowly towards her.

Becky gasps loudly at the first swipe over your tongue against her clothed sex.

“Fu-Fuck.” Becky ruts up into you and you grin.

“Someone’s eager.”

You lean back down, nuzzling against the damp spot in her panties.

“Ohh.” Becky sighs and you smirk.

Ever so gently you grab the hem of her panties, giving them a tug.

“Yes, fuck yes.” Becky says, nodding and you grin as you pull them down her legs before tossing them over your shoulder.

You start at her calves, pressing soft kisses up her muscular legs, when you reach her inner thigh, you’re sure to slow your actions, teasing the Irishwoman as your lips drag along her flesh.

“Please.” She groans and you respond with a bite to her inner thigh that has her back arching.

You smirk, instead of leaning in and devouring her, you blow air against her already wet slit.

Becky lets out a groan, her hips rutting up.

“FUCK.” Becky groans, throwing her head back, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

You grin cockily.

“Shhh you don’t want anyone to hear.” You grin as you grab her legs and slip them over your shoulders.

Becky’s body shudder in anticipation, your hot breath puffing against her soaked sex.

You avoid her clit, kissing and licking her everywhere but where she needs you most. You bring your hand towards the apex between her thighs.

You flick your fingertip playfully around her clit reveling in the way she squirms and groans, her hips canting up in search of any kind of friction.

“Y/N please.” She begs, rolling her hips in search of contact and you grin, completely pulling away from her.

You slip her legs off your shoulders and climb up on top of her, straddling her lap.

“Please what?” You ask as you swivel your hips, rubbing your nearly, bare ass on her aching clit.

Becky’s mouth drops open in a silent scream, her brows furrowed.

“Fuck...” You swivel your hips again and she moans, a moan you muffle by pressing your lips against hers.

“Shhhhh.” You hum as you lean up to nip at her ear lobe.

Becky lets out a needy whine as you keep swiveling your hips, her body arching up into yours.

“More, please Y/N.” She begs, accent thick and voice raspy with want.

You let out a thoughtful hum before moving out of her lap.

“Spread your legs baby.” You purr and Becky swallows hard, her legs immediately falling open.

You drop to your knees and lick your lips when you realize that she’s so wet it’s running down her legs.

Without a word you lean in, swiping your tongue against her slit.

“UGH!” Becky grunts and you smile against her sex, but don’t dare to stop your ministrations.

Becky’s legs almost immediately start to shake as you lap up her juices, the taste of your girlfriend sweet on your tongue.

Becky’s hips roll wildly as you flatten your tongue on her clit and shake your head back and forth.

“Like that. Just like that.” She begs and you grin.

You place your hands on her thighs, reluctantly leaning back to look at her the apex between her legs.

Becky lets out a needy whine.

“Please Y/N, please.” She begs and you smile.

You lean up and finally, take her blindfold off.

Becky’s breath hitches, her pupils dilated, brown orbs now black as they rake down your body.

You’d forgone the Christmas hat for the costume, but it was easy in such a large city to find a place that sold some type of Christmas lingerie.

Becky’s mouth hangs open as she takes you in, your breasts covered by a red bra that had fluffy white fur at the top and your bottom half barely covered by a red thong and a garter belt.

Becky lets out a shudder, her body shaking.

“Goddamn.” she says and you smirk, doing a little spin.

“Like it?” You wink and she grins.

“Yer damn right I do.”

You smirk as you slowly kneel down in between her legs.

Becky spreads her legs as wide as she can, giving you a full view of her red, glistening sex.

“This won’t take long.” You say, your eyes locking with hers as you use your thumb to push the hood of her clit back.

“Actually, wait.” You pull back and Becky pouts, her eyes widening when you take the blindfold you’d been using and hold it up to her.

“Open your mouth.” You command and she immediately does, though first, you slip your thumb into her mouth, humming when she sucks on it. Your thumb slips out of her mouth and she places a kiss to the pad of it, smiling sweetly.

This time, you slip the blindfold around her head and tie it behind her head, placing most of it in her mouth.

“Can’t have you screaming now.” You wink and Becky groans, the sound muffled by the blindfold.

“Perfect.” You smirk, sinking back to your knees.

You again pull the hood of her clit back and swipe your tongue against the newly exposed shaft.

Becky’s body shudders roughly, her back arching as you lick and lap at the sensitive nub.

“I’m so close.” She growls through the blind fold and you grin.

Without warning you slip three fingers inside her aching sex, curling them as you slide them in and out of her.

Becky’s eyes roll back in her head and she groans, so loud you’re sure the whole floor would’ve been able to hear if it wasn’t for the blindfold.

Her body shakes, twitches and shudders as you help her down from her high.

She lets out a high pitch whine when you fingers, reluctantly, leave her tight channel.

You make a show of licking your fingers clean your eyes locked with her black, lust filled orbs.

“Yer killin me.” She growls through the blindfold and you grin, untying the blindfold and tossing it onto the bed.

You lean down, pressing a kiss to Becky’s lips, a kiss so tender you wouldn’t think you’d been doing such a lewd act moments before.

“I think ya should untie me love.” Becky grins as she kisses you sweetly.

“Oh?” You ask, a brow arched and she smirks seductively.

“So I can return da favor.” She purrs and you smirk.

“I’ll untie you... But I’m not done with you.” You smirk and Becky groans.

“Not touchin ya is killin me.” She pouts and you giggle, leaning forward to press a kiss to her jutted out lip.

You take her bottom lip between your teeth and give it a tug before you again straddle her waist, your lips brushing her ear.

“Christmas is about giving, and I plan on giving to you all night long.”

Becky had to say, if this was what was going to happen before Christmas, she wondered what was in store for her the day of.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.

#wwe imagine #becky lynch x reader #becky lynch imagine #becky lynch imagines

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robbiekaysfavoritelostgirl · 5 years ago

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A Walker Christmas

Prompt: When Y/n offhandedly declares she wants another Christmas, Daryl gathers everyone up to give her one she will never forget.

"Do you know what I miss most from before?" Y/n hummed, her breath tickling Daryl's chest as she snuggled closer.

"What's that?" He asked, rubbing his hand up and down arm. She hummed, nuzzling into his heck so she could place a kiss to his Adam's apple before actually answering

"Christmas. I don’t mean the presents, 8 mean I miss the magic of it all. The Christmas decorations, people coming together to help one another. The awe of the kids faces when they see the shops all done up and colorful. Oh man I miss the baking top. You know me and mama would spend hours in the kitchen? The last year before it all went to hell in a handbasket we made dozens of sugar cookies. I remember daddy kept sneaking into the kitchen to try and steal em. Always a different way and just so he could see mama smile when finally noticed his slithering on the floor like a snake." She smiled faintly at the memory, though it was still tinged with grief.

Her parents had died close to the beginning, both if them taken down by walkers as they tried to protect their daughter. He had saw it all go down and had tried hard to help but got there just in time to save her. The three of them had been overtaken by walkers and were running to a car. Her father had sent them ahead, ready to take a dozen walkers with just a handgun so his women could make it to the car. They almost did too, if it wasn’t the walker hiding in the car. Her mother spotted it before she did and let out a screech that still haunted Daryl to this day, before body checking her daughter out of harms way and into Daryl’s arms. Had the woman had just waited he could have saved them both but was instead forced to drop his knife so as to not stop the girl. Y/n’s heart wrenching cries of “mama” still kept him up at night but nearly as much as when he had to put her father down. Her sobs of “daddy” as she clutched the dead corpse still broke his heart.

“Do you think we will ever have a Christmas again?” She asked, pulling him back for memories of the dead. Needing to shake himself fully out of it, he lifted her head to press a quick kiss to her lips, sighing at the feel of the against his own.

“I don’t know doll.” He answered, not at all sure why he had suddenly felt the need to use a pet name, he rarely did. Still, the answering smile that accompanied made it worth it.

“Oh I do hope so.” She sighed, nuzzling her nose against his neck before letting out the soft sigh that told him she was about to fall asleep. “I would do anything to have one, for Judith and Hershel I mean.” As she fell asleep, smiling softly that the memories that were playing in her head, Daryl found himself trying to find a way to make her wish come true.

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is just the thing to bring all the communities together.” Michonne announced, grinning widely at him. “Not to mention it will be the perfect way to help honour Carl’s wishes. He wanted things to go back to normal.”

“What about those that didn’t celebrate Christmas?” Rick asked, though even he looked excited at the prospect of another Christmas.

“We can change it up a little, add a bit of every culture to it. It’s not going to be on Christmas anyway, we all lost track of what day it was ages ago, so why not reinvent a little, we have been doing that with everything else.” Ezekiel suggested, this getting a round of nods from everyone in the room.

“Ezekiel is right.” Carol said, smiling widely at the room full of people. “We can gather everyone around, ask em what they celebrated before and what aspects they want to continue and those they don’t. Make it something for everyone.”

“When should we have it?” Rick asked.

“As soon as we have everything ready for it. No sense in putting a time limit on it since we don’t how it’s going to look. I say we gather everyone, except Y/n since this is her gift from Daryl, later this afternoon and start planning. Get everyone’s input and what not. When we have all that figured out, we will set a date.”

“I’ll take her out scavenging and come back later this afternoon, should give you guys time to figure it out.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end it took two months to set up, as everyone who was approached about the topic was excited and wanted to contribute in someway. They were also as determined as Daryl to keep it hidden from Y/n, which meant that everything that was made and found (there was a good bit of Christmas stuff hidden away ii basements and attics) were stored and put out carefully. Only those who Y/n didn’t visit often, was fully decorated before the big day, on the inside at least. While he never saw it, he was told afterwards that the night before Christmas people spent the hours outside putting up the decorations they had made or found. Maggie, had it worse though, having to decorate both the inside and outside as Y/n had spent the day there. Not, as Daryl was made to understand, that Maggie minded in the least. As Y/n’s best friend there was little to nothing she wouldn’t do for her.

While all this was going on, Daryl was making on last surprise for the woman he had come to adore. While he couldn’t bring them back, he could at least make sure that she had her parents with her for Christmas. Which is why he and Jesus found themselves standing outside Y/n childhood home, which like every other was ransacked in search for weapons, clothes or anything else that could be useful. The two weren’t looking for anything useful, at least not to anyone else.

“I found it!” Jesus called out, his voice muffled from the being being up in the attic. Daryl let out a quick sigh of relief before closing the door to what could only be Y/n child room, which was now looked as if a tornado had been thru it.

“Can ya bring it down? If we can bring the whole thing with us that would be even better!” He answered, walking over to the base of the stairs, only to find that Jesus was pushing a large very heavy looking, oak trunk towards him.

“One step ahead of you.” The other man chuckled, pushing it until the end was hanging over the opening. Scrambling up, Daryl grabbed the handle of the trunk and began to pull, the two of them working quickly and silently to get the thing down the stairs. Once out of the attic, they took a moment to catch their breaths and then picked it up once more, and heading down to the main floor of the house, where they were surprised to see Carol and Ezekiel waiting for them.

“Rick told us what you had planned so we followed you here to give you a hand and good thing we did.” Carol explained, eyeing that trunk that the men held between them. “What is it?”

Without saying anything, Jesus and Daryl put it on the ground and opened it up. Carol took a look in it first, her gaze flickering between him and the trunk. In all honesty Daryl was expecting her to say something, but instead she only smiled widely at him.

“This is the best thing you could give her.”

“Naw,” Daryl sighed, looking around the place where she grew up. “The best thing I could give her is this but unless we find a way to secure the neighbourhood I never could.”

“Never say never my dead friend!” Ezekiel exclaimed, reaching out to clasp Daryl firmly on the shoulder. “You know not what tomorrow may bring!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, wake up.” Daryl whispered, shaking my shoulder gently in an attempt to bring me around. I grumbled, blinking away the sleep before fixing my gaze on him, a sleepy smile spreading across my face as I did.

“Morning.” I hummed, stifling a yawn as I stretched.

“Morning, come down stairs with me for a second, I have got something I want to show ya.” I nodded, humming softly as I quickly threw back the covers and slid out of bed. As usual, since we had no heat now, the wooden floors were a bit chilly but I hardly paid it any attention. Now that I was a little more awake, I could see that Daryl was excited, practically vibrating with it.

“What is it?” I asked, letting my head fall to the side when he just shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. Instead of answering he tugged me outside, his smile growing bigger as I looked around the hallway. Sometime during the night he had decorated it, a mix of handmade and scavenged christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling and walls.A tiny little fake tree, stood on the table I had placed by the bathroom, fake little lights strung around it. It looked so much like the one my mama always to place in the center of the diner table, that I had tears in my eyes. A strand of twisted homemade garland, made out of pine branches, ran down the railing of the stairs.

“Oh Daryl!” I cried, turning around and throwing myself at him. “It’s wonderful!”

“It’s not all. Go down stairs.” I nodded, practically running down the steps, cries of delight leaving me as I noticed the rest of the house was decorated too. As I turned the corner to the living room, I froze in place, a wide smile stapled on my face.

“Merry Christmas!” Rick, Michonne, Carol, Ezekiel and Judith cried, all of them standing in front of the biggest tree I had ever seen. I had let out a cry and rushed forward, embracing them all before turning to smile widely at Daryl.

“Maggie..” He began, frowning as I waved my hand to quite him.

“Don’t you apologize, Maggie’s got every right to not want to be here, since we are holding Negan and she not being aloud to avenge Glenn and all. Though I do keep telling her that it’s not what Glenn would have wanted, her hanging out to that hate.” I explained, smiling at him as I move forward to wrap my arms around his neck. “Now should it have been you that Negan killed, well I would be in the same boat. But enough about Negan, this. Oh Daryl, this is the best thing in the world. You got me Christmas.”

“That’s not all. Jesus and I went and got you this.” He smiled as he pulled away from me and turning me around. I frowned, confused at to what I missed but noticed that our friends had moved and in doing so revealed a large oak trunk that I knew by heart.

“Granddad’s trunk! Oh mama kept all the family stuff in it.” I cried, rushing forward and dropped to my knees in front of it. “I do hope it’s all still in there. Daddy was so sure no one would find the attic but mama was so afraid, leaving it all behind.” As I rambled, I thru the lid open, letting out a cry of pure joy when I noticed that everything was still inside. Inside, packed to the brim, was all our family’s most valuable things, at least to us. There was mama’s wedding dress, a picture of her and daddy on their wedding. Granddad’s and nana’s wedding bands, the medals granddaddy won in the second world war and at the bottom, tucked away out of sight, was all the mama’s jewelry box.

“What are those?” Judith asked, kneeling down beside me and picking up one of the old medals. I smiled, pushing mama’s box aside and turned my attentioned to her.

“Why my granddaddy won them in the war. I can’t remember but they all are for but that one is called the medal of honor. He got this after he went into enemy territory, brought down a german commander and in the process saved 10 men from being killed.”

“Your granddaddy sounds like he was cool!” Judith exclaimed, gazing down at the medal in her hand with wide eyes.

“That he was.” I sighed, thinking back on the memories I had with my grandfather.

“Do you have other stories about him?” Judith asked, smiling when I nodded.

“Why he told me a lot of stories from his time in the war, why don’t we all sit down and I’ll tell em to ya.”

“Can you start with the one on how he won the medal of honor?” Ezekiel asked, smiling widely down at me.”I feel like that would be a very courageous tale indeed.”

“Oh that it was, take a seat and I’ll tell ya all about it. I’ll start with explaining just what the war was about, for Judith’s sake. It was always how my granddaddy started it. Said it was important to never forget the evil that was done.” As I started the story, watching as my family gathered around, I couldn’t help but remember the many Christmas’s I spent sitting in front of my granddaddy, listening as he told me the same story. For the first time since the walkers came, it really did feel like Christmas.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead #the walking dead imagines #norman reedus #norman reedus imagine

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rainythefox · 5 years ago

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Nightfall (CH.11)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight Chris/Jill. Rated M for eventual smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 11: The Silver Wolf

Claire paid the taxi driver and got out. She paused long enough on the curb to look around the busy streets of downtown Raccoon City. Traffic was heavy. It was rush hour time and everyone was heading home for the evening. Because of the short winter days, daylight was already succumbing to oncoming nightfall. It had been a bit warmer today with the sun showing itself, but Claire knew once it set, the temperature would drop to freezing fast. She bundled up in her parka and headed south down the sidewalk.

Crowded bodies filled the walkways, some walking south, others walking north or crossing the street when the light was red. She ignored the calls of the people around her, the sloshing of melting snow under tires, and the honking horns of rolling traffic. Carolers sang nearby and a Santa Claus rang a bell outside a store for donations. Most of this went right over Claire, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts and worries. She wondered what she would have to do next.

The younger Redfield had left a note for her brother claiming she had left to go babysit and would be home later this evening and would call if she had any problems. She only hoped that she would actually be able to return home tonight and that the blackmailing STARS Captain didn’t plan on keeping her longer than intended…or getting her killed.

Claire turned off from the sidewalk and entered a parking lot for a strip mall. She didn’t pay much attention to the stores. One was a clothing outlet and another was a bakery. The college student crossed the parking lot, heading for the row of bare landscaping trees in the center. About halfway there, the low rumbling of a car creeped up behind her. She tensed and quickly recognized the glossy, sleek luxury car. She halted, glaring at the tinted windows. Oh, how she didn’t want to do this…

With one last look around her surroundings, Claire opened the passenger door and entered the car. Inside, she was greeted with warmth from the heater, and the smell of leather and faint cologne. Clenching her jaw, she looked to the driver’s seat and unsurprisingly was greeted with a familiar leer.

“Miss Redfield, it’s dangerous to get into a stranger’s vehicle.” Wesker was still dressed in his STARS uniform and must’ve just got off from his shift. Chris would’ve just ended his as well.

Her glare didn’t falter. “Tell me about it.”

“Well, it’s good to know that you can follow directions. And punctual.

That irked her. “So?”

He wasn’t fazed by her tone, merely more amused. “Good work on the note, dear heart. And the splendid cover story of babysitting for William. You’re a clever one indeed. A woman after my own heart.”

“What heart?” she growled.

His dark smirk only grew.

She didn’t want to know how he knew the specifics. It didn’t matter anyway. It just confirmed that she was indeed trapped in his web, forever under his control. At least until a window of opportunity presented itself to her. She hadn’t given up yet. Redfields don’t quit…

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with. What are you making me do this time?”

A familiar chime rang out. Wesker, still parked in the lot, pulled out his pager, a smirk growing on his face. “You’ll see, my dear.”

She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Actually, yes, she could. After a long, boring phone call from Colonel Sergei asking for a status report on her “investigation”, Ada was summoned to NEST by Wesker. She didn’t mind dealing with him or William, they were both fun and interesting in their own ways, especially together. It was Annette that she didn’t want to get involved with. The woman had it out for Ada and put a damper on her mood any chance she got.

As soon as she made it to the visitor’s entrance to NEST, the agent was frisked down by security and forced to go through not only a decontamination spray but a programmed security scan by a computer. Needless to say, some of her gadgets were taken away. Miffed, Ada griped at security personnel as she waited for Annette to arrive and escort her. Why couldn’t it have been William? He’s a lot more fun…

“Hey! That isn’t a toy,” Ada snapped, watching a guard play with her lipstick. “You want your head blown off? Jesus.”

“With all these weapons, how are we to know you aren’t planning to assassinate Dr. Birkin?” another guard asked.

“Oh, totally. I was summoned here by Albert and that would be such a genius move on my part.” Her biting sarcasm was one of her more underrated virtues...sarcasm was a virtue, right? At least in her book. Better than having none, too.

“We’re just doing what we were instructed to do, Miss Wong,” the female greeter said with a nervous smile. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You cannot always expect to get a red carpet arrival, Miss Wong.”

That voice. There she was. The wicked witch. Ada smiled sweetly and turned around to face the Queen of NEST.

Annette smirked sourly. “Waving around your passes from Lord Spencer and Colonel Sergei? They have no power here. This is my husband’s domain.”

“Annette, so good to see you again. Could you please take me to William? Kinda have to. Albert’s…insistence.”

Annette slowly nodded, her eyes flicking over to the security guards who had Ada’s confiscated items. “She is to get all of her supplies back when she departs. Handle them with the utmost care, she is a guest. We do have one other guest coming that will need to be searched, and he has a signed note of what needs to stay on him. Page me when he arrives.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Annette motioned to Ada after getting a visitor’s ID wristband for her. “Follow me.”

“Yay...”

The two women traversed NEST using their ID wristbands. Ada immediately noticed they were not going anywhere near William’s laboratory. They bypassed the underground facility and went into the sewers, using catwalks and following marked paths.

“Gonna take me out with the trash?” Ada quipped.

“Maybe one of these days.”

“What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Annette side-glanced her with a frown. “You’re a mole. I don’t trust you. I don’t care what Albert says.”

“Aw c’mon, Annie. Live a little.”

“Don’t call me that.”

They took a concrete tunnel that had multiple turns and doors, and Annette brought them to a red door. Ada hadn’t seen any other people, but knew they weren’t that far from NEST or the waste treatment plant.

The female Dr. Birkin rapped on the door. “Will, honey, it’s me.”

The door gave a hollow click, unlocked, and then opened. The King of NEST allowed them entry and closed and locked the door behind them. The room was a conference room of some kind. A long table surrounded with chairs took up most of it. An unused projector hung above, with one wall draped with a white screen. The table was clean except for a cup of coffee, a closed briefcase, a laptop, and a file with its contents of papers spread out by one chair. There were a few video feeds on one wall showing hallways and tunnels to and from NEST and the waste treatment facility. Attached to the conference room through a doorway was another room sporting a kitchen and vending machines.

“Ada, what a pleasant surprise,” William greeted sweetly, but soon noticed the glare from his wife and cleared his throat. “Please sit. Coffee?”

“I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just get my instructions and be on my way. Albert said it was time sensitive.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“You sound funny, Will. You got a cold or something?”

“Yes,” William answered as he shifted through the briefcase on the table, “But I created an immune boost overnight and took it a few hours ago and feel much better!”

Ada smiled. What a nerd…an ingenious, ruthless nerd…but still…

“Ahh, here we are,” William stated, pulling an envelope and handing it to the agent. “Have fun with that…”

“Thanks, hun,” she replied with a purr, deliberately smiling flirtatiously and ignoring Annette’s lightning eyes. “I’ll take my leave. Don’t worry, Annie. I know the way out. Ciao.”

William gawked as he waved her goodbye, but soon took notice of Annette’s lightning eyes now directed at him. “What?!”

Ada chuckled to herself as she swung the door shut behind her, leaving henpecked William defenseless with his wife.

William flipped through his notes, backtracking and confirming the results displayed on his laptop. He paused long enough to take a drink of his lukewarm coffee. He didn’t react to it, having been used to drinking coffee at all temperatures. His foot tapped restlessly as he worked. Annette should’ve been back by now, although William wasn’t sure if maybe he missed an important detail to her ranting earlier when he had tuned her out.

Ada this, Ada that, Albert this and that, blah blah blah. But there was something about Sherry’s Christmas present, fruit cake, a meeting with John at the Spencer estate, and…? Hmm, surely it wasn’t anything important.

The Umbrella Chief of Research paused long enough to actually think about it. He was in the private briefing room of the neighboring waste facility next door from NEST, waiting for Albert and Claire. Ada had been gone a couple of hours already with her assignment. So then what was taking his wife so long from going over the Plant 43 report?

Wait…didn’t she say something about another person showing up here to meet with Albert?

That’s what it was! But who was it? He really had picked the wrong time to zone out from Anne’s constant chatter.

Oh, look at that! Subjects 132 and 109 were a close enough match that G was able to reproduce flawlessly! And at a 23 percent time increase over Subjects 76 and 55! My genetics research is never wrong!

William rapped away on his laptop keys ecstatically until a knock sounded at the door behind him. Oh, right. Annette. That had to be her.

“Will, honey? It’s me.”

Indeed it was, and it was the code that everything was safe. William scooted his chair back and rose. He went over to the door and unlocked it. When he opened it, he remained in the doorway to see who this “other person” was that was supposed to meet with Albert.

He took one look and laughed. “Are you shitting me? Go away.”

Despite his wife’s protest, William went to shut the door in their faces, but a boot came in the threshold and stopped the door dead. William tried to shove, but the mercenary easily pushed the door open, making the G-Virus creator slide with the door like he weighed nothing.

“Fine…I guess I’ll let you in,” Will growled.

“I see you haven’t changed, comrade.”

“Uh, that’s Doctor Birkin to you.”

Nikolai Zinoviev smirked and looked at Anne. “Your husband. He’s like little angry puppy around me always. All bark, no bite, yeah?”

Annette sighed, half-rolling her eyes. “Please, Mr. Zinoviev. Don’t get him started.”

William crossed his arms with a huff. “I don’t need to bite. I’ve got people to do that for me.”

The mercenary’s smirk didn’t falter, and William grew even more miffed. What in the world did Albert need this jerk for? They all knew he was best buds with Sergei. His code name was “Silver Wolf” if William recalled, and he was a sergeant in the Colonel’s Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. A joke regiment, as far as he was concerned.

“Oh, right. Like comrade Wesker? I’m curious what you would do without him around, Doctor Birkin.”

“Brains always beats brawn, Nikky.”

The UBCS sergeant snatched William by the shirt and picked him up off the floor. “Well, it’s good thing I have both, no? And comrade Wesker, he has both, yeah? You, on other hand, just very big brain and mouth, and puny body.”

As they glared at each other, Annette pulled a pistol from her lab coat and tapped it on her thigh in plain sight of the two men. “Release my husband, Mr. Zinoviev.”

The Russian mercenary softly chuckled. “I am only having little fun. Everyone knows it is death wish to touch hair on his head.” He dropped William and patted him on the shoulder. “Ease up, Dr. Birkin. I am friend to you today.”

“Coffee, Mr. Zinoviev?” Annette asked when William and Nikolai sat down across from each other at the table.

“I accept your gracious offer. Thank you, Mrs. Birkin.”

“She’s also Dr. Birkin,” William said with a glare.

He looked away from the mercenary just long enough to page Wesker. He should have ended his shift at the RPD by now and would be picking up Claire.

“My apologies.”

Annette slipped into the other room to make their “guest’s” beverage. When she returned, she handed Nikolai his cup and sat down next to her husband. The silence that settled was stuffy and uncomfortable, but William and Nikolai only glared at each other.

Anne sighed. “Will, it’s not like you to be so quiet.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Nikolai’s lips slightly rose on one side, but he didn’t react much more than that. He looked the same since William saw him last. Still the short silver hair and steely dark gray eyes. He wasn’t dressed in his UBCS uniform though, just civilian clothes with a light jacket.

“He’s a friend of Albert’s, honey. All of his friends are shady assholes.”

“You’re definitely right about tha-hey!”

Annette smiled playfully his way before her pager beeped in her coat. She pulled it out and looked at the message. “There’s Li. He’s got a problem with the newest batch of MA-125 embryos. I’ll go handle it. Albert better get here soon. You and I have so much to catch up on.”

“He should be on his way, dear.”

His wife glared at the silent Russian mercenary. “Mr. Zinoviev, it would be in your best interest to listen to my husband and to keep yourself from antagonizing him. This is a warning.”

Nikolai looked to Annette as she rose from her seat, and the two kept each other’s gaze for a long, tense moment. The UBCS sergeant nodded with a polite smile. “Of course, Dr. Birkin. I’ll be on my best behavior. After all,” he turned his crafty eyes back to the Golgotha creator. “I wouldn’t want to piss off “big brother.”

Annette left the briefing room. William felt trapped and exposed at the same time. The silence ate at him once more. Nikolai looked around the room for a moment but soon his eyes landed back on William and stayed. The Chief of Research fidgeted in his seat, uneasy. He picked up his pencil and played with it, thinking.

I swear to God, Al, if you took a detour to stick your dick in the Redfield girl, I’m gonna kick your ass.

A long bout of silence longer, and William couldn’t take it anymore. He had to talk.

“So…I never asked before…How did you and Albert meet?”

Nikolai shrugged. “A few years ago, he and his sister arrived to Rockfort Island on business to deal with Ashford and his associates. An internal affair investigation led by the Umbrella Intelligence Division. At time, my rivalry with particular Umbrella Special Service agent, codenamed HUNK, had landed-

“HUNK? What kind of codename is that supposed to be?” Nikolai wasn’t amused about being interrupted and when he opened his mouth to continue, William just interrupted him again. “Is he really a hunk?”

The Russian mercenary sighed, agitated. “It had landed me in hot water to put mildly. It had nothing to do with them, but Wesker still pulled strings to lift charges and actually got me promoted afterward. So now we help each other from time to time.”

William wiggled his pencil in boredom to make it look like it was made of rubber. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve known Albert since we were kids! We were both raised under James Marcus as his proteges.”

The UBCS sergeant rolled his eyes. “I know. Say…didn’t Dr. Marcus die under “mysterious” circumstances?” he grinned.

The G-Virus creator snorted. “No! He died under completely normal circumstances. Poor old bastard. He was like a dad to me.”

Watching him die at my feet was one of the best days of my life and I cannot wait for the same to happen with Spencer.

Nikolai chuckled. “Yeah, sure.”

“Y’know, what does that tell you about your friendship with ‘ol Serggy? He obviously left you hanging in your time of need in that wretched place. Al would never do that to me. Just saying…”

“Conflict of interests, comrade,” Nikolai stated evenly, slightly narrowing his eyes. “He wasn’t allowed to.” The UBCS sergeant soon relaxed, shrugging. “Besides, Sergei and I are close enough friends to understand that we can and will sell each other out if right opportunity presents itself. Especially on his end. Same with Wesker and myself. What fantasy are you living in that Wesker isn’t using you, comrade? You’re obviously using him…protection mostly, as I have feeling you’d be dead already otherwise. Your arrogance and ambitions stem directly from fact that you know “big brother” protects you. Otherwise, you are coward.” Nikolai leered his way. “Just saying…”

William bristled but visually only offered a half-smirk. “Of course we use each other. I didn’t say that we didn’t, Nikky. But unlike your loyalty to your old friend Sergei, ours cannot be bought. It’s more of a “I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine” sort of situation...without any actual scratching.”

Nikolai laughed hollowly. “Anything can be bought, Dr. Birkin. Anything. You of all people know that. You blackmail this city for your own agendas. You don’t look it, but I know you’ve killed just as many people as Wesker has…sold them out, back-stabbed them, or even used them in experiments. Quit kidding self. You and Wesker are no different. The right offer just hasn’t been made.”

Albert had once told him that Nikolai had the potential to become more of a threat than Sergei. And now he knew why. He saw things differently than the Colonel. And his mind worked like Al’s in more ways than one.

William glared at the UBCS sergeant hard, bitter. Nikolai kept his gaze with his own sharp eyes, a sneer lurking on his lips. William subconsciously clenched the pencil in his hand hard. But nothing could be said between the two men before the door to the briefing room swung open. William should have looked, in case it was danger, as Annette had obviously forgotten to lock it again, but he and Nikolai didn’t move. That is, until a distinct voice broke them from their fuming trance. The subtleties of the tone told him that his partner was slightly annoyed, but anyone else would have just heard the business-like resonance.

“Nikolai. You and me. Let’s talk.”

William smugly smirked and waved goodbye with his fingers as Nikolai rose from his chair. Unaffected by neither Wesker’s tone or William’s snide, the Russian mercenary snorted and left the table.

“Good talking, Nikky!”

“William.”

The Golgotha creator hunkered and innocently looked his best friend’s way. He didn’t miss the glare meant for him behind the shades, but he motioned to the beautiful girl at his side. “Look after Miss Redfield. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Sure, pal.”

When Nikolai stopped to look at Claire, grey eyes both quite interested and wary, William didn’t miss the curl in Albert’s lip as he stepped in between them, motioning to the door. Nikolai took the hint immediately and left the room without looking back. The look Wesker gave Claire before following him out may have looked harmless enough, but William knew what it really meant. He gave the Redfield girl a gentle smile, offering her a seat next to him. After all, she didn’t realize that Albert was never going to let her go.

She relaxed a little when it was just the two of them and sat down with him.

“Coffee, my dear?” he asked. William didn’t like most people and never had concern over their lives or feelings. There were only a select few he genuinely cared for in his busy life, the rest was only an act, if he even bothered with it at all. But he found himself growing fond of Claire more and more, though wasn’t sure whether it was over Claire herself or the fact that his partner was unhealthily obsessed with her.

With a surrendering sigh, her forehead connected with the table and it made him smile. Both, definitely both.

Claire ignored William’s whistling tune as he made her a cup of coffee in the side room. When she heard the ceramic mug hit the tabletop, she raised her face off the table to see the fresh brew steaming nearby. She quietly took it with a quick nod of thanks to the eccentric researcher.

As she quietly blew her lips over the rim, her eyes carefully examined the room she was in. It was a conference room of some kind way down here in the sewers near the big, creepy Umbrella facility. She noticed the variety of things William had by his chair: a briefcase, a closed laptop, and a closed file with some pages poking out messily.

She took a sip, her eyes finally hovering on the door. “Who was that silver-haired guy?”

William, antsy, shifted nearly constantly in his chair next to her. Wesker wasn’t kidding. The guy was a fiend of restlessness. “Huh?” She must have jerked him from his own thoughts. “Oh, Nikolai? He’s an asshole, don’t worry about him.”

“Do you know why Wesker brought me here?”

“Yes,” William answered, and patted the briefcase sitting on the table near him. “All in here. But I’ll let him go over it with you. I’m out as soon as he gets back.”

Claire grabbed his arm hard, instinctively putting pressure where Chris had taught her for self-defense. “Don’t leave me alone with him!”

“Ow! Retract the claws, sweetheart! You’ll be fine! He doesn’t bite…all the time.”

She glared his way and squeezed harder.

“Ow, I was just joking! Why are you redheads so mean to me?!”

Claire let him go with a huff. She fumed to herself while William rubbed his arm, pouting. Once she calmed down, she looked at him. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just…want out of this.”

William sighed. “No harm, no foul. And I understand. Unfortunately, that is between you and Al. I can’t help you with that. But he likes you enough…just do what he says and get it over with. Like I said before, he’s giving you a chance that he's never given anyone.”

Claire lowered her eyes to her hot coffee. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, and then William gently offered a change in subject. “My daughter adores you. She raved about you nonstop the other day.”

Claire smiled. “Sherry was a doll. It was a real treat meeting her.”

William grinned proudly. “She’s super smart, like her parents. And real self-sufficient.”

“She seemed lonely to me.”

William frowned. “Yeah…our lives are kinda hectic. Our work keeps us away most of the time. She has a hard time making friends, and well, Anne and I just never got around to giving her a sibling. And her godfather doesn’t have any children for her to play with. We tried pets, but that was a no-go. Dogs take too much work and Anne is allergic to cats. I got a baby alligator for her one time though.” William hesitated, thinking hard while tapping his chin. “What happened to that thing?”

“Do you and Annette not have other family? Parents, siblings? No cousins for Sherry to play with?”

The Umbrella researcher flinched, but he did so in a way that Claire barely caught it. “Nah. Anne’s parents and older sister don’t talk to her and don’t live here. Me? I was an orphan. Umbrella has programs that help orphans and foster children into new homes to put it simply. I was taken in by a man named James. Went to a private school. Even though I was a one-of-a-kind child prodigy, I…got bullied a lot. Was there for about a year until James took in Albert as well. We were in the same boat, so to speak…orphans with nowhere else to go.” Will half-smiled as he thought back to those memories, and Claire sensed sadness there. “Al wasn’t very friendly at first. I mean, he’s never really been friendly to anyone except me and that took quite some time. Poor kid had been through hell. I was his punching bag for a bit, but mostly he kept to himself. I tried everything to be his friend, but that just made things worse. We fought a lot. One day I accidentally destroyed a project of his. I tried to rebuild it with what I had on hand and...well...it didn’t turn out so great. So, I’m expecting the usual knuckle sandwich he likes to feed me when he shows up, but he doesn’t. He just...laughs. I actually made the little bastard laugh! After that, we were instant best friends, brothers. I never had to worry about bullies again. We raced through school and college, as we were both prodigies. But we also went through absolute hell together. Umbrella offered us positions in research and development of medicines. And the rest is history.”

Claire took in the story, moved in a way she never thought to expect. She had known from Sherry that Wesker was a researcher as well, but now she wanted to know what made him become Captain of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service, of all things. “So, if Wesker was a researcher like you, why isn’t he one now? Why become a cop?”

“He’s still a researcher part-time...among other things.” Will cleared his throat. “And let’s just say Al became a cop because he has a strong sense of justice and wishes to help people.”

“Help people?” Claire snorted loudly. “Yeah, right.”

“Trust me, if you start down that rabbit hole, you’ll wind up dead fast. Best to just let it go, cupcake.”

Point taken. She was sure Wesker’s motives in law enforcement weren’t for anything good. Claire decided to change the subject, wondering what else she could dig for. “So, what happened to James?”

William’s eyes fell down and away. “Oh…he, uh, passed away. ‘Bout a decade ago. Anne, Sherry, and Albert are the only family I’ve got.”

The college student could tell that he was deliberately keeping parts out, but didn’t press it. She took a drink of her coffee, studying him. “You said Wesker went through hell. What happened to him? And what about his sister? He told me he had one.”

“An older sister by one year. Albert didn’t find out about her until later. Eh, a complicated matter, really. As for what happened to him, it isn’t for me to say. But it wasn’t nice.”

Claire only grew more curious and found herself feeling a tiny bit sad over what could’ve possibly happened to Wesker and William both. Obviously, certain events throughout their lives had turned them into the people they were today. She wanted to know. More clues proving that Wesker wasn’t just some power-hungry psychopath. There was a reason he was the way he was and he did the things he did. Everything he did had a purpose. And all of his goals seemed to point to power and control.

Claire wondered if maybe something happened to Wesker out of his control when he was young that damaged him. Or maybe she was just giving him too much credit.

The younger Redfield let it go. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll never feel sorry for him after what he’s done.”

William half-smirked. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel that way. Just saying what happened. I love Al like a brother, but he is a monster. A brotherly monster, so to speak! A monster created through circumstances out of his control and he never let it go. And, well, I’m no different. Albert’s always been treated as a weapon or a tool...what they created was something far worse that can never be ruled again. You know what they always say in those comics? Heroes aren’t born, they’re made. The same applies to villains. But the thing about good and evil and all the gray in between, Claire, is that it’s a matter of perspective.”

So, she was right after all. There was more to him than met the eye...

I am no longer the ruled...I am the ruler…

Claire was quiet, taking in the genius researcher’s philosophy. She really didn’t know what to say to it, but her chance was soon lost when she heard the room’s door open. The air immediately changed, and she didn’t even have to look to know that it was Wesker who had returned. She was surprised to see that his silver-haired companion was nowhere in sight. But where Claire had instantly glared his way as he slowly approached them, taking off his sunglasses, William instantly brightened with a lopsided grin.

“Did you have a nice chat with ‘ol Nikky? He sure is a grouch. No sense of humor at all!”

She would have relaxed from William’s usual boast of teasing and humor had Wesker not been eyeing her closely since entering the room. Without the shades, his stare was even more unnerving than usual - even though Claire couldn’t help but to admit that he did have captivating eyes.

The younger Redfield’s heart jumped to her throat the second he gave her a devious smile, but thankfully his eyes soon left her. She almost staggered and felt like collapsing when the pressure that she had felt from his scrutiny fell off her like a crushing weight. Her stomach felt funny from the sudden and unexpected adrenaline rush. Lightheaded, she stayed quiet while Wesker offered William his most sarcastic smirk.

“What’s wrong, Will? Don’t like sharing my attention?”

Will scoffed and waved his old friend off waggishly. “Me? Jealous? Hell no. I’m way more charming than he is. Funnier, too. And better looking, just for the record!”

The chuckle Wesker produced was gentler than usual. “Obviously, there is no competition.”

Wesker placed his hands on Claire’s shoulders. She flinched in her seat, shivering as his cool fingers kneaded her skin in an unmistakably possessive manner that was meant to intimidate her and assert his dominance over the situation - and her.

Fucking creep! Claire couldn’t help but curse him silently as she stiffened under his unexpected touch. But she soon noticed that her own body started betraying her beneath his massaging.

“Was our lovely assistant here any hassle for you?”

She braced, as though his fingers would turn into claws and tear into her, hands forming into fists in her lap as she stared hard at William. He tapped a pencil he was holding on the table, gaping at them for a moment, and Claire was sure he was indifferent to her internal suffering.

“Oh, no trouble at all. Pleasant company as always, Al. Without a punch to my attractive face, I might add.”

“Good.”

Claire glared at him, but the eccentric researcher suddenly sneaked a tiny smile and winked at her in an excessively conspiratorial manner. He grabbed the briefcase near him and slid it across the table to the seat on her other side without breaking eye contact with her. Wesker let her go and moved over to the briefcase and the younger Redfield just about collapsed in relief. She released a shaky breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

William stood up with an over-dramatic stretch. He picked up his closed laptop and folder and slipped them under his arm. “Well, I better get back to the lab. I’ve got cells from “you know what” to go over with faulty ribosome and polypeptide structures that need analysis.” He pushed in his chair and lazily saluted Claire. “Always a pleasure, Claire. Be good.”

He didn’t even have a chance to take one step towards the exit before Wesker grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him back. “Whaaaaat?” he groaned like an indignant teenager.

Wesker’s smirk was a malicious kind of playful. “Will, my dear friend, did you not hear? Claire is babysitting Sherry for you.”

William laughed. “Sherry hasn’t needed an actual babysitter in almost three years! I mean except for you, Uncle Alby!”

Wesker snickered and then suddenly punched Will in the gut hard enough to make him lurch and yelp, though he wheezed a laugh. “Fuck, ow!”

Claire jumped to her feet. “Jesus! Why the hell do you hurt him if he’s your friend?!”

William, grimacing, waved her off, still wheezing snickers. “S’all good. It’s how he shows affection.”

Once William got his breath back, he shoved Wesker away from him and straightened his lab coat. “So…I take it the babysitting thing is the cover-up with her brother? Clever!”

“You should pay her for it, Will. Make it look legitimate.”

William glared at Wesker. “You pay her! All I got is the grocery allowance! Besides, she’s your “project”. Not mine!”

Claire quickly grew annoyed. “I don’t want any blood money from anyone, let alone you two assholes.”

“Hey, my grocery allowance is not blood money. I keep that in an entirely different account, thank you very much.”

“All I want to do is finish this and get my freedom. Can we move on, please?” Claire groused.

“You heard the lady, Al,” William said with a shrug. “Get to it! I gotta get back to work.”

The eccentric researcher took his leave while rubbing the sore spot in his stomach. When the door shut and Claire was left alone with Wesker, the atmosphere seemed to electrify. She stared at the door, regretting having hurried William out the door. Wesker’s imposing presence silently seemed to push all the air out of the room as he walked around her backside, his hand skimming along her back. She desperately swallowed the effects it had on her, though she couldn’t stop the goosebumps from sprouting on her skin.

“Well, dearheart,” he murmured finally. “Time to get to work...we have much to discuss and plan. No time like the present...”

He wrapped his arm firmly around her shoulder then, pulling her closer than she was comfortable with. He turned her to the table, where the briefcase contents were now out on the table. One look and Claire had a really, really bad feeling…She was about to get in way over her head…

#resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #Albert Wesker #Claire Redfield #Chris Redfield #Jill Valentine #William Birkin #sherry birkin #Annette Birkin #nicholai ginovaef #nikolai zinoviev #clairexwesker #claire x wesker #ChrisxJill #alex wesker

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jewels2876 · 6 years ago

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Girls Like You

A/N: I’m on a roll with Bucky as a daddy - @ruckystarnes let me join in her 2K challenge (congrats AND thank you!) with the prompt “Girls Like You” by Maroon 5, which also led to me filling a square on my own bingo card @star-spangled-bingo

Squares Filled: Giving Kids A Bath

Pairing: Dad!Bucky x Reader, appearances by Steve and Sam

Warnings: fluff, cute toddlers, sneakiness

Word Count: 1289

Normally the bathtub was your personal oasis. You’d use whatever bath bomb had been gifted to you from Wanda or Natasha, or pull out your favorite Bath & Body Works scent. Rarely you would use the Library of Flowers bath oil Bucky had splurged on for you one random shopping trip he did with Steve.

Tonight you were going out with Wanda and Nat, tasking Bucky with dinner, bath time, and bedtime. He had been quick to assure you all three would be in good hands and yes he would use the tub in your bathroom.

You hadn’t had a girls night since the twins were born. He practically shoved you out as the women greeted you at the door. Bucky then turned to Bianca with a wide grin. “Now that mommy’s gone, do you want some pizza?”

“Eetza!” the little girl repeated. The twins laid on their blanket, staring up at the play gym above them. Spencer reached up to grab a ring while Shawn blew bubbles. “Eetza!” Bianca squealed again. Bucky grabbed her in his hands and blew raspberries against her belly, making her squeal louder. The boys couldn’t see their sister but chose to yell along with her. Bucky stopped his antics hoping it would calm the group down. The boys quieted immediately but Bianca kept up her chant “Eetza!”

Bucky chuckled, reaching across all the kids to grab the cordless phone off the coffee table. He called the nearest pizza place and ordered an extra large pepperoni pizza and two small pizzas, one veggie, one deluxe. As soon as he hung up, the front door opened. Bianca’s eyes grew wide and she shrieked “Unk ‘Teve! Unk ‘Am!” Steve picked her up and gave her a big bear hug. Sam rubbed her head and squatted down beside the boys. “Little dudes, wassup?”

Bucky had roped Sam and Steve into helping him without telling you. What could it hurt, he wondered at the time. Already Steve had Bianca hanging upside down and laughing. Sam was trying to distract both boys who were trying to turn over onto their stomachs. Bucky shook his head. Did I just inherit two MORE kids instead of extra adult help, he wondered now?

Spencer finally made it over on his stomach and grinned at Sam. “Way to go little dude!” Sam lifted Spencer’s hand to high-five his own. Shawn saw it and started wailing in protest. Bucky scooped his son up and cooed. “Don’t worry buddy. You’ll get there.”

A heavy knock on the door sounded. Steve grabbed it, with Bianca’s ankle still in one hand. The pizza guy’s glance went immediately to the little girl. “Um…” Steve set the girl down on the floor gently and took the stack of pizza boxes, signing for the order. Once the door was shut, Bianca started up again. “Eetza! Eetza! Eetza!” Steve set the boxes down on the coffee table.

“Steve, you stay on Bianca duty, I’ll find the paper plates,” Bucky instructed as he headed towards the kitchen. He opened the cupboards above the sink where they normally were, but came up empty. Grumbling he pulled out a few of their everyday plates. As he took down the last one, he noticed there was silence coming from the living room. It was eerily silent. Taking the plates with him, Bucky walked quickly back to the living room; it was completely empty save for the pizzas. Bucky groaned to himself.

“Baby girl, it’s pizza time! Where are you?” He thought he heard her giggle, but it seemed so far away. “Baby girl, come on! Pizza’s getting cold!” It went silent again. Bucky’s heart started hammering in his chest. His first thought? You were going to kill him if anything happened to the kids. His second thought? He was taking Sam and Steve with him.

Bucky set the plates down and listened intently for a moment. He tilted his head before sneaking into the guest bedroom. He heard a small thump; Bucky opened the closet door closest to him. Steve frowned as he guided Bianca out of the closet. “Punk,” Steve whined.

“Daddy!” Bianca hugged his leg. “You hide!”

“Come on baby girl, let’s find your brothers and Uncle Sam,” he lifted Bianca and put her on his shoulders. She grabbed his hair tightly. “Easy there!”

Steve pulled her off Bucky and put her on his shoulders instead. “Grab away! Besides,” he leaned over to Bucky, “you can’t afford to lose any hair.”

“Jerk,” Bucky muttered as he walked down the hallway. “Boys! Sam! Come on out!”

There was silence. Bucky turned back to Steve. “Do you hear that?”

Steve nodded. “It’s too damn quiet for all three of ‘em.” Bucky nodded. “I’ll take Bianca back to the living room for pizza and see if they snuck back. You check their room.” Bianca pulled Steve’s hair as he galloped away. “”Orsey, go ‘orsey!” the little girl urged.

Bucky started into the boys’ room. “Shawn, Spencer!” Silence.

He turned and stepped back into the hallway, still listening for the boys and Sam. Sam could never stay quiet for this long; Bucky considered where he could be and not be heard. He groaned and hoped beyond hope he was wrong. Bucky jogged back to the living room, passing Bianca covered in pizza sauce and opened the front door. Sam sat in the hallway, kid on each knee, chatting with Maria and Carol. Shawn blew Bucky a bubble in greeting.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he took Shawn, then Spencer, away from Sam; he went back inside and sat each kid in their highchairs in the kitchen. Both boys watched as Bucky pulled two jars out of the pantry. “All right. One stinker is getting Apple Spinach Kale and the other is getting Sweet Potato Apple Carrot & Cinnamon. Drawing straws?”

Steve poked his head in. “Um… Bianca needs a bath.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Ok, then you feed these two and I’ll take her.” She walked in, pizza sauce smeared across her entire face and streaked down her favorite pink blouse. Bucky groaned inwardly imagining having to buy her a new top. “Come on messy girl, bath time!”

Bucky took her into your bathroom and started the water in your tub. “Arms up!” he directed. She lifted her tiny arms and let out a squeal as Bucky placed another raspberry on her stomach. “Ok now we can take off your pants and diaper. Ready?” Bianca let him take off her remaining clothes as he snuck a small bath bomb you had gotten Bianca for Christmas. The little girl looked in the tub and giggled at the bright pink bubbles coming up. “Yay!”

Bucky lifted her and set her in the tub; Bianca giggled and splashed for a little while. A stray bubble popped in her face; she scrunched her face into a pout. Bucky was quick with a little cup of water. “Close your eyes baby girl,” as he gently poured the water over her face. She sputtered once and opened her clear blue eyes with a grin. “Again!”

“How ‘bout I sing to you instead, ok?” Bucky thought for a moment. “'Cause girls like you/ Run around with guys like me/ 'Til sundown, when I come through/ I need a girl like you, yeah yeah/ Girls like you/ Love fun, yeah me too/ What I want when I come through/ I need a girl like you, yeah yeah.” Bianca listened her dad, adoration clear in her bright eyes.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Steve said from the door. “Got room for two more?” Bucky turned to see both of his sons covered in baby food from head to toe. He pointed at the sink with a grin. “Have it Steve!”

Tag list: @lokiandbuckyaremine @thenormreedus @ticklikeabomb @xxloki81xx @woodworthti666 @greenarrowhead @lovely-dreamer19 @moonbeambucky@yafriendlyfangirl @lilyrosebae @after-avenging-hours @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @marvelc00kie35 @thejemersoninferno @lionheo04 @dewy-biitch @bitsandbobsandstuff @readitandweepfics @lokilvrr @lostinthoughtsandfeelings-blog @theimpossibleg1rl @princess-evans-addict @stuckyfox @sarahivi @4theluvofall @loricameback @moondancewrites @halcyonrogers @writing-for-a-chance @ruckystarnes @angryschnauzerwrites @221bshrlocked @suz-123 @senorita-stucky @devilbat @jpat82 @caramell0w @spookyscaryskeletonsus @theoneanna @lilybellsworld @inlovewith3 @mrs-captain-evans @crazybutconfidentaf @nerdy-bookworm-1998

#starspangledbingo #rs2kmcuchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky #bucky fluff #fluff #fluffy #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #dad!bucky

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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Christmas Eve: A Christmas Carol

Day 24 (Part 2) of Holmes for the Holidays

Previous | Next

Today’s Prompt: Hark (from Wordwielder).

Note: I was almost done writing my first response when I realized it would be the perfect opportunity to do a take on A Christmas Carol. I’ve never done on before, so I had to make it a double feature (even though it’s running a little late).

“I don’t see why you insist on imposing your Christmas spirit on me when your fiancée would be more than happy to share it,” Holmes snapped.

“Holmes,” Watson attempted to reproach him, but to no avail.

At last, he gave up and made for the door, leaving Holmes alone by the fire. The door slammed shut behind him. Holmes reached up for the bottle on the mantle and plunged the needled into his arm. He let out a sigh of relief as the drug overcame his rattled nerves, and he fell into a stupor.

Outside, the winter wind howled raged against the shutters. The fire guttered in the grate.

“Holmes! Sherlock!” a familiar voice cried in his ear.

His eyes flickered open. “Victor?”

He looked as pale and worn as he had when he came to Holmes after his father’s death, as he had looked before leaving for Terai. His eyes were wide and pleading, but the passionate light they had once held was gone, extinguished without a spark hope.

“It is so cold here, alone,” said Victor Trevor, his voice but a hoarse whisper.

Holmes could hardly meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

A ghostly hand reached out to lift Holmes’s chin, sending a shiver down his spine. “You failed once, but you need not fail again. You need not sentence yourself to solitude.”

“What can I do?” Holmes demanded. “He’s already left me for a wife! He’s too much a gentleman, he wouldn’t break off an engagement even if he had a reason to.”

“He will not be so far away. There is a chance, a hope that you may keep him in your life as I could not stay. You will be haunted by Three Spirits, with their aid you may be able to walk a different path. Expect the first when the bell tolls one…” As Victor’s voice faded, so did he.

“Victor!” Holmes cried out. He leapt to his feet, an arm out as though to grab him, but his old friend was gone as though he had never been.

The clock tolled twelve.

Holmes was alone in the sitting room, by the glowing embers of a dying fire. Outside, it had turned dark. Snow swirled past the window.

He lapsed back into his chair and fell into a brown study. The minutes passed slowly; fifteen minutes, then half an hour, and finally a quarter ‘till.

In the distance he heard the clock toll one.

Just as it sounded in his ears, a bright white light flashed outside the window, setting the whole room aglow. And out of that light came an ever shifting spirit, small like a child and with a youthful face, but with a long white mane of hair as though grizzled by age. Its body was ever-changing, flickering in and out of shadow.

“Hark! I am the ghost of Christmas Past,” it proclaimed. “Rise! And walk with me!"

Holmes took the spirit’s hand to follow it out into the open air, over the rooftops of the sleeping city. But as he stepped into the bright light he found himself back in the same sitting room he had left behind.

It was a bright and cheery winter day. A fire crackled in the hearth. Beside the fire sat Holmes and Watson in their usual places. The flat was not decorated for the holiday, but the tell-tale remains of Christmas dinner were still laid out on the table. It must have been their first year together at Baker Street. They were just smoking, each apparently occupied in their own thoughts, but ever so often they would glance over at the other, curious and hopeful of what the new year would bring.

As the years passed, the decorations became more extravagant, with garlands and lights. Watson was soon strong enough to bring in a Christmas tree that they covered in candles. For a little while their flat glowed, if only in the reflected light of Watson’s quiet smile.

And then they got busier and Holmes grew preoccupied. With all the cases, there was little time for frivolities and he found it was easy to let them fall by the wayside. The previous year, Holmes had suddenly been called abroad, and so Watson was left to spend the holiday at Baker Street alone. He sat gloomily by the fire, his dinner barely picked at. Holmes tried to reach out to him, but Watson made no response, his eyes did not even flicker at the sudden movement, as though Holmes was not there at all.

It all faded away until Holmes found himself back in his own chair by the dying fire, where he collapsed into a deep sleep.

However, it did not last long. He was startled into awareness as the bell tolled once more.

His eyes blinked against the bright glow of what seemed like a thousand candles. He was in the same sitting room, but it had been transformed, decorated more than he or Watson had ever bothered, with garlands, mistletoe, ivy, and flowers, and all full of light. The table bowed under a rich Christmas dinner that spilled out onto the floor.

“Come and know me better, man!” exclaimed the large spirit with long fiery hair, dressed in a voluminous green robe that parted over his strong torso. He was perched on a feast of a throne. “Hark! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present! Come!”

He led Holmes out onto the snowy street. It was a bright, cloudless day. No one went about their business, but still the avenues were busy with children playing, men and women stopping and chatting, all serenaded by carolers. Holmes watched a young couple pass with a wary eye.

But they did not stop there. The spirit guided him out to the home of Mrs. Cecil Forrester, where Miss Morstan lived as governess for a little longer. Inside it was bright and cheery. The table was set for Christmas dinner, crowded with ladies and gentlemen, Miss Morstan and his own Dr. Watson among them. Holmes made for Watson without a second thought.

“Thank you for inviting me on such late notice,” Watson was saying to the lady.

“Certainly,” she said with a smile. Then she hesitated. “But what will Mr. Holmes be doing for Christmas?”

Watson let out a sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He was never one for holidays, but he has been even more inhuman than ever in recent years. I’m worried for him, of course, but I daren’t show my concern.”

The lady patted him gently on the arm. “He’s fortunate to have such a friend as you, even if he doesn’t realize it. But there’s no reason to let him ruin your Christmas.”

“You’re right,” Watson said with a sad smile.

Holmes knew better than to call out to him. He just turned away and followed the spirit, now grey with age, back to Baker Street, where he collapsed into his chair.

Holmes tossed and turned in fitful sleep. As the bell tolled for the last time, the inhuman cry of a great waterfall seemed to sound in his ears, as an ominous portent.

He must have eventually fallen into a deeper sleep, for the next thing he knew, he heard a familiar voice calling to him. “Holmes. Holmes!”

His eyes flickered open to see the light of day streaming in through the window, and illuminated by that light was Dr. John Watson, bent over him, a damp cloth in hand.

“Watson!” Holmes exclaimed in surprise. “What day is it?”

“Christmas day,” Watson answered with a little concern and a little depreciation. “How are you feeling? You’ve been insensible all night.”

“I’m fine,” Holmes insisted, brushing aside Watson’s hand, but gently. “I’m sorry, my dear Watson, I fear I have been most unfair to you.”

“It’s alright,” Watson began.

But Holmes stopped him short. “No, it isn’t. Have you already had Christmas dinner with Miss Morstan or could I tempt you with a goose courtesy of Mrs. Hudson?”

“I haven’t left, I couldn’t.” Watson sounded a little insulted by the suggestion.

“You would have been right to leave, but I’m grateful to have your company.”

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Watson insisted.

“Quite alright, my dear fellow. Now, call for Mrs. Hudson to bring up our dinner - it is not too late for Christmas after all.”

#v writes #Sherlock Holmes #H/W #Holmes for the Holidays

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pinknerdpanda · 7 years ago

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Hell’s Bells

Word Count: 2038 Characters: Dean x reader, Sam, Carol (ofc), Barney (omc) Warnings: Crack. That’s all this is. Crack. Requested by: my amazing and wonderful twin @hannahindie

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Panda Presents celebration. This was beta’d by the incomparable @wheresthekillswitch. Thank you for the nudging and the direction. You are a godsend and a “genuis.” ;)

Masterlist

Hell’s Bells

“I hate this and I hate you!” Dean shouted as best as he could whilst still whispering into his phone.

“Scissors will never not beat rock, Dean.” The amusement in Sam’s voice was evident, even through the small, tinny speaker. “Besides, I know you’re secretly excited. Even if you won’t admit it. I’ve heard you.”

“Wha, I don’t...you can’t…” Dean sputtered. “Where?”

“Where haven’t I heard it? In the car, in the shower, in the motels at night when you think I’m asleep. Which, by the way. I am right there, man. That’s just not cool.”

“Alright!” Dean shouted, drawing stares from the people around him. “This is not the kind of thing I want to talk about with anyone, alright? Much less my nerdy, overgrown, little brother.”

“Excuse me,” a sweet, melodic voice filled Dean’s other ear. He whirled to find a girl with striking eyes and shiny hair standing just feet from him. His mouth went dry. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re about to get started.”

“Sam, I gotta go bye,” Dean mumbled hurriedly into the phone and ended the call without waiting for a reply. He turned his attention to the girl, a charming smile plastered across his face. “Hello, there…”

“Y/n,” she smiled, handing him a folder. “And you are?”

“Nice to me you, y/n. My name’s Dean Winchester.”

“Likewise Dean. It’s nice to see a new face. We’re just right over here,” she led him to the front row of chairs and motioned for him to sit. “Ok everyone, I think we are ready to begin. First of all, it’s so great to see you all again, especially after last year’s little...let’s say ‘adventure’? Second, I would like to introduce you to Dean Winchester. Dean, why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself and why you’re here today?”

Dean stood and turned to face the rest of the small group. There were four other men and half a dozen women and they all looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. “Well, uh. I’m staying in town over the holidays and saw online that you were looking for recruits and I thought, what the hell.” He held his hands out and shrugged, a cocky grin on his lips. An older woman, with short, white hair and large, round glasses frowned at him. Dean sat back down.

Y/n laughed and then coughed to cover it up. “Ok, well, it’s nice to have you. Alright, let’s all turn to page one and get started!”

-----

“How’d it go?” Sam smirked from across the room.

Dean tossed his keys on the nightstand and flopped on the bed closest to the door. “Well, I pretty much carried the second half. Now, if friggin’ Carol would just learn the difference between forte and mezzo forte, we might actually make some headway, but no. Heaven forbid someone three blocks away might miss her hitting the high C.”

Sam gaped at his brother. “What?”

“Shut up,” Dean sighed. “Learn anything good yet?”

“Not really. Basically, for the last three years, something weird has happened every time the carolers have gotten to the last song. The first year, there was a house fire across the street. The next year, a freak thunderstorm knocked all the power out in a two mile radius. Then last year, a bear escaped from the zoo and the group was forced to cut their set short.”

Dean chuckled, remembering y/n calling last year an ‘adventure.’ “Well, according to y/n, the setlist has been the same for the last 25 years. Apparently this group is a local tradition. So what is it about that song that makes everything go cuckoo for cocoa puffs around here? And, how can we fix it so we can be out of here before Christmas eve.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not sure, but something tells me you better keep practicing your DoReMi’s and figure out where you can rent a top hat, because rumor has it they dress very Dickens-y.”

Dean ignored his brother and chose to roll over instead. This was not his idea of a merry Christmas.

-----

“Dammit, Carol! Get it together,” Dean roared, as another chorus of sighs rang through the small rehearsal space. “Where’d you learn to keep rhythm, anyway? William Shatner’s school of music?”

“Dean, a word please?” Y/n stood, gripping Dean’s arm and dragging him to the back of the room. Once they were out of earshot, she let him go, lowering her voice. “Listen, I know she can be irritating, ok? But her husband is our biggest sponsor and a pillar of the community. If Carol leaves, we are kinda screwed. I appreciate that you are saying everything we are all thinking and your passion for this music,” she licked her lips and Dean forgot for a moment what she was saying. “Well, it’s refreshing. But, maybe bring it down a notch?”

“But, the bells, y/n,” Dean flailed dramatically. “The. Bells.”

“I know. It’s a little…”

“On the nose? Obnoxious? Awful?”

“Kitschy,” y/n corrected, “but ‘Carol of the Bells’ has been her song for the last three years and she’s enjoyed it so much, that I hate to tell her no.”

“Wait, three years?” Dean quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that’s what I just…”

“So Carol’s been jingling her bells to ‘Carol of the Bells’ for three years?” Dean gripped y/n shoulders.

“Yeah, well, she’s tried,” y/n frowned. “We never seem to get through it without something...”

“Change it.”

“Excuse me?” Y/n scowled at Dean.

“Ok, listen, I’m not really here because I love singing. I’m here because something weird has happened every year for the last three years. Don’t you think it’s odd that the first time there was a freak incident was the first year Carol caroled? It’s almost like someone really doesn’t want to hear her sing it. Frankly, I can’t say that I blame them.”

Y/n scoffed. “Look, Dean or whoever you are. I don’t know what game you’re playing at here, but I don’t need some cocky, bow-legged, smart-ass, whackadoo telling me how to do my job, alright? I don’t care how green your eyes are or how gorgeous your tone is. So, don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya.”

-----

“So wait, wait,” Sam choked, tears streaming down his face, his sides aching. “You got fired? From the carolers?”

“Laugh it up, gigantor,” Dean crossed his arms. “But when you’re done guffawing like a child, maybe we can get back to work and finish our job?”

Sam dabbed at the corners of his eyes and shook his head to clear it.

“Ok, you’re right. Of course,” Sam sighed. “So, this Carol person…”

A knock at the door cut him off. Dean pulled his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, moving to look out the peephole. He squinted at Sam and turned the doorknob, tucking the gun back away.

“Hey, y/n. Come on in,” Dean held his arm out and stepped back enough for her to walk in. “This is my brother, Sam. Sam, y/n.”

They nodded at each other and y/n turned to Dean. “Sorry, I should have called but I didn’t have your number on me, and I saw your car parked outside…” she trailed off.

“That’s alright, come have a seat,” he pulled a chair out and removed a stack of books, setting them in the floor. She sat down and stared at her hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”

She chewed on her lip for a few seconds, and then, determination settling over her face, she began. “I’ve been thinking about what you said and I don’t understand how or why, but, I don’t know…” she took a deep breath and continued. “I found this taped to the door of the rehearsal space today.”

She handed Dean a neatly folded sheet of paper. He opened it and read “‘Carol of the Bells’ = Carol from Hell. Signed, Carolers against Carol Caroling.” He frowned. “That’s way more Carol than I care to think about. So you think it’s from someone within the group?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. I’ve known most of those people my entire life. I went to school with some of them, Mr. Peterman was my history teacher and Janice was my mother’s best friend,” Y/n sighed. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. Do you think you can stop it?”

Dean smiled. “I have an idea.”

-----

“Good God, almighty, Carol. Can we just focus on the birth of our Lord for one second instead of making it about you for once? Please?” Dean’s lips twitched with effort as he struggled to keep a straight face. He’d been looking forward to this moment for the last three days and the moment had arrived. Carol’s face was the a shade of red Dean had a hard time identifying, but it certainly coordinated with the greenery hung around pavilion.

“Well, I never…” she stammered, smoke practically billowing out of her ears.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should sometime,” Dean turned back to the group. “Everyone in favor?”

The ten other group members raised their hands, none of them making eye contact with Carol as her face blossomed from a lovely Christmas red to a muddy maroon. Carol marched off the stage, her low, sensible heels’ stuccato hammering through the chilly evening air.

“You good to hit those high notes, Dean?” Y/n smiled at him, knowing full well he’d practiced non-stop for the last three days. He nodded and took his place. Y/n hummed the first note, counted off and they began their final rehearsal before the big show that night.

Just as Mr. Peterman’s final low and resounding “dong” began to fade, the incessant sound of moderately priced, ergonomic heeled footwear on wood grew. Everyone sighed as Carol’s still-crimsoned face came into view again. This time, she clutched onto a small, knobby kneed and timid looking man with thin, grey hair combed straight over his head from one ear to the other.

“That’s him, Barney,” Carol swung a short, plump finger towards Dean’s face. “That’s the man who said those terrible things and stole my part.”

Barney looked up into Dean’s hard and slightly amused face, his watery, blue eyes widening as he took in all of him. Without another word, Barney leaped toward Dean, wrapping two, thin, frail arms around Dean’s chest and squealing.

“Thank you, young man. Thank you! Thank you!” Barney practically danced his way back down the stairs, leaving a disbelieving Carol standing awkwardly, her finger still inches from Dean’s face.

-----

“Here’s to an engaging performance from the lively newcomer,” y/n clinked the neck of her bottle against Dean and Sam’s and they all three chuckled and took a sip. “So, now that you’ve reached the heights of fame in these parts, what’s next for you, Mr. Winchester?”

“Ya know, I thought I would skip all the unseeming scandals and rehab visits, and slide right into making B-list porn,” Dean nodded solemnly as y/n and Sam choked on their beers.

“Wow, well, I mean at least you have goals,” y/n chuckled. “So ol’ Barney made a deal with the devil to make his wife happy? Also, that’s a real thing that you can do?”

Sam swallowed and set down his beer. “It is a real thing, though I wouldn’t recommend it. Barney was lucky the demon slipped up and put a counter-curse on those bells Carol was so fond of, or I’d never been able to talk him out of it.”

“What would have happened if you hadn’t?”

Dean winced, “Well, let’s just say ‘hell hound’ isn’t a euphemism. Though by the look on Carol’s face, I’m not too sure he’s going to fare much better.”

“What was he so happy about, anyway?” y/n asked. “It’s not like he knew the bells were cursed, right?”

Sam huffed. “Nope. Guy had no idea. He was just glad someone finally had the balls to tell Carol no.”

“Well,” Dean raised his bottle again, y/n and Sam followed suit, “here’s to balls, bells and Barney!”

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

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alittleroseandhoneyblog-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Rose Notes: 32 Chapters “Cliff notes” Style

I love social media, I like meeting new people, I like getting to know them and connecting over the things we have in common so I thought it would be fun to lighten the mood a little with a blog about myself – 5 random and fairly well known facts about me, with a little twist to each - My life is pretty open I believe there are 32 amazing chapters, each has taught me something about myself that it makes this book worth reading, or for some of you – skimming! (or judging the cover) but the fact is social media is meant to be user controlled - it’s what the user wants to portray, the “life” the user wants published- the user’s narrative. I’ve said it before that some people use social media for their marketing other to grow their E-commerce portion, others use it to display their photography and personal trainers use it to sell their services and I have seen some people make a career using it – although I agree social media can open up a lot of shade however there is a benefit that not everyone is comfortable taking advantage of.

I think the obvious things people ask when they are getting to know someone are the basics- where are you from, what do you do-what’s your sign- the obvious who what where kind of thing (Canadian girl and Cancer btw, lol) I also have 1 sister, she is 3 years older and a mama of 5 amazing kids- Noah 15, Madison 14, Violet 12, Jilly 7 and Eli who is 3- my favourite color is purple and I love old school chick flicks like Dirty Dancing and the Body Guard- Whitney Houston was my idol growing up and the reason I starting singing in the first place – My grade 1 best friend Kristy and I used to choreograph routines to her music all the time and would perform in front of the class (lol) seems so lame now but she was so much fun and I can remember even at 6 years old how carefree I was!

Which leads to fact 1 –

Fact 1 with a (neat) twist- I love the stage, I grew up singing at such a young age that it almost all blurs together, but there are a few things that I was able to do that I remember clearly- I remember starting singing lessons at 7 years old with a teacher named Mrs. King- oh my god she was terrible but she got the job done – I started competing in competitions when I was about 8 with songs and routines from Disney and YES I had costumes and YES I have pictures- I even managed to inherit the nickname Mad Jasmine because I was Jasmine (A whole New World) from Aladdin and Danny had just beat me again for the 10th time, he was actually really freaking good and beat me every year until we were like 13 lol ) And if you ever tuned into Chym FM on Christmas Eve and listened to the Kids Singing Christmas carols – that was us and my first taste of being in the studio and since then have had many!

Shortly after that it was larger competitions, bigger stages, larger crowds like star search which held its main event at the London fall fair every year ending with auditioning at Canadian Idol 3 years in a row (until the Canadian version was cancelled lol) but in between all of that I was lucky enough to audition for local theater and was an extra in a movie that starred Glenn Close (which was shortly after her role in 101 Dalmatians and really cool for me to be standing 50 ft away from her.) A lot of this time I spent travelling with my mama and she even stayed over night in line with me when I auditioned for Canadian Idol lol I have loved music since Whitney Houston wanted to Dance with Somebody and true to nature still plays a huge role in my life today!

Fact 2 with an (interesting) twist- I am married, but did you know that I could have been raised as his cousin and how completely different my life would have turned out?

When I was born on June 28th there was another mom in labour at the exact time in the room beside my mom- thinking back 32 years the same precautions we have now when a baby is born were not in place and I was put in the arms of that other mother and a baby named, Rhandi was placed in my moms- after debating the identity of us children we were switched back and I assume I went home with the right family (I look an awful like my mama) but growing up I always knew the story as it was often used against me when I did something wrong or when my mother wanted to make joke about who I really belonged to, but who would of thought that in Grade 9 I would meet the girl I was almost switched with AND have her quickly become one of my best friends and although I never met him prior to when we started dating, I some how ended up dating her cousin who is now my husband, Matt – and as we always talked about in high school Rhandi and I became family, and the family I could have grown up with as my “aunts, uncles and cousins” are now my mother, father, sister and brother in laws! Lol

Fact 3 with a (sad) twist- I have a 7 year old son named Colton, he is in Grade one and seriously the funniest kid ever, he is smart and clever -I knew from the second I found out I was pregnant that I was going to have a strong willed child, independent like his mama- ready to take on the world- and he sure proved it when he came into the world 6 weeks early and absolutely perfect- the doctors told me “he knew he was in distress and he put you into early labour” and I remember them telling me how Lucky I was – but pregnancy was tough for me– I was sick ALL the time and there were so many close calls where I thought we weren’t going to make it to the end (and we didn’t) and that fear of going through it again terrified me so much so that we put off having another child until I felt able to handle being pregnant again-

After many years of being asked “when’s the second one or worse, what’s taking so long” it got harder to hide the sadness of admitting we miscarried twice and after what seemed like years of trying with no success, I was recently diagnosed with Endometrioses and told that chances are another baby just is not in the cards for me anymore –

so, I have to admit that I still have not come to terms with that and it’s absolutely heart breaking to know that that one thing a women is supposed to do is something I actually can no longer do but as people have told me I have hit the jackpot with Colton, he is such an incredible child and I am really lucky to be his mama and my sister in law is pregnant and I will get my fair share of baby snuggles in July when we visit them in PEI!

Fact 4 with a (career) twist – I went to school for Interior Design and have an obsession for everything houses and renovations. I own a 115-year-old century home that is true to all its character- mind you It has been in renovations for the last 2 years but it’s beautiful and I am obsessed with all the original wood! I thought for sure I was going to have a career in real estate, when I was 20 I had a 5 year plan to go through school to get my license but 20 year old Jenna fell in love with boy, moved to London and just kind of settled into his life –He broke my heart lol, and I ended up moving home about a year later and I got involved in the fitness industry when I met a girl named Marta, we quickly became friends and she introduced me to 6 am work outs in the park, squats and the burpee bottle- which is like fight club…We just don’t talk about the burpee bottle. Shortly after that I started working with Anytime Fitness and I have to admit I knew nothing about the fitness industry short of what Marta had taught me, but I had a passion for sales and social media and it happen to work well in my favour, I moved up quickly and had so many amazing opportunities not just in my career but in my personal life as well, The first time I ever got to travel outside of Canada was with Team Bazely, we went to Nashville for a conference, as a team we toured the city, the recording studio where Elvis recorded his albums and ate at some of the most incredible restaurants- I heard stories from Keni Thomas who survived Black Hawk Down and Elizabeth Smart who was kidnapped at 14, survived and lives to tell her story! I got to experience my first burlesque show, I leaned to line dance in a 3 story bar and Shannon made sure I got to sing in Nashville, even if it was in a dirty dive bar at 2am just before we were about to make the 11 hour drive back over the border, I also experienced my first “hangry” episode where once again, Shannon saved the day and supplied salads for the rest of our trip, but honesty I learned so much about the industry and about what being apart of a team was like - I can remember that being the week I really fell in love with the fitness industry - I also got to travel to Lake Placid, New York for another conference where I partied on the Olympic ski slopes, set 2 Guinness world records with over 2800 clubs worldwide, Represented Canada and carried the Canadian flag into the Lake Placid Olympic Center in front of thousands of people!

I experienced bobsledding first hand and met so many amazing club owners and staff members- I even got to watch keynote speaker and YouTube sensation Gary Vaynerchuk where we were first introduced to Rick, But I also had the opportunity on many occasions to meet the CO-Ceo’s of AF and pick their brains – they had a way of making fitness fun- I remember it being 12am sitting outside of my hotel room in Lake Placid with another Manager from a club in Arkansas and Chuck and Dave walked towards me, I said hello, they called out my social media handle “look it’s Canadianrose” which may not seem like much BUT with over 3000 clubs worldwide and thousands of faces in the crowd they recognized mine - I met some amazing people and in a round about way I found Zumba which as I have mentioned owns my heart, and where my next venture is going to take me – working with that team taught me so much and played a huge role in who I am too, and indirectly opened doors for where my passion lies and although it may not be interior design I am in control of marketing, social media and the complete design aspect of what’s next and I am allowed to be creative!

However, outside of working with Anytime, I have never travelled but I am dying to go somewhere warm!

Fact 5 with a (reality) twist – I am not only what you see on social media, I am a human being with feelings and someone who is really struggling right now to do what’s best for herself- which hasn’t always proven to be easy. I have started therapy, it was necessary for me to ask for help because I am having a hard time finding who I am. But what I am that is never going to go change is that naturally charming girl that I talked about months ago, my experiences that I have mentioned above have curved my path and have contributed to who I am today- I own that and I am confident in my own skin and the decisions I have made, I am bold enough to call someone on their bullshit, I have the strength to take on an already failing empire just to have my voice back and you simply cannot match what I bring to the table – and I am confident enough to eat alone-and I am confident enough to portray the real me on social media and in real life going forward and throughout whatever venture is next!

And to answer the above 2 truths and lie- I do not drive a Mercedes!

#cliffnotes

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roslinadama-sinequanon · 8 years ago

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Sharon/Andy photo inspiration by Knuscheldiese-In my mind this picture was taken right after Tyler and Scott caught them kissing on the bench(this will make sense when you’ve read the chapter)

Well, it’s been a little tough to keep the Christmas spirit as we’ve moved into March--I originally intended this to be about 3 chapters. But, having the day off and sitting here writing during this howling blizzard today has put me back in the spirit.

Christmas in Connecticut-Part 7

“You want to tell me again how we ended up climbing a mountain to look for a Christmas tree?’ Andy huffed. He was trudging through snow over a foot deep at a tree farm set on the side of a mountain with a saw in one hand.

Sharon took his free hand and squeezed it. “Because, Clark Griswold, you wanted us to have a fun family vacation.”

“I’m not sure what part of this is fun. My toes are numb.”

“I told you to use the toe warmers we bought to put in the kids boots but what did you say? Andy? What was it?”

Andy narrowed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I said I‘d be fine.”

“Yes you did.”

“Where are the kids anyway?” Andy scanned the side of the mountain but all he saw were pine trees as far as the eye could see.

“Emily, Nicole, Dean and the boys went that way to look at the Balsams and Ricky and Rusty went down there to check out the Fraser’s and we’re looking at the Blue Spruce.”

“Isn’t a Christmas tree just a Christmas tree?”

“Oh no, no, no. Each type of pine has very distinct characteristics. Balsam firs smell the best, Fraser firs are the strongest and Blue Spruce are the prettiest, at least in my opinion. In southern California the most popular is the Douglas fir, that‘s usually what we get. Didn’t you ever go to any tree farms?”

“I grew up in Brooklyn, sweetheart, not too many Christmas tree farms around there. We got our tree from a seller on a corner lot. It was the same guy every year. He used to come down from Nova Scotia to sell his trees. Once I was in California, well, the closest cut your own Christmas tree farm is like two hours from LA.”

“An hour and half.”

“And you know that because?”

“Because that’s where I brought my kids to get our tree when they were growing up. I mean it’s Christmas, you have to have a sense of occasion.”

Andy grinned. “I have one now. When Nicole was little we used to go this place in Valencia that had pre-cut trees. After the divorce I kept getting a tree and putting it up in my house for Nic. I never got visitation with her on Christmas Day, but I usually had her the day after and sometimes even during the day on Christmas Eve so I did my best to celebrate the holiday when I had her. Then one Christmas she called and said her mother wanted her to spend the whole holiday with her family. That‘s how she put it, her family. As if I wasn‘t her family anymore.” Anger and pain radiated from Andy.

“You didn’t fight it?” Sharon stopped walking and looked up at him, her eyes filled with sympathy. It had begun to snow again and little flakes caught on her eyelashes.

“Course I did. I called Carmen and told her she couldn’t keep me from my daughter. But she said it was what Nicole wanted. They were going to visit her husband Stanley’s family in Mexico and Nicole really wanted to go. She said I’d be ruining her Christmas if I “forced” her to stay behind just so I could have my visitation days. So, I let her go. And then they started going every year and there wasn’t much reason to put up a tree anymore. Christmas is a time for family and I didn’t have one anymore.”

“Oh, Andy.” Sharon swallowed hard past the lump in her throat.

“Aw, don’t cry Sharon. I didn’t mean to make you sad.” He wiped away the tear that trailed down her cheek with his gloved thumb. “I was sad for a lot of years. Sad and angry. And I made some pretty bad choices because of it. But I’m not that person anymore and I’m not sad or angry anymore. Now I have you and your kids and Nicole is back in my life. I have a family again and I’m happier now than I’ve ever been, so don’t cry, okay?

She nodded but her heart still hurt for him. For all the years he’d been shut out of Nicole’s life and for how lonely he’d been. There were two sides to every story and she knew he’d brought some of his pain on himself, but there were times she would love to give Andy’s ex-wife a big piece of her mind. Carmen had no idea how lucky she was her child’s father wanted so desperately to be a part of her life. She could only wish her own ex-husband had even a smidgen of the desire to spend time with Emily and Ricky that Andy had with Nicole.

“Mom,” Ricky called out from somewhere to the right. “Rusty and I found one.”

“Okay, we’ll be right over. How tall is it? You know your grandmother said 10 feet is the max for the living room.”

“This one will be fine.”

Ricky and Rusty continued to call out so Sharon and Andy could find them and when they did Sharon shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“That tree has to be close to 15 feet tall.” Then she chuckled.

“What?” Ricky asked.

“I just told Andy he was like Clark Griswold and then you show me this tree. You want to put out Gran and Grandpa O’ Dwyer’s windows out like they did in Christmas Vacation?”

“Oh Mom, it isn’t THAT big.”

“Russell Thomas Beck, look at this.” She showed him the long grooved wooden stick they’d given her at the barn where they’d gotten the saw. “This stick is 10 feet tall.”

“You got a RULER. On my God Mom. Could you be anymore anal?”

Andy chuckled watching Sharon handle her boys.

“Yes, I got a ruler. We cannot have a tree higher than 10 feet or the angel won’t fit on top.” Sharon set the stick in the snow. The tree rose several feet higher than the stick. She smirked at the boys.

“Let’s keep looking.”

After another hour trudging through the snow they finally all agreed on a 9 foot Balsam fir.

“Okay, now we’ve got a tree we have to figure out how cut this sucker down,” Andy said. He wasn‘t relishing the idea of lying in the snow to saw down the tree. Using a shovel Ricky had gotten at the barn--the kid was an old pro at this kind of stuff--they shoveled out enough snow that two people could lie on either side of the tree and use the two- handed saw.

They took turns, Andy and Dean and Ricky and Rusty so they didn’t have to lie for too long in the snow and get their jeans soaked. At least that’s the excuse Sharon gave when the men went all cavemen and said THEY would cut the tree down. The women were smart enough not to argue and thus they stayed dry and warm. But the truth was Sharon didn’t want Andy exerting himself too much and aggravating the pinched nerve in his neck again. However, she needed to convey that in a way that she wouldn‘t be accused of babying him. Her tendency to be overprotective once he’d left the hospital had been a sore spot between them for a couple months and she really was trying to let go of her fears. But it wasn’t easy. There were nights when she closed her eyes and she could see Andy crumpling to the floor, his hand over his chest. Even worse, the look of sheer terror in his eyes when she’d touched his cheek and called his name. He thought he was going to die, and so had she, and he might be over it, but she wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

Laying on the ground working at the saw, Andy‘s wool vest and sweater rose baring the skin of his lower back and snow began working its way into the back of his pants. Why the hell had he offered to help cut this damn tree down? Oh yeah, to show Sharon he was still the same guy he’d been before he’d been stupid enough to jump on a moving vehicle and ended up with a blood clot that was still creating health issues for him.

Finally Dean agreed they had enough cut and he shoved at the tree calling “Timberrrr….” as it fell. When he sat up, his face and hair were covered in wet pine needles. Sharon couldn’t contain the giggle that rose in her chest. And once she started laughing, everyone joined in.

“Well, I’m glad you all find this amusing,” Andy grumbled. “Next year we go to a tree lot.” But then his eyes caught Sharon’s and she saw the twinkle of amusement as he turned to Tyler and Scott.

“So you boys think this is funny?”

They nodded.

“Really funny?”

“Really funny,” they agreed.

Andy looked at Dean and then the two men each grabbed a boy and pulled them down to wrestle in the snow much to their shrieking delight.

Proving that they were no shrinking violets, and against the objecting males in the family, Emily and Nicole took control of pulling the heavy tree along through the snow to the main trail where they were met by a man and two Bernese Mountain Dogs. The dogs were hooked to the tree and easily pulled it back to the side of one of the barns where men were netting the trees and piling them up.

“If you’re staying a while we can just put a tag on your tree with your name and you can pick it up when you leave.”

“That would be great,” Sharon said. “We wanted to look around the barn.”

“And we want some s’mores and kettle corn,” the boys told him.

“All right, tag it it is.”

Once the tree had been tagged they went inside the first barn. Sipping hot chocolate they meandered around the different stalls filled with a variety of crafts, most of them Christmas oriented. A young woman sat in the corner of the barn next to a big pot bellied woodstove playing Christmas carols on a violin. At the moment it was “What Child is This“, one of Sharon‘s favorites. Though as her kids were fond of saying, they were all her favorites, she just loved Christmas music.

“What are you buying?” Andy asked upon finding her at the cash register.

“Just a new ornament for the tree.”

He looked down and grinned. “Another angel? Don‘t you think you have enough of those?”

Ricky, Emily and Rusty looked up from their own purchases with raised brows. “You can never have too many angels,” they responded in unison, then burst into laughter at their combined response.

“Ahh…my children, I’ve trained you well,” Sharon beamed at the three of them.

Andy shook his head in amusement. “Did you want to check out the other barn?” he asked.

“Might as well, we’re here.”

The second barn was filled with the scent of Balsam fir from the many hanging Christmas wreaths, kissing balls, sachets and door draft stoppers.

“Do you think we should get my parents a wreath?” Sharon asked Andy while critically assessing a large wreath with a big red and green plaid bow. Though they were still in New Hampshire they were on their way to Connecticut. Sharon had told her parents they would bring the Christmas tree with them. Her parents were still healthy and active but now that they were reaching their mid eighties they were quite pleased with not to have to go out and get their own tree.

“Why don’t you call them and see if they have one yet?”

“If I know my mother, I’m sure they do. But I guess it doesn’t hurt to ask.” Sharon pulled out her phone. “Besides, they’ll be happy to know we’re on our way.” She hit the number for her parents and gave Andy a funny look. “What are you up to?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Me?” He shrugged with exaggerated innocence. “What could I be up to?”

“I don’t know, but you have that look on your face.”

“What look? I don’t have a look.”

“Andy, trust me. You have a look.” She reached out to pick a few more pine needles from his hair when her mother answered her call and she became absorbed in the conversation. After a few minutes on the phone she slipped it back into her coat pocket.

“They have a wreath,” she said and had just turned to place the one she’d picked back on its hook when Andy twisted her back around in his arms.

“What are you doing?” She asked on a little gasp. He gave her a mischievous look and she followed his raised eyes to the sprig of greenery he held over her head.

“Mistletoe,” he said. “You have to kiss me.”

Her lips gave a sexy little quirk. “You don’t need mistletoe to make me kiss you,” she said just as Andy’s lips covered hers.

“Are you guys kissing AGAIN?” Tyler complained as he and Scott came around the corner. The boys had already caught their step-grandfather and his girlfriend smooching on a bench outside while waiting for their hot chocolate.

“Kissing is yucky,” Scott wrinkled his nose. Andy chuckled and tweaked that nose.

“One day you won’t think kissing is so yucky. Especially if you find a girl as pretty as Sharon.”

“Girls are yucky.”

Sharon gave them a little pout of mock sadness. “You think I’m yucky?”

“Not you,” Tyler assured her. “We LIKE you.”

“Oh thank God, you boys had me worried for a minute.”

The boys grinned at her and then Tyler took her hand and began tugging at her. “Mom and Dad said we had to wait for you and Papa Andy to make s’mores. Can you come now?”

Sharon gave Andy a little shrug as Scott grabbed his hand and began tugging him along too. “Looks like it’s time to go Papa Andy,” she said.

To the left of the barns small firepits dotted the landscape. Around them people stood warming their hands and toasting marshmallows to make their s’mores. Not far from the edge of the parking lot a woman was stirring a giant black kettle popping the kettle corn they were selling in a small shack next to where she made it.

While making their s’mores they watched big draft horses pulling wagonloads of people over the trails that wound their way through the tree farm. Tyler and Scott wanted to go for a ride but because they’d already had a horse drawn sleigh ride and Andy and Sharon really wanted to reach Connecticut before suppertime they didn’t stand in line for a ride. They did however purchase big bags of maple flavored kettle corn before picking up their tree and hitting road south to Connecticut.

The stop at the tree farm had not only broken up the 5 hour drive, it had tired the boys out enough that they had both fell asleep by the time they reached the Massachusetts border.

TBC (Next chapter we’ll finally be in Connecticut and meet Sharon’s parents)

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

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my-mystic-messenger · 8 years ago

Text

A Mystic Meeting

Title: A Mystic Meeting aka the Mystic Messenger ficlet no one asked for and I still wrote Fandom: Mystic Messenger Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Categories: F/M Relationships: MC x Zen Word count: 6760 Summary: In which Rika actually dies (rotten bitch), V befriends MC and makes her a new member of the RFA, no drama happens, MC has multiple months to plan the event and actually get to know the characters and yet they never meet in that time...until they do. Enjoy.

It had been many months since MC had joined the RFA – almost half a year at this point! - and yet no one but V had met the mysterious girl and new organizer of their infamous parties. Sure enough she was added to the chat room and everyone was allowed to talk to her through texts and call, yet all the boys and Jaehee were more than eager to finally be able to put a face to the tender voice on the other side of the line, to the kind words and encouragement on the screen. Hell, the girl didn't even have her own emoticons! The RFA members had nothing to go by and V was always cryptic about her, never revealing anything about how MC might look. At first everyone was rather frustrated about it, especially Yoosung. Yoosung★: Since Rika died he's even more secretive. It's not fair!!! ZEN: Calm down, Yoosung. I'm sure he has a reason. Maybe MC just doesn't want us to know what she looks like... Yoosung★: I don't believe that. Why wouldn't she want us to know? 707: Maybe she's really ugly? Yoosung★: SEVEN!!! ZEN:

I can't believe you! No Lady is ugly! Yoosung★: Yes, Zen's right!

Hold on a moment... Didn't you do a background check on her, Seven? 707: Yes, so? Yoosung★: Shouldn't you know what she looks like? 707: …

V refused to let me look into those files!

ZEN: So what you're saying is, you don't know what she looks like either? We're in the same boat for once? 707: Yes... ZEN HA!

As time passed, however, the boys and Jaehee got used to the fact that they didn't know what their newest member looked like. It didn't matter. MC was their friend, always there when they needed her, never asking any questions. She supported each and every one of them, be it with small things like looking out for Elizabeth the 3rd so Jaehee didn't have to and Saeyoung wouldn't kill her or bigger things like being a friend to V, filling a void in his heart and finally convincing him to get his eyes fixed up so his beautiful art would not be lost to him forever. After all, that's how they'd met; she'd been the one to organize his exhibition and apparently she'd charmed him to the point V found her an adequate addition to their team. Not that anyone had objections at this point.

When Jaehee was stressed out about work, not sure whether she'd manage to finish her project, MC took a load off her shoulders by taking on some tasks she could handle from Rika's old apartment. When Yoosung was scared he might not pass his semester she was the one who got him an appointment with a game addict group and called him once every hour for a week to make sure he was studying. When Zen broke his leg and called her at three in the morning, distressed he'd not be able to continue the play he was working on she calmed him down and practice his lines with him over the phone until the sun came up. She never once said a mean thought about anyone in the group and seemed to just...understand them. Despite never having seen her, MC's inner beauty formed an image of her in their minds, reflecting her character.

ZEN: If MC is half as beautiful as her soul, she might even rival me! Jumin Han: Fascinating... ZEN: What? Jumin Han: How you manage to make even compliments to others about yourself. ZEN:

Everyone was content with the information they had about MC. She was bold, honest and upfront. If you asked her anything, she'd give you the answer straight away, something all of the members grew to love about her. That was until V reminded them that the party was a mere week away, as it was supposed to be held on Christmas Eve. Once more the chat room blew up, everyone wildly discussing the first party to be held since Rika's death two years ago as well as the fact that this time they'd get to meet MC for sure! The members were especially excited as V had told them what a great party MC had organized and the girl herself had been practically AWOL from the chat for almost a week, fine tuning everything so the party would be perfect.

Yoosung★: We're finally holding the party!

And getting to meet MC!

Jumin Han: Stop overusing those emoticons, Yoosung. ZEN: Leave him alone, he's excited. We all are. Jaehee Kang: Zen's right. Although I am a little worried about MC Yoosung★: What? Why?! Jaehee Kang: Well, for once this is her first party. Seeing as she hasn't been online for a week just to make sure that everything is perfect for the guests, I take it that she's taking it rather seriously. Which is good, but also must mean that she is probably stressed and nervous. Now on top of meeting and satisfying over two hundred guests she is also in a situation where she has to meet and satisfy us, I believe... Jumin Han: Assistent Kang has a point. We did put MC on quite the pedestal over the past couple of months. What if she does't meet our expectations? ZEN: I can't believe you people! MC has been nothing but kind, understanding and loving to all of us. To even consider the possibility she might not be good enough... Then again, what else to expect from the trust fund kid with the superiority complex Jumin Han: I never said she wouldn't meet our standards, Zen. I just suggested that she might feel like she possibly doesn't. Assistent Kang is my best worker and yet she often doubts herself and her abilities. I assume it's a female trait. Jaehee Kang: I don't know whether to be insulted or to thank you...

Yoosung★: I think I understand what Jumin means... 707 has entered the chatroom 707: It's Christmas. Why not have a private party a day before? That way she can meet us first and then focus on the party. ZEN: That's actually a great idea! 707:

ZEN: How about we celebrate at my place the day before? We can put up a Christmas tree, sing western Christmas carols and have dinner!

Jumin Han: I suggest we celebrate at my place instead. Your apartment is tiny. ZEN:

Well I am sorry not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouth and a stick up their ass! Plus, your place is unpractical. I am allergic to your cat, Jaehee can't stand her, Seven might kill her, Yoosung's never been and your whole security crew might scare MC even more and we want her to feel comfortable. Jaehee Kang: Zen makes some good points... ZEN: Great, that's decided then. Come to my place at three. Don't bother with gifts. Rather bring some food or something to drink. I have to call and inform MC. Bye bye

ZEN has left the chatroom Jaehee Kang: He's gone... Yoosung★: He didn't even wait for our reply... Jumin Han: Rude as ever.

When the day of the private Christmas Party finally came, everyone gathered at Zen's apartment as talked about. The Christmas tree was already standing, waiting to be decorated, the food everyone had brought along was stacked in the kitchen or in the oven, drinks were in the fridge and the members were gathered in the living room area, waiting for V and MC to arrive. “Why aren't they here yet? It's already five past three”, Yoosung said after a while, leg nervously jumping up and down. “Probably because the train was late or something. V just recently got surgery so he's not allowed to drive and MC doesn't have a license to they have to have taken public transport”, Saeyoung replied easily as he chucked another can of Dr. Pepper earning himself a look of distaste from Jumin. “Why did no one inform me of that fact? I could have sent driver Kim to pick them up.” Saeyoung shrugged. “Confidential information, man.”

After that they didn't have to wait long. Merely two minutes later the bell finally rang and all heads snapped up in unison, even Saeyoung's who'd been playing it cool so far. This was it, the moment they'd all been waiting for the past months: They were finally meeting MC. Zen instantly shot up to basically run to the door, excitement winning over common sense. Even the other members got up from where they had been sitting on the couch, turning around and staring at the door expectedly. Zen buzzed the pair in and about a minute later there was finally a knock at the door. He opened it and was greeted with the familiar sight of V, accompanied but a beautiful young woman. She was rather short, and relatively young but obviously a grown woman. Her hair was long, about waste length, light brown, straight and shining. Her bangs were long, almost covering her eyes – they had a mesmerizing honey-brown color to them - and made her look all the more adorable and sweet. Her skin was light, soft-looking and seemingly untouched, causing the hosts thoughts to run wild. Zen had always been in control of not only his emotions, but also his urges. Despite having met many women over the course of the past five years, not one had been beautiful enough to tempt the man. However, MC seemed to have gotten under the actors skin, something even he was struggling to understand. She was beautiful, but nothing extraordinary. Having worked with actresses – some very famous, some less – Zen had met women capable of taking people's breath just by the way they entered the room and claimed it theirs with their sheer presence. MC was none of those things. She was sweet, but nothing Zen hadn't seen before. Not that it mattered. It wasn't her pretty looks that had stolen the young mans heart. More so all the times she's stood by his side when he'd felt like the world was against him. Her looks were merely a last drop that caused the barrel to overflow that had been filling for a very long time. Now that the man finally had an image to the feelings he'd been harboring for months, little self control seemed to be left and Zen's thoughts were overwhelmed with the need to mark said untouched skin and make it his. While the actor basically froze in the frame, taken aback by just how damn adorable MC actually was, the others didn't seem quite as embarrassingly smitten. V lead MC inside while Zen barely managed to control himself enough to close the door behind the two of them. All the members gradually stepped forward, returning the bright smile MC was giving all of them as they introduced themselves officially. Once the first round of greetings was over and the members finally had a face to match the name, V offered to take care of MC's coat, since she didn't know where everything went. Zen felt like a total idiot for not having thought of that himself, which caused him to seriously questioned his manners in that particular moment. MC's didn't seem to mind, as she smiled sweetly at the white-haired actor before unbuttoning the coat and shrugging it off, turning around to hand it to V. While the coat had been simple – knee length and in a soft, beige colour – the dress MC had chosen to wear was anything but! So much so that Zen found himself swallowing a lump in his throat he hadn't even known was there as he fought off the urge for his jaw to drop. The dress was in a pleasant shade of red almost reaching her knees, with long sleeves and a barely revealing neckline. The highlight, however, was clearly the low cut back dipping so deep it was obvious that this dress was chosen with a certain intent in mind and by the look MC was currently throwing the mans way, Zen had a pretty good idea of what that intention was exactly. Usually he would have nipped this right in the bud. Dating wasn't really an option with his just starting career, let alone dating the equivalent of a co-worker. Co-stars in theater came and went and yet Zen usually stayed away from those, as break-up's always meant drama and he couldn't afford that. The RFA, however, was a daily part of his life and having a break-up occur between any of the members would make a very important part of his day turn unpleasant and uncomfortable. Not just for him, but anyone in the RFA, really. This personal rule was also the reason he'd kept Jaehee at arm's length all this time, despite knowing of her interest. Zen wasn't a genius like Seven and Jumin, but he wasn't completely dense. In fact, he was just smart enough to know when to act dense. In short, Zen didn't date. It was dangerous to his career, which was the most important thing to him in that particular moment, and while sex was all nice and well, he had a very healthy hand, internet access and the possibility to buy anything he wanted to spice it up should his hand no longer be sufficient. However, as Zen looked into MC's eyes, he realized that her gaze was screaming anything but dating. Oh no, that little minx wasn't looking at him like he was a potential future boyfriend, she was looking at him like a delicious meal she was about to devour and wasn't that a pleasant thought. Well, that game certainly could be played in pairs and so Zen found himself returning her gaze with an almost predatory smile. That seemed like invitation enough for MC to step forward, coming to a halt in front of the actor. She reached out then, brushing over his cheek and earlobe with her fingertips – the feathery touch causing a pleasant shiver to run through Zen's body – before retrieving her hand and smiling at the other innocently. “You had something in your hair”, she said and Zen didn't believe it for a minute. Soon everyone gathered around the tree, musing on how to best decorate it. While Jumin and Jaehee wanted to take the most organized and borderline mathematical route, Yoosung was just eager to get glitter on the tree and Saeyoung was about to start a bauble war. Meanwhile V was sitting on the coach, smiling at the group like the sight was the most precious one he'd ever seen, MC right by his side. Instead of smiling at the group, the young woman smiled at her friend with a certain understanding that only she seemed to fully have for the man. V, despite not being much older than most members if at all, felt responsible for every single one of them. Much like a father he watched over them as the loss of his beloved fiancée had just reminded the photographer that moments were fragile and impossible to capture fully, even by a camera. Nothing was more precious than seeing it with his own two eyes, especially after having almost lost them. He turned to MC, smiling at the new addition to the group that seemed a little hesitant to join the activities. “Why don't you go and help Zen in the kitchen while I try to calm these four down?” MC smiled and nodded, excusing herself as she got up and walked towards the kitchen to help with the dinner. Zen who'd been in the middle of getting the turkey and potatoes into the oven almost suffered a heart attack when he turned around to see MC standing behind him. He gasped, clutching his chest before calming himself down. “MC, you gave a quite the shock right there”, he said, smiling a little nervously. It wasn't very manly to get scared like that, let alone by something as silly as this. MC didn't reply right away, instead allowing her eyes to rake over his body from the bottom to the top. Her innocent smile was once more replaced by something more mischievous when her eyes eventually landed on the print of the apron Zen was wearing; Kiss The Cook. “Well, that certainly can be arranged”, MC said, closing the distance between them. Zen's heart stopped for a moment, his body freezing. The damn apron had been a silly Christmas present Seven had gotten him two years ago. He'd found it ridiculous for the better part, but in that particular moment he thought he might actually have to thank the other for the gift. MC stood on her tip toes and then he felt her lips brush over his cheek before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “This is just a little preview”, she whispered, her warm breath ghosting over his cheeks, before stepping away with an innocent chuckle. That girl... From there on everything seemed to go downhill, as Zen's last splitter of self-control had left his body. MC did actually help him in the kitchen, mainly with the salads, side dishes and the pie. However, neither of them missed a single opportunity to tease and torture the other. Whenever MC looked over Zen's shoulder to 'see what he was doing' her hands would come to rest on his hips while her full, soft breasts – she was not wearing a bra, Zen noticed the first time around – pressed up against his back making him think of a hundred different ways to play with them. When they prepared the pie and Zen got some dough on his cheek she not only brushed it away in the slowest and most teasing manner possible, but also sucked it off her finger like her life depended on it. Admittedly, Zen suffered a lack of oxygen in those instances. After yet another time of her hands 'accidentally' brushing over his butt, however, he'd had enough of holding back and being polite. If she wanted to play, who was he to refuse?

The first opportunity came up when MC had just finished a dish and dipped some bread into it. She held it out for Zen to taste, smiling up at him sweetly. Zen had happily accepted the food – it tasted fantastic, but that wasn't the point – before proceeding to lick over her fingers, sucking them into his mouth and letting his tongue run all over them before letting them fall from his lips with an obscene sound. Zen then licked his lips and smirked down at the blushing girl. “Delicious.” The next time he did something was while MC bent over to cut the crusts of the pie, completely engrossed with the work at hand. Well, not for long. This time it was his turn to stand behind her and Zen took it even further than she had. His leg pushed between hers, earning him a choked off gasp as he rubbed it up against her, lips brushing over her ear as he whispered: “Looks really good.” He could see the little hairs on her nape stand up and grinned to himself, pressing a light kiss to the sensitive skin behind her ear. “This was just a little preview”, Zen repeated her words to her before completely removing himself from the young woman, watching MC shake and having to support herself on the sink with a satisfaction.

Of course things got even worse after and by the time the two of them left the kitchen to carry the food to the table both were completely riled up, blushing and so painfully turned on Zen debated to just throw her over his shoulder and carry her to the bedroom to finish what they had started. Common sense won over, however, when he saw all the other members and was once more reminded that they weren't alone. Contain the beast. Contain the beast. Contain the goddamn beast! Zen shook his head and ordered everyone to take a seat and dig in. Naturally MC chose to sit right beside him, every move causing their knees to brush together or their feet to meet under the table. At one point her free hand came to rest on his knee, gradually moving upwards with every minute and Zen almost bit his lip bloody by the time she squeeze his thigh. Contain the beast. Contain the beast. Contain the goddamn beast! When the mantra method didn't seem to work out, seeing as his cock jumped with interest with every inch she moved closer to it, Zen figured he might as well return the favour by resting his hand on her bare leg, brushing it up and down the smooth skin. While that caused her teasing to stop momentarily and a sweet, quiet gasp to fall from her lips, it also made Zen want to kiss, lick and bite that perfect, pale skin he was currently touching. Goddamn it!

Eventually the dinner was finished and everyone offered to help with the dishes, thank God. Zen wouldn't have managed to resist MC for a minute longer had they been the only ones in the kitchen. Despite everyone there, it was still kind of tense, seeing as both of them constantly stole glances from the other, but had to do so secretly with five other people in the room. The sexual tension worsened after, when everyone sat down in the living room for Christmas Carol singing and MC decided it would be a good idea to sit next to one another again. The couch was small and so for more than two people to fit on it said people had to be very, very close to one another. Her soft body was warm pressed against Zen’s, her hair tickled his sensitive skin, smelling fresh and enticing. In fact, MC smelled alluring altogether, sweet and yet somewhat spicy at the same time. Of course that thought led his mind straight to the gutter yet again, making him wonder whether she tasted as lovely as she smelled. Zen tried very hard to ban those thoughts from his mind but with her so close, it was nearly impossible. Instead he jumped up from the coach so fast everyone stared at him in confusion, MC included. Real smooth, Zen. Good job. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, you know me. Can't sit still for too long. Can I sing the next song?”

Another hour passed that way; Zen constantly on his feet and avoiding the living, breathing temptation that was MC. The actor was glad that he was capable of keeping himself under control, yet his body was screaming for him to give in. It had been so long since the last time he'd been with a woman and frankly his hand wasn't cutting it as much as he liked to believe. Apparently he was radiating said thought, because it was the exact moment MC decided to get up. She walked towards him, rested her hand on his upper arm and pressed her breasts to his chest before saying: “Zen...why don't you give me a tour of your apartment? Since I've never been here before.” Her words were low and sweet like honey. A form of pure seduction Zen simply wasn't capable of resisting any longer. He looked down at her, smirking wickedly. “You know what? That is a great idea. I know exactly the room to start with.”

Zen's words caused some sort of chain reaction, as everyone decided to get up and scramble towards the door. Everyone except Yoosung, that was, who sat in his chair, confusion written all over his face. “Look at the time. Assistent Kang, we have to return to work immediately. Waste of time means waste of money”, Jumin said, expression stoic as ever. Surprisingly Jaehee didn't complain, simply nodding along as she cleared her throat and pushed her glasses back up. “Indeed, Mr. Han. There is a project I haven't taken care of yet.” V didn't say anything but began putting on his coat as well and suddenly Yoosung was ripped from his seat by Saeyoung, who attempted to drag him towards the exit. “What the hell, Seven?! Let go off me”, he hissed, pushing the other off. “We need to go, man. Get dressed”, the other simply replied, tossing the youngest of the group his jacket. “What? Why? She just wants a tour. It's not like it's going to take long. Zen has a tiny apartment and she's already seen the kitchen and living room so there isn't much more to it then the bedroom. They'd be back in like -”, he babbled before suddenly breaking off, eyes widening with shock and disgust when it finally hit him. “Ew! Let's get out of here.” He put on his jacket in record time and practically shoved everyone out the door.

“Yoosung is so naïve sometimes, don't you think”, MC chuckled, looking up at Zen who returned her gaze with a fire that clearly said that for the time being he couldn't have given less fucks about Yoosung or anyone else for that matter. His arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her flush against his lean body. Zen pushed her against the nearest wall, attacking her lips in a hungry, wet kiss. Her lips were soft and warm against his and he could still taste traces of the pie on them. Zen smiled into the kiss, licking over the girls lips, drawing a quiet sigh of appreciation out of her. Oh, she was in for a ride. However, MC wasn't just for receiving, she was mostly certainly a reciprocator. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him lower, tongue meeting his before invading his mouth, hungrily exploring it. The kiss that resulted out of her assault was filthy and hungry, causing all ideas of gentle and slow to be forgotten in favour of feverous passion. Zen's grip on her hips tightened before he lowered his hands just so, lifting her up and wrapping MC's legs around his middle, hips grinding together as he held her up against the wall. Meanwhile MC sucked at his tongue, nails beginning to dig into his back to the point Zen wondered whether skin would tear under the admission or not. Honestly, he didn't care much. Zen pushed her dress up quickly, grinding against her in desperate need for friction when suddenly she pulled away from the kiss, making him stop. “Now, Zenny, I thought of you as a gentleman”, she purred, voice low. “What happened to my tour?” Zen got the memo and grinned. He adjusted his grip and carried her to the bedroom, throwing her onto the mattress where she bounced once, giggling playfully. He climbed on the bed after her, pulling the dress off her head before flipping her around so she was on the mattress with her ass in the air, naked beside the flimsy underwear she wore. Zen didn't bother pulling it off, instead pushing it aside to reveal a bare, glistening cunt. “Fuck, MC, you're so wet for me already”, he groaned. Zen buried his face between her legs, hungrily licking at her folds to coax out every last, sweet sound from her. Meanwhile MC was gripping the sheets, face buried in the pillow as she moaned, rocking her hips to guide his tongue inside of her. While she was obviously enjoying every last touch to her aching sex, Zen soon began to notice a certain aggression to the way she rocked back onto his tongue. What exactly the reason for that was, her next words explained quite directly. “Just fuck me already, will you?” Her words got a low growl out of him. MC was so right. They'd have time for foreplay once they'd come once or twice and weren't as charged as they were now. Why postpone mutual orgasm? “Your wish is my command, Princess.” Zen didn't bother to undress. Frankly, there was a certain thrill to being completely dressed while the girl beneath you was naked, bared to you entirely. It was a power play Zen thoroughly enjoyed. He merely pushed his pants down enough to reveal his aching, flushed cock and take it in hand. Only as he began jerking himself did he notice that he didn't have a condom, at least not in reach and his stomach sank. This was probably the worst moment to announce a quick break so he could get up and go to the bathroom to find the pack of condoms he hid there. Still, it was still a better option than not having sex at all and Zen was about to get up and do just that when suddenly MC held a condom up behind herself for the man to take. “I've been hiding this between my breasts since I had to take my coat off and didn't have anywhere else to put it”, MC said smugly, head turned so she could grin at Zen. “Admittedly it got rather uncomfortable after a while, since I'd hoped we'd get it on sooner, but I'm not complaining.” She put the condom into his hand and gave him a look that clearly told him to get on with it. Zen chuckled. “I admire your confidence and optimism, Princess.” He put the wrapper between his teeth, ripped it open and easily rolling it onto his hard cock. Luckily, it dimmed the ache for an orgasm a little, as it was constricting his member ever so slightly. It had been too long after all and Zen feared he might have come too fast, had it not been for the rubber. Zen jerked himself off, spreading the lube on his thick girth before finally lining up and pushing inside of the other. Zen wasn't a religious man, but the experience could only be described as godly, really. The wet heat around his hard cock was incredible and Zen found himself moaning, burying his entire length inside of her in one go. In earned him a hiss from the woman below him and he'd been about to apologize when once more MC began to rock back and forth to fuck herself onto his cock. “Such a desperate, little Lady, aren't you”, he asked, smacking her but. It wasn't meant to be painful, just enough so he could admire the look of his handprint bright red against her pale skin. Perfect. “Very desperate”, she panted, already riled up. “Now give it to me, will you? This little Lady is desperate for a good orgasm and I'm quite sure you can make me come real good.” Zen certainly didn't back down from a challenge like that. With one hand he pushed her front back onto the mattress, the other used to pull her hips higher and forcing them back onto his cock. This time he didn't hesitate to thrust into her, setting a harsh pace from the start. Later on, he promised himself, he'd take his time with her, make her unravel beneath him. For now, he just wanted to let the beast take the lead. He'd fuck her until she was screaming his name so loud the neighbors would come to complain. The thought spurred him on more, thrusts turning punishing. He buried himself deep, never fully pulling out so he could fuck back into her hard and fast. The room was completely silent beside the sound of slapping skin, MC's muffle screams of pleasure and Zen's low groans. “Fuck, you feel so good. Harder. Shit, just like that”, MC cursed into the pillow, trying desperately to keep herself quiet. No, that wouldn't cut it! Instead of pushing her back into the mattress Zen lifted MC up until her back was pressed against his front. Apparently the new angle was to her liking, if the high pitched moan was anything to go by. “I want to hear you. Scream my name, Princess.” He punctuated his words with hard jabs, fucking up into her, hitting all the right spots.

Minutes seemed to turn into hours as ecstasy overwhelmed the pair, skin slowly turning sweaty as they fucked. Zen held onto his control as good as he could, trying very hard not to be too harsh, not to come too soon. Meanwhile MC asked for more through her moans, and screams and eventually by pulling. away, throwing Zen onto the mattress and straddling him. Zen stared up at her in surprise, shocked at just how willing she was to take charge to get exactly what she wanted. His shook was soon replaced by pleasure as she sunk down onto him, cock nuzzled in her wet heat. Her nails dug into his chest as she bounced on his cock, grinding her hips to pleasure herself. Her head was thrown back, baring her throat to him, an invitation he didn't refuse. The actor sat up, pulling her close as she bounced in his lap so he could kiss down her neck, lick at the salty skin and suck purple marks into it. That earned him filthy, guttural sounds while she clawed at his back, definitely leaving her marks there as well. “Just like that, baby. Take what you want”, he encouraged her, fucking up into her.

Zen could feel that she was close. Her walls were constantly tightening around his length, always getting him dangerously close to the edge. She was also so incredibly wet, he couldn't have put the feeling into words even if he tried. She was practically gushing, for God's sakes! In order to bring her closer to orgasm Zen kissed down her chest and grasped her breasts, bringing them to his lips to switch between her nipples, sucking them into his mouth. He licked at them, twirling his tongue around the hardening buds, causing MC to mewl above him. Zen smirked to himself, glancing up at her through his lashes. The sight was beautiful. MC's lips were kiss swollen still, cheeks bright red and skin shining. Her eyes were half lidded, pupils blows and the sounds falling from her lips pornographic. “Zen...O-oh God. Fuck, Zen”, she moaned, holding onto him for her dear life. “I'm going to come. Shit, just like that. Right there oh!” When her walls tightened around him with her orgasm Zen followed soon after. Only a handful of harsh thrusts later he emptied himself inside of her, both of them shaking with the intense orgasm. He fucked her through it, enjoying her withering in his arms before both of them were too weak to sit up any longer and fell backwards onto the mattress.

They lay together for a long time, MC on top of Zen as they both panted for air. He lazily threw his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Eventually, however, the blissful moment had to be interrupted as Zen had to get rid of the condom and preferably take a shower to get rid of the sweat that was currently covering both of them. “I have to get rid of these bad boys. I'll be right back”, he said, chuckling lightly as he carefully pushed MC onto the bed to get up and walk to the bathroom. Once off he tied a knot into the condom and threw it in the bin, leaning over the sink to wash his face and regain some composure. So...that happened. Zen just hoped it wouldn't backfire on him. He opened the little cabinet hidden behind the mirror over the sink and found the pack of condoms he would have needed about an hour ago. He glared down at the package, trying to see whether condoms had an expiration date when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around his middle, warm lips pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “One thing, babe”, she began, voice practically a purr. “You don't leave a naked woman lying in your bed all by herself when you promised her a tour and there are so many more rooms to explore.” Zen decided the condoms were fine and quickly turned in her arms. He got himself naked as quickly as human possible before once more lifting her up - a delightful little chuckle MC's response – and carried her to the shower for round two.

Shower sex wasn't as easy as TV and porn liked to portray it sometimes, but they made it work; MC pressed against the tile wall with her legs around Zen's hips, his hands grabbing her firm ass to hold her up as he fucked into her, hot water making everything foggy. Once they were clean and capable of standing on their respective feet Zen kept to his promise and gave MC a proper tour. In the kitchen he put her on the kitchen isle, spread her legs and buried his tongue inside of her wet cunt. He licked her for a long time, teasing her horribly. He played with her clit, circling his tongue over the hard nub in the same time he thrust his tongue into her cunt. Zen quite enjoyed the response he got out of her, legs wrapped around his head, fingers fisting his hair as she desperately tried to bury him further inside of her, begging him oh so sweetly. Of course it didn't work. This time he was in charge. Whenever Zen could feel her walls tighten he stopped, retreating his tongue and fingers to smirk up at her. He did it many times until she was close to tears, begging him to let her come. Only then did he speed up his pace, lapping at her hungrily as he fingered her quickly, making her come for the third time that evening.

The next round MC decided to dedicate to him. He sat on the couch while she kneeled in front of him on the floor. Her pretty lips were wrapped around his hard cock, head bobbing up and down on his length. What she couldn't swallow down she jerked with her hand, skilled fingers not only moving up and down but circling his length, doubling the pleasure. Her free hand raked over his body, never failing to leave a scratch, a reminder so to say. This time didn't last long, as MC was quite skilled at what she was doing, sucking him down almost to the base and circling her tongue around his erection, brushing over the vein on his under side that made him blow his load almost immediately. Zen didn't mind. They had plenty of time and they used it. She rode him on the floor right after, milking another orgasm out of him before taking a short break as both of them were exhausted. That lasted for about five minutes before the food they'd gotten grew boring and the table was used for another great fuck, MC bent over the table, clawing at the wood as Zen pounded into her mercilessly. They continued like that until they'd had sex on every surface in the flat, going full circle once they made love on the bed one last time – slow and gentle, caressing and kissing instead of clawing and biting at one another – before passing out entirely, naked and in each other arms. Just for a brief moment, as they slept peacefully, all worry of the future was forgotten. Yoosung★: I can't believe they sextiled us... 707: Catching up on the grown up lingo, I see.

Yoosung★: I'M A GROWN UP TOO, OKAY!! Jumin Han: Were you really a grown up, this wouldn't have surprised you. Jaehee Kang: Nor would you have refused to leave. Jumin Han: Indeed. That was quite embarrassing for all of us. Yoosung★:

You're so meeeaaan! Jumin Han: I am surprised Assistant Kang isn't saying anything about this. It is obvious that Zen and MC are being intimate with one another as we speak. Yoosung★: Don't remind me. I can't get the image out of my head.

707: Yoosung you dirty boy

But I agree with Jumin...aren't you hurt, Jaehee? Jaehee Kang:

I don't see why I should be. I admit I was worried, at first. A love scandal could potentially ruin Zen's career, but I trust MC not to betray him like that. If anyone deserves to be by Zen's side, I think it is MC. 707:

Well said, Jaehee. Really well said.

I dedicate this piece of shit to my favourite bitch @zenscrotch who draws the juiciest dicks and other smutty goodies over on her blog. Without her I probably wouldn’t have managed to shit this out, so thank you babe ★ Also for anyone who cares to read this , this ficlet was inspired by the song Surprise Party - Hoodie Allen aka what I like to call Zen’s Theme. This is also painfully unbeta-ed, so I hope there aren’t too many mistakes. If you liked this I’m happy and if you wanna red more feel free to shoot me a request!

!!★!! I accept headcannon request and more !!★!!

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nitrateglow · 8 years ago

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Movies watched in 2017 (35-45)

My 2017 movie journey continues! On this installment, I come across some foreign silent gems, mediocre superhero movies that make my sister angry, and the colorful madness of a certain Baz Luhrmann.

The Informer (dir. John Ford, 1935)

May just be my second favorite John Ford film after Young Mr. Lincoln. The Informer is a sound picture, but its storytelling and heavy, thorough use of incidental music make it very much like a silent movie. The use of music is a great example of what is now derisively referred to as “Mickey Mousing,” yet it never feels corny or silly because the music underscores the action and emotions of every scene so well.

While the plot is simple (former IRA member betrays a fellow rebel for money), it explores sophisticated moral and political territory. The ending is deeply moving, even if the religious symbolism is laid on a little thick. Then again, the film is heavy with expressionism, so perhaps that is warranted. Such a shame this movie is so underrated. (10/10)

Macbeth (dir. Justin Kurzel, 2015)

Words alone cannot convey my disappointment. Stills and clips made this film look like it was going to be the most stunning version of the Scottish play to date, but alas, it’s a mostly uninspiring affair. Sure, the extreme long shots of the fog-ridden and rocky landscapes are breathtaking. Sure, those fight scenes look cool. But no one seems to have much passion here—all the actors mumble and murmur the lines, every scene feels like it was shot with the trailer in mind and not because the content suited such a style. (5/10)

The Haunting (dir. Robert Wise, 1963)

The original Haunting is both a horror movie and the tragedy of a lonely, trapped woman. Eleanor may or may not be experiencing the supernatural, but there is no doubt she brought many of her own personal demons to that haunted house with her, mainly her craving to belong and be loved. While I found the voice over a little awkward at times, it eventually grew on me. Julie Harris is brilliant in the lead, one of the best horror movie performances ever.

The Haunting reminded me a lot of another gothic 1960s horror, The Innocents. I preferred The Innocents, but both are great movies about lonely women and their ghosts (literal and/or metaphoric).

And no, I do not ever plan on watching that 1990s remake. EVER. (9/10)

Danton (dir. Andrezj Wajda, 1983)

This was a wonderful movie, which makes me embarrassed since I have very little to say about it. It’s about the extremism of the French Revolution and the ideological conflict between the idealistic Robespierre and the less extreme Danton, who feels he is partially responsible for the Reign of Terror and wants to make things right. Their discourse on the nature of revolution and holding to one’s ideals is riveting from beginning to end. Even though Wajda’s sympathies lie with Danton, the film avoids painting Robespierre as a villain, showing him as a man of high ideals that were not born of power lust or evil. Both men become tragic figures in the midst of a troubled age.

The historical atmosphere is great too. Not since Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon have I seen a movie capture the look and feel of the eighteenth century to the point where it feels as though I have actually stepped back in time and am not merely witnessing a recreation. (9/10)

Japanese Girls at the Harbor (dir. Hiroshi Shimizu, 1933)

One of the things the best silent films excelled at was packing the simplest of narratives with beauty and emotion. Japanese Girls at the Harbor is one such film. At little over an hour, it tells the story of a young woman who commits a crime of passion and falls into geisha-dom as a result. At first, the movie’s story resembles a Mizoguchi film like Osaka Elegy or Sisters of the Gion, where women are forced into compromising situations through poverty or the failings of the men in their lives, but as the notes on the Criterion release say, Shimizu is much more optimistic about the potential to overcome society’s prejudice and find some little piece of redemption once you put your mind to it. The ending has a muted sense of optimism; Shimizu makes no guarantees that everything will turn out okay, but he does have hope.

There are some striking cinematic flourishes, such as the progressive close-up which precedes and antecedes a violent act. It made me think of the scene where we see the monster for the first time in James Whale’s Frankenstein. (9/10)

Moulin Rouge! (dir. Baz Luhrmann, 2001)

Part of me finds Moulin Rouge! brilliant; part of me finds it stupid and totally understands the hate it gets—regardless, I really liked it and am itching to watch it again. I first heard about it when Doug Walker claimed it was one of the movies he found most annoying and overrated, and from his description of the fast edits and some of the annoying tropes used in the picture, I expected to dislike it too. Nope. I admire its audacity, its willingness to be nothing less than bat-shit insane and unashamedly naïve in its fairy tale love story. It’s pretty much a live-action cartoon, complete with freaky close-ups, wild gesticulations accompanied by Looney Tunes sound effects, and general campiness all around. The aesthetic is like George Melies meets the 1950s MGM musical meets the 1990s music video.

That said, it isn’t perfect and I did get annoyed once the stakes started rising. I think the part of the movie which does not work for me is the second half. It’s not that the tragic stuff couldn’t work alongside all the goofy scenes (just look at Bollywood movies, which were apparently an inspiration for this movie), but sometimes the characters act way too stupid in order to move the plot along. I understand this isn’t meant to be a psychological study of jealousy or romantic love, but some of the things they do in the latter part of the movie strain credibility, even for a film in which the leads fall in love after one song.

I also feel the film’s themes aren’t explored in a compelling manner—which would not be a problem if the film was content with being mere romantic escapism, but I don’t feel that was the case. The film seems like it wants to be more than an exercise in style or an escapist melodrama with its protestations of the importance of love and artistic fulfillment. Roger Ebert claimed the movie was about the way we deceive ourselves as to our true nature (ex. Satine acts like she’s a heartless gold-digger, but she’s truly a romantic who favors the heart over her wallet; the Duke tricks himself into believing Satine truly loves him; Christian views himself as the quintessential suffering artist), but I felt that was never really developed all the way through the movie. Also the themes of love and jealousy are given the shallowest treatment. You can tell that despite its insane style and embracing of old-fashioned romanticism, it does want to discuss these things on a higher level, one it just does not reach. When your bad guy is like a parody of an entitled aristocrat who says lines like “OOH, DARLING LOOK A FROG!!”, you cannot take this movie seriously as drama.

Nevertheless, I did think the movie was a stylistic delight; we’re still feeling its influence now. Out of the Luhrmann movies I’ve seen, this one is certainly his most memorable, even if not everything works. (8/10)

A Woman’s Face (dir. George Cukor, 1941)

How this is one of Joan Crawford’s least remembered roles, I’ll never know. While on the technical side this movie is not terribly interesting, it is an entertaining noir drama and a commentary on how a woman’s worth is often linked closely to her physical beauty. And then there’s Conrad Veidt—oh swoon, oh man, I love his sensual, selfish villain! His line, “the world belongs to the devil” just personifies the amoral philosophy of so many noir villains throughout the classic cycle. (7/10)

Teen Titans: The Judas Contract (dir. Sam Liu, 2017)

I watched this movie with my sister @zany-the-nerd, who is a big Deathstroke fan. If you too are a big Deathstroke fan, I can only tell you that the likelihood of your hating this movie is high, judging by my sister’s reaction to his new characterization. As someone with only secondhand knowledge of the comic this is adapted from, I would say this movie is okay on its own. The animation is good, the fight scenes are entertaining, Nightwing and Starfire are adorable. On the whole, I think it needed a runtime longer than 80 minutes. Tara’s relationships with both the other Titans and Deathstroke could have used more development to make the emotional conclusion more effective. (7/10)

David Copperfield (dir. George Cukor, 1935)

David Copperfield is one of Charles Dickens’ best-loved novels; in 1935, MGM adapted it into this wildly successful film version and populated it with tons of great character actors. One of the delights of this version is how much it resembles the original Victorian illustrations of the novel (even the opening titles are designed to evoke the original cover design of the novel’s first printing).

There are some expressionistic flourishes in the childhood segment, illustrating the innocent David’s clashes with the much harsher adult world and how lost he feels as a disadvantaged orphan within it, and these bits look forward to post-WWII Dickens adaptation such as David Lean’s Oliver Twist and Great Expectations, and the wonderful Brian Desmond Hurst version of A Christmas Carol, all of which had shadowy cinematography that bordered on noir aesthetics. Of course, the film is not wanting in humor, which often appears in the form of several great stars and character actors: WC Fields as an offbeat yet charming Mr. Micawber, Roland Young as a very icky Uriah Heap, Basil Rathbone as the sadistic Mr. Murdstone, Lionel Barrymore as Mr. Peggotty, good God the 1930s had such great performers for this kind of material! My favorite of the bunch has to be Edna May Oliver as Aunt Betsy—I cannot imagine anyone more perfect to play that eccentric, strong-willed woman.

One of the big shocks for me was Freddie Bartholomew as the child David. Child actors in classic-era talkies usually make me cringe, but I was surprised at how much I enjoyed Bartholomew’s performance. He comes off as sensitive and charming without being cloying, and when he was replaced by the blander Frank Lawton in the latter part of the film, I found myself missing him. About the only scenes where Lawton musters any charisma are the ones with David’s love interest Dora Spenlow (a character I found annoying in the book, but rather liked as played by Maureen O’Sullivan here—maybe I need to revisit the book and re-assess the character). There you’re able to see some of that sensitivity return, but otherwise, he just comes across as callow and passive.

To be honest, the book is much too long and complicated to cram into two hours and ten minutes—a three hour runtime would have served the filmmakers better (that or cutting more out, which they seemed unwilling to do). Apparently producer David O. Selznick wanted to make this book into two movies, which would have been an even better idea, allowing both halves of the story to breathe and develop. While David’s childhood in the first half of the movie is paced well, the second half with his adult counterpart feels more like a greatest hits reel, a quick summary. Agnes and Steerforth in particular are barely developed. As a result, the movie feels kind of rushed toward the end, leaving you less than satisfied. But no matter, this is still a charming, well-made movie, and a treat if you are a fan of Dickens in general. (8/10)

Twilight of a Woman’s Soul (dir. Yevgeni Bauer, 1913)

I was first turned onto 1910s filmmaker Yevgeni Bauer when I saw his 1917 picture Dying Swan last year (FYI, that movie is awesome and you should all watch it). Twilight of a Woman’s Soul is an earlier and slightly less sophisticated work, but by the end of its 48 minute running time, I was impressed nevertheless. It tells the story of a rich young woman named Vera whose life is altered after a vagabond rapes her. She murders him in self-defense afterward and runs off shaken and ill (an event which seems to have next to no effect on what happens next, but still satisfying). Time passes and though she is still affected by what happened, Vera does find romance. Engaged to an upright and tender nobleman, she wonders if she should tell him about her past trauma, only to learn that her allegedly loving spouse sees her as only damaged goods after that.

What ensues is not at all what one would expect from a 1910s melodrama and just in case you watch this film, I dare not spoil it for you too much, as I was incredibly surprised by how progressive it was in terms of gender politics and in terms of how it portrayed rape from the victim’s perspective. Needless to say, the woman is able to find healing and peace without the aid of a love interest to avenge her honor. Heck, she avenges her own honor and doesn’t have to pay for it morally or legally!

Like many films made before WWI, much of the story is depicted in a series of tableaux; a medium shot is the closest the camera ever comes to any human subject. Nevertheless, this is hardly a filmed stage play. For one thing, the static scenes are saved from dullness by lovely composition, each set decorated and lit with a sensitive eye for detail. The editing is also adventurous for 1913. In an early scene, the filmmakers employ a slow-moving forward dolly shot to create a sense of depth in the space of the heroine’s boudoir. The film suddenly, almost violently, cuts away from the rape and the murder that follows it the split second before each event occurs. The acting is also very subdued, not at all the wild gesticulations 21st century audiences expect from a silent film of this vintage.

And that seems to be the running theme of this journal entry: this movie is not what people would expect from a 1913 picture. Progressive artistically and socially, it has me wanting to watch even more of Mr. Bauer. (8/10)

#thoughts #movies watched in 2017

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fictionary-tales · 5 years ago

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Excerpts from House Huntress

Here’s a place where we could live together: an apartment in the city, up some concrete steps with a discolored wrought iron railing that’s more likely to impale someone than do any kind of saving and the palms of my hands have the scars to prove it. Yours do not. The building is brick-red, or rain-stained-concrete gray, and the door, though the ivory paint is peeling in places, has a brass knocker and an eye hole for testing whether it’s worth ever opening again once we’re inside. There are some tiny planter boxes you made with your brother – the oldest one who can do things like that, whose name I never remember – and maybe I said I’d grow vegetables but I forget all about that when I see flowers, so instead of half-dead tomatoes we’ve got half-dead snapdragons and African daisies that I am clumsily trying to save after weeks of mistreatment.

There’s a kitchen just big enough to turn around in, everything that came in it already off-white or fake wood overlay, and the countertops are scattered with unorganized half-used glass jars of rosemary, thyme, basil, paprika, and old husks of garlic cloves that were rubbed clean and then forgotten. The cupboards rattle with too many coffee mugs, thrift-store finds that will never match one another and they rattle and clink against each other when you’re trying to select a particular one. The cutlery matches in that it doesn’t, so many knives and forks taken home from assorted twenty-four-hour diners to make up for the ones I keep losing and the ones you accidentally throw away with the leftovers. The fridge has at least two different kinds of non-dairy milk in it at all times, and no meat. It buzzes and groans.

Over the half-wall of the kitchen counter we have cobbled together the furniture we retained from past lives. What was once second-hand is now third-fourth-fifth-hand; at least the stuff that I bring is. You bring the overstuffed powder blue couch I love and this is its first time being co-owned by anyone, or even this far away from the nearest dirt road. Nashville is a cool city the way Austin is a cool city: an oasis of metropolitan tolerance in a desert of fucking bigots. In time the couch will be stained with candle wax and wine and what’s left behind any time you push my skirt up to discover I’ve forgotten to do laundry and so I’ve run out of underwear again. There’s books of poetry by Dickinson and Lowell on a coffee table scratched from cups, bottles, keys, lighters. There’s two poorly done paintings on the wall above the couch, portraits of two girls: one yellow-haired and the other a brunette, dressed in some early twentieth-century pink or blue gowns complete with parasol and over-the-shoulder coquettishness. A palette of faded blues and yellows and greens, the girls have the hollow black eyes of distant dreams. We found them on vacation together and had to save them.

The bedroom is small and the bed is smaller, dressed in lilac and crisp white. There’s a certain throw pillow in the center of other throw pillows that holds a secret, a zipper in the folds of its hemming to keep it. The nightstand beside my side of the bed I found next to the dumpster at my old place and it’s filled with bracelets, multicolored rings, knotted nests of necklaces, and weed in unlabeled bottles. The nightstand on your side of the bed has been in your family for three generations and I don’t know what’s in it. The bathroom smells like your perfume, like a pre-scented sample on a perfume ad insert that comes in any women’s fashion magazine. When I turn the shower on, old love-messages written on the mirror with your finger re-appear like magic.

…

Here is a place we could stay together: an antebellum house in the countryside, maybe close to your family. Close enough that you can walk a dirt path through the dry grass that’s tall as your hips. It’s a path lined with day-glo orange and gold poppies, and purple nettle flowers that sting to touch. You visit your father, your brothers, whenever you want. The middle brother who you’re so worried over all the time despite his being older than you, Angus, he comes over regularly to sit in our cool parlor decorated with see-through white linen curtains where he drinks bourbon and talks about Edna St. Vincent Millay and W. H. Auden and grumblingly refuses to show you or anyone else any of his own recent poetry.

The house is smaller than the one you were raised in, and bigger than any house I’ve ever called home or even been inside for very long. It’s an adjustment for both of us. Outside there are columns that sit beneath the second-story balcony. When we bought the place it was all whitewashed, but since then most of it has been painted a muted pink and I’ve planted ivy and bougainvillea that creeps up the columns in deep greens and explodes across the sides of the house in shades of magenta that refuse to die, despite me not knowing what I’m doing. Errant cats wander the property with dusty brown paws that leave prints across the white planks of the front porch and on the seat of a swing. Light streams in through windows half as tall as I am and onto end tables and decorative shelving to reveal intricate doilies and gold-rimmed porcelain candy bowls, ancient copies of books thick enough to kill a man with if used properly, and glass vases filled with bouquets of wild flowers we both pick for each other on any given weekend.

The ceilings are so high that I can hear you singing to yourself in the kitchen from the other side of the house; your smoky lounge-singer voice that you typically only show off for family Christmas carols now bounces off of support beams to reach me wherever I am. Our guitar in the corner stays tuned and clean and in the evenings I play and you sing, or the other way around, or we take turns. In the kitchen, brass pots and pans hang from above, over a restored-vintage stove, along with hanging bundles of drying herbs: rosemary, sage, basil, lavender. Storage containers of descending size with painted-on sunflowers contain flour, sugar, and rice separated by variety. The freezer is stuffed with mason jars equally stuffed with jam: blackberry, marionberry, raspberry, orange marmalade, strawberry, blueberry, fig. There is one hook for multiple aprons, there is a multitude of decorative dish towels which are separate and different from the actual dish towels and this is true even when used interchangeably like I do on accident (to your chagrin). Coffee grounds and cat hair and the plastic ties from long-gone loaves of sliced bread fall between the gaps in the counter and the stove.

The stairs will never stop creaking. The second floor has endless guest rooms for friends and family to stay in, the kind of family who will never be introduced to your own, the kind that will wake up early and make breakfast for us to say thanks, and then they say it again with their lips and their eyes and their embrace on the way out the door. Our bed is big, queen-sized, with a white iron frame that twists and turns like it grew that way from nature, and the sheets have tiny blue flowers on them the color of your eyes. We cover rings in the wood on the nightstand with squares of pale green linen. Batteries roll around back and forth against silicone inside the drawers, and we’re careful not to be too loud for the neighbors’ sakes, but that is half the fun. On weekends and days when I can’t get out of bed, you close the curtains to the sun, crawl under the covers with me, and we spend all day trying to come up with a good reason to get up.

…

Here is a place where we could grow old together: somewhere forgotten by the sea, away from the dry heat of summer. A house that is wider than it is tall, with new paint and an old garden that we make new again. Everything I plant turns to green. There is sand stuck into the fibers of the welcome mat, and smooth stones that we have collected and arranged into spirals and borders for garden beds keep everything from touching that we do not want touching. The door has more glass than wood on the front, multi-colored and mosaic so when the sun shines through it makes patterns on the floor for our feet to dance in. There is a backyard with a fence so high no one can see into it, except for the sunflowers which stretch up and up and up and over.

Inside there are bare wooden floors that we cover here and there with rugs collected from our worldly travels, purchased from artisans with a smile and many thanks. The furniture we use is purchased in a similar fashion; it is made of sturdy pine and oak, built to last, and stain resistant, with covers and cushions the colors of the ocean outside. The bookshelves hold volumes of poetic verse written by Keats, the fragmented desires of Sappho, biographies on Frida Kahlo, and lamentations of Sylvia Plath. At night the sounds of the waves can be let in or shut out through the many windows, and when it rains the whole house sounds off with the plunking of drops on glass like the pickings of my guitar.

The bay window in the kitchen over the sink holds flowers waiting to be pressed or dried or just picked in haste and then forgotten: violets, little daisies, hydrangea, and lots and lots of lavender. The counter tops are wooden, like you could cut right on them, and there are knife marks to prove it here and there in collections. There’s a china-blue bowl of oranges with only two left. Bulbs of garlic hang in a basket by the sink. An errant smell of sage and sea salt sinks into all our food, and the flecks of soil on the tile near the backdoor can never fully be swept out for good. To drink we make lemonade of all kinds: blackberry, strawberry, raspberry, mint, or water infused with cucumber and lemon, or hot tea with names like Rasperry Zinger and Orange Spice, and Sleepytime for late nights. A glass jar of honey sits on the counter next to the stove and it is always oozing. There is a table for two tucked into the corner, with bare wooden chairs we picked up from antique sales. They don’t match, but it’s hard to tell.

In the bathroom the shower has walls of tall frosted glass and connects to a bath tub deep and wide, soap scum fitting into the corners of the walls and in the grout of the tile. The rim of the tub is littered with half-empty bottles: baby pink, sea-foam green, and pearly white. It is so good for washing the salt from your hair.

There is no guest bedroom. Our bed is four-poster, with lavish fabrics draped around the beams, all indigo and white and cornflower blue. There are so many pillows of similar colors that it takes a concentrated effort to remove them before bed each night and replace them again in the gray mornings that follow. And sometimes we don’t replace them, and sometimes we do. The drawers of the nightstand beside it are stocked and arranged in an arsenal of silicone sexuality that we never worry someone might stumble upon. We are as loud as we like.

In the winter when the wind howls, there’s a blackened fireplace that we bring back to life. It crackles and spits while we turn against one another under the covers. A hamper in one corner is overflowing at all times. There’s a dresser that is taller than it is wide, almost to the ceiling, filled with scarves and summer dresses and sweaters; and, in between the socks and stockings in one of the smaller drawers, a collection of love poetry I’d forgotten I’d written to you. Your vanity holds pearls and perfumes, necklaces on silver hooks like branches worked to resemble a dead tree, and the mirror is pristine and round the way all mirrors ought to be. Sometimes in the evenings before bed, you let me brush your hair in front of it even though you think it’s silly. You sit on that little white wooden bench in front, with me standing behind you so you watch me in the mirror working the brush through your beach-blown curls. You don’t ever have to tell me when I’m hurting you because I already know.

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spinningyarn-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Small Town Charm

When you look out on a clear day and see the persistent snow capped mountains cut with perfection along the blue sky and the vibrant green, lush grass covering the foothills that slope down into a clean blue lake, it’s impossible to imagine anything bad could ever happen here. In fact, in the small, secluded town on this perfect lake, people sometimes forget anything bad happens anywhere. I won’t tell you the name of this little town, village really. It’s so small and familiar that, even having altered this story enough to be ‘fiction’, any more details than absolutely necessary would give away what little truth is left. Nothing, no one, is anonymous in this town, and so I’ll keep the name to myself, to prevent any unwanted guessing.

Maya hadn’t lived there her whole life. Perhaps that’s what made her so interesting to the locals. It was easier to be opinionated about someone you hardly knew. She did things differently, and this wasn’t lost on them. Where the majority of the villagers worked hard at goals they’d set for themselves at age twelve, rarely re-scripting their futures and thought every impulse over until it lost all impulsiveness, Maya seemed purely instinctual. She did what she wanted, rarely wondering if anything that felt natural could possibly be wrong. Only when whispers followed her like lost puppies, and names rang in the air around her did she realize when she had stepped out of line. Such a thin line it seemed to her. How did everyone else know how far it went?

Maya worked at the local bar, in the kitchen because the manager deemed her too short for the bar, whatever that meant. This in itself seemed strange to her peers, as her father was a well-to-do business owner. Why did she work in service? Why hadn’t she gone to school? Couldn’t Daddy give her a job? It was unfathomable to anyone other than her, and those who knew her father, that she wanted to be her own person. So she worked, among those who judged her harshest, for minimum wage. She worked till she grew restless, then moved on to the next exciting chore, just trying to figure out who she was.

The bar kitchen was small and cramped and she could never quite rid herself of the greasy smell that clung to her hair, her clothes, her skin. It was an open kitchen though, and the bar was bustling most nights, so it led to a vibrant social life for our ambitious little chef. Some nights regulars would peek in the cutout in the wall and chat her up while she rushed about getting orders out, and she would have plans lined up before she even finished her shift. She made friends with the other staff (though she seemed odd at first, they grew to like her company, well the men did anyway) and the wives of the barmen. Her male co-workers developed a protective fondness for her, while the married women (unthreatened by her striking looks and separated by an age gap) mothered her. The single, female bar staff were suspicious of the attention she received and so were cold and professional. Never the less, she grew comfortable in her new environment and though she was a lightweight when it came to drinking, she trusted her new friends.

Maya struggled to fall asleep most nights, despite exhaustion from work. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling or read until her eyes were sore. She was tired most mornings, and yet when night came she was wide-awake. The night before a day off she would often drink herself into a hangover. If she felt ill she wouldn’t feel bored. If she had a hangover to nurse, her day wouldn’t seem so empty and meaningless. But she never drank alone.

It was a grey day. The kind that made everyone forget the idyllic world they lived in. The backdrop of chiseled mountains and picturesque greenery lay beyond the low-laying fog, and Maya felt as if she were a bug trapped in a child’s jar. It was dreary, but expected as it was only a few weeks before Christmas. The villagers took refuge in their well-furnished, insulated homes, and Maya cooked comfort food in an over-hot kitchen to carols that grated on her nerves more than they cheered her. Still she clocked out early and was caught on her way out by Ally, her co-worker’s wife. Ally was little like Maya, smaller even, but unlike Maya she had an endless supply of energy. Her marriage was falling apart around her, everyone knew, and they talked freely of it as if it were their business. Ally sought Maya’s youthful companionship as her own pick me up. It was as if proximity to youth as blatant as Maya’s would give back to her something she felt she’d lost years ago at the alter. At first her liveliness had unsettled Maya, even annoyed her, but she grew to love her, becoming Ally’s confidant and ‘little sister’.

Ally had been invited to a house warming party, which meant Maya was coming too. Ally didn’t ask if Maya wanted to come, she told her she was going. Maya often wondered how people felt when, having invited the charismatic Ally somewhere, they got Maya thrown in unexpectedly. She worried she was a tag-a-long, an immature crasher, but Ally hardly went anywhere without her. After all, it wasn’t like her husband would go along, and Maya suspected Ally was tired of asking him just to be turned down. So Ally was off to Ant’s housewarming and so Maya had a quick shower and followed where her friend led.

Ant was new in town, newer than Maya, and as far as anyone knew a quiet, polite guy everybody liked. He was soft-spoken, friendly and un-offensive. Maya had been out with him and others a few times, and though she’d witnessed him rowdy once after much lubrication, thought of him as a gentle giant. Ant welcomed her into his new home and Maya was soon at ease. She recognized most of the people at the party and quickly chatted up the others; gone were the fears of being uninvited. His place was small, enough for a single man, and modestly decorated. Though that was generous, in fact it wasn’t decorated at all. The white walls were bare and the furniture was made up of the cheapest IKEA had to offer. It would do, but by no means was it built to last.

The men at the party were regulars in the bar Maya worked in and Ally’s contemporaries. Ally shamelessly teased and poked them and Maya in turn learned to feel comfortable in their presence. They felt like cousins to her, she flirted with them platonically and never assumed they expected anything more. Maya had to work the next day, and although she drank along with the others, she never felt more than a light buzz. She took care not to drink too much, while still having a good time. But then somehow everything went horribly, inexplicably wrong.

Maya was in a dark room, fading in and out of consciousness. It took her awhile to notice that she wasn’t alone. Somehow she was lying on a bed, in nothing but her underwear bottoms and Ant was lying next to her. Frantically she pushed thick fingers off of her bare chest only to find his other hand was in her underpants. As if caught in a horrible nightmare, she was unable to push him away with any strength and she moved in slow motion. Where was she? Where were her clothes? She felt like she was watching it all from a distance, and yet urgency gripped her, forcing her into consciousness.

‘Stop,’ her voice came out weak, was that way he pushed himself onto her again? Maybe he didn’t realize. ‘STOP!’ Still he grabbed at her.

‘Come on, it’s OK.’

Didn’t he realize it wasn’t? She searched for her phone, an open door, any sign that she wasn’t alone with him, that she had a way out.

‘Shh, shh, come on baby, it’s…’

Suddenly a sliver of light, the door was open a crack and Ally pushed through. Maya could see the living room in the light, she was in his bedroom and Ally was still there! Ant shot up, pushing the door back and ignoring Ally’s protests, sealing them in the dark once again. Maya had reached her phone, she typed quickly, producing only a few nonsensical words before Ant took it from her.

‘What are you doing? Don’t do that,’ his voice sent shivers down her spin. It was soft, but his hands were rough. He couldn’t still think this was OK.

The dance continued: Ally pushed the door, Maya sent mad texts, Ant shoved her friend back before steeling her phone back. Maya was wide-awake.

Finally, somehow Ally’s husband (the only man near Ant’s size) got Maya’s texts. He broke in. The commotion sent Ant out of the room to investigate, leaving Maya enough time to find her coat and bra. She didn’t want a fight, so she zipped her coat, jammed the bra in her pocket and followed Ally and her husband out onto the street without explaining a thing.

Ally’s husband was pissed. What had they been playing at? Did she have any idea how worried he was? Maya, finally out of harm’s way collapsed in his arms, sobbing. She told him the whole story and watched as his face went from stern and distant to caring. As his arms tightened around her she fell into him, safe.

For weeks afterward Maya felt shaky, disheartened. She worked and confided in friends, too wary to go out for weeks. Though at first sympathetic, people’s opinions of what had happened changed. People’s opinions of her changed. Was she sure she’d done nothing to lead him on? Perhaps her skirts were too short, her tops to low? Her friend’s boyfriend had told her friend: ‘You know how Maya can be…’ Ally avoided confrontation at first, but soon resumed her friendship with Ant. It was all a big misunderstanding she told Maya. Ant was so nice, he wouldn’t be weird about it, Maya could stop worrying about it. Ally even slept over at his place when enough time had passed. He won’t do anything to me, she had insisted.

The clouds cleared, revealing the blue sky that had been there all along. The snow on the mountains slowly receded and yellow flowers appeared, freckling the green fields. Ally made new friends, newly single women who weren’t afraid to go out and flirt unabashedly. Maya quit her job and started a new venture: cooking in a ‘real’ restaurant on the lake. She was busy and broke. When she went out it was with boys who felt like brothers and close girlfriends. Ally’s husband drank a lot after Ally left him. One night he punched a man in the jaw. He’d been drinking Stella and the man had called Ant a ‘good guy’.

#metoo

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