#abby's twelve days of christmas
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"Santa, Baby" - A Mike Schmidt blurb
After years of hating the holidays, Mike gets a Christmas miracle.
A/N: Merry Christmas / Happy Holidays everyone! 🎄✨ This is just me writing a silly little blurb bc I’m sad yet obsessed with the idea of spending the season with Mike and Abby. They deserve the world :’)
Set in the 2000’s like the movie.
Word count: 463
Tags: FLUFF / GN! Reader / Not much really / Mike gets to be happy for once
Mike couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed Christmas. It was no secret that it was difficult for him, working a minimum wage job with two mouths to feed didn’t leave much room for luxury dinners or fancy gifts, but it didn’t mean they didn’t try. They always put up a tree, a few decorations, and Abby got at least one present…Other than that, they spent the actual day watching whatever was on TV and listening to the radio. Then, he was usually back to work in a few days.
He hated not being able to give Abby the holiday she deserved. It killed him to think that the kids at her school would talk about all the cool things they got, whilst she got barely anything.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he received a present.
This Christmas was different. It was his first with you, someone who happened to have money at your disposal. Ever since you'd visited their house, you’d made efforts to turn it into a home - replacing the curtains, buying a new fridge - even spoiling Abby with art lessons. At first, Mike had been hesitant; but he saw the way that Abby smiled just a bit brighter, and the way slept just a bit easier, and slowly gave into the idea of being spoiled.
“Open it!” You buzzed, Santa hat bobbing slightly as you handed a large box to him, Abby engrossed in her new toy, but glancing up briefly to watch the interaction. Mike raised an eyebrow, blushing even at the idea of having a gift. Slowly, he tore off the wrapping paper, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he realised what it was.
“It’s a PS2!” you buzzed happily. “I remember you talking to me about how much you loved to game and had an NES when you were a teenager…I know memories of that time aren’t the best, but maybe you can make new ones..?”
Mike felt the tears well in his eyes, clenching his jaw as he trembled.
You’d listened to him. Not only had you listened, but you’d remembered. You’d cared enough to go out of your way and get something that connected his past and present, when you could’ve just as easily got a cashmere sweater.
He felt twelve years old again; wasting hours in front of a tiny TV, shoving popcorn into his mouth as a gamed. His mom never understood the appeal.
With shaky hands, he looked up at you. You’d even bought him a game alongside it.
Smiling, you felt your heart break just a little, but you could see that he was practically screaming thank you.
“Go ahead,” you smiled, watching as Abby rushed over to admire Mike’s new gift. “I’ll watch the food,”
#florence writes!!#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmdit x gn!reader#mike schmidt x male reader#fnaf x reader#fluff#fnaf fluff#mike schmidt x reader fluff
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Imagine having matching Christmas pj’s with Mike and Abby?🥹
IT WOULD BE SO CUTE😭
-🌊
!!!!! [i'm a little sleepy so bear with me lmao]
tags: fem!reader, major fluff, christmas pajamas. just pure holiday sweetness [,: sorry if there are errors, it's late and i'm damn near conking at the keys
i have a pair of reindeer fleece pants that i’ve had for the last two years, and i can imagine abby gifting mint!reader a pair of them while you clear your dinner plates from the coffee table.
"i gave mike his pair already. i was supposed to wait, but i was too excited," you're forced to place the dishes on the counter as she shoves the pants into your hands with a wide, toothy smile. the reindeer's heads are adorned with santa hats, festive lights strung around their antlers and ears.
they're pretty cute, screened over the entirety of both legs, and you're rubbing your hand over the soft, fluffy material with a warm-hearted hum. you return abby's smile, reaching down to sway her side to side in a tight hug. "thank you, abs. you have great taste."
"tell me something i don't know," she replies, and you lean on the counter in a fit of laughter, abby joining you soon after
mike had accepted his pair with a bit of reluctance, giving abby a slow and fabricated, "thankssssss...." as he stared down at the ugly cartoon reindeer. they were everywhere, crudely-drawn with unintelligible blobs for "lights".
he'd stuffed them to the back of one of his dresser drawers.
the holiday is on a saturday this year, and he's so excited to be able to spend the entire day with you and abby. it's already panning out to be a good time as he enters to the tall christmas tree that's been set up in the corner, illuminated with lightbulbs of all sizes and colors. the ornaments are mostly silly; cardboard gift boxes, paper snowflakes and candy canes, and other kitschy things you and abby had made over the last twelve days.
there's a decent stack of presents under the tree, all wrapped in ways indicative of who handled them. mike's got one more for you in his grip, and he's about to set it under the tree when abby appears from the hallway, staring him down. "what's in your hand?"
"a present. merry christmas, abs."
"is it for me?"
"no, it's for y/n. just something last minute." abby takes in the small jewelery store bag dangling from his finger, squinting her eyes.
"is it a ring?"
"what---abby, no. we've been on one date."
"i heard it went well."
"yeah, well, one date isn't grounds for marriage, good or not. jeez, why don't you go talk to y/n and stop pestering me?"
"she's changing into her christmas pajamas, something you should be doing as well. won't be fully christmas without them."
mike stands to his full height, shaking his head with an irritated, "nuh uh. not happening, sorry."
"oh come on, i spent my allowance on those pants!"
"terrible purchase," mike deadpans, beginning to move towards the kitchen when you come into the early morning light of the living room. it stops him in his tracks.
your hair rests atop your head, curly tendrils toppling over your eyes, and you look down at yourself as you notice mike staring at you. you survey for drool stains since you slept in your black camisole, and twist and turn as you scrutinize the pants on your bottom half. "a little small, but they'll do. thanks again, abby. you're really sweet," you're reaching out to pull abby into your side when you finally see mike, giving him such a bright, energized smile even though it's 7:53 in the morning. you're just so beautiful, and it nearly causes mike to lose all brain function.
"hi, mike! did you have a good shift?"
"yeah," he sighs out, tongue so dry it'd work better as tinder. he composes himself, swallowing as he jokes, "watching over animatronics is really the life."
you giggle, turning to hide your blushed cheeks and goofy, totally-crushing-very-hard grin. "well, you're employee of the century in my eyes, your picture should be everywhere! oh, speaking of pictures, abby wanted to take one with all of us in our festive pjs. mind changing real quick?"
there's no protest. mike's damn near the roadrunner with how fast he dashes in and out of his room, standing in front of you two in a white t-shirt and his reindeer pants in what feels like fifteen seconds.
abby sticks her tongue out at him, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest with an indignant head raise, but mike pays her no mind, musing, "so...a picture you said," to you as he stares into your eyes and melts like a bar of chocolate left out on a hot day.
the picture comes out cute; abby sits between you and mike, and your cheek rests against the top of her head while he keeps the two of you close to him by stretching one of his arms across your shoulderblades and pulling you in tighter. you're all smiling, perfectly poised for the shot, and mike can't help but think about how this is all he wants forever as you shriek at the custom necklace that he's gotten for you; deep yellow gold with a heart locket that had a tiny picture of him and abby inside, all of your initials carved into the metal on the other half.
"mike!"
"merry christmas, y/n."
omg i was not expecting to write this but how fucking cute. i really do love the holiday season so this is really nice. i can't believe american thanksgiving is in THREE DAYS. that's fucking NUTS!
faire's seedlings ✿
@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange
#fnaf#fnaf movie#fnaf fic#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt fluff#faire is writing stuff#faire's (mint) mike schmidt <3#josh hutcherson#faire answers asks#faire says#if only i had a boo for the winter time#i'm trying to stay warm#if you know what i mean#but also i want a kiss fr#and a personalized necklace#cute as hell#faire’s wave!anon
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TWELVE DAYS OF FICMAS
(Starts December 14th!)
MASTERLIST
Day 1: Gingerbread houses + Joel Miller and Ellie Williams (The Last of Us)
Day 2: Mistletoe + Harvey (Stardew Valley)
Day 3: Present shopping + Hugo Vega (Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator)
Day 4: Wrapping presents + Vanessa Shelly and Mike Schmidt (FNAF)
Day 5: Snowball fight + Vanessa Shelly (FNAF)
Day 6: Caroling + Shane (Stardew Valley)
Day 7: First snow + Joel Miller (The Last of Us)
Day 8: New Year's kiss + Harvey (Stardew Valley)
Day 9: Hot chocolate + Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)
Day 10: Secret Santa + Steve Harrington (Stranger Things)
Day 11: Ornaments + Mike and Abby Schmidt (FNAF)
Day 12: Christmas day + Harvey (Stardew Valley)
#fanfiction#12 days of ficmas#christmas fic#tlou#joel miller#joel miller x reader#the last of us#stardew valley#harvey sdv#stardew harvey#sdv harvey x farmer#sdv harvey x reader#fnaf#fnaf movie#vanessa shelly#mike schmidt#ellie williams#abby schmidt#mike schimdt x reader#vanessa shelly x reader#sdv shane#stardew shane#sdv shane x farmer#sdv shane x reader#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#rdr2#rdr2 arthur
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MASTERLIST
Welcome to my Pedro Pascal masterlist. I'm still fairly new to fan fiction and have never attempted creative writing until last year, so please go easy on me people lol. I currently write for Din Djarin, Joel Miller and Pedro Pascal himself. Comments and reblogs are very welcome. I hope you all enjoy.....
A= Angst F=Fluff S=Smut V= Violence
A03 Link
Din Djarin Masterlist
Remember Cyar'ika Part 1 A F V
You and Din hunt bounties together, but you get injured and have Amnesia. Will his love help you regain your memory?
Remember Cyar'ika Part 2 A F V
You and Din hunt bounties together, but you get injured and have Amnesia. Will his love help you regain your memory?
Priceless part 1 A F V
You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!
Priceless Part 2 A F V
You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!
Priceless Part 3 A F V
You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!
We don't talk anymore A F
You are afraid Din doesn't want you around anymore since Grogu has been returned to his people. After an argument yours and Dins' true feelings come out.
Warm or cold A F S V
You and Din track bounties together. During one hunt the quarry gets the upper hand and tries to kill you in order to escape. Din makes him pay. No one hurts his Cyare!
Catch Me If You Can S F
You'd better run. The Mandalorian is hot on your heels....
Din Djarin Head-canons
Joel Miller Masterlist
Am I too late to love you Part 1 A F
Joel breaks you heart when you confess your love for him. You get into trouble while on patrol causing Joel to accept his feelings for you.
Am I too late to love you Part 2 A F
Joel breaks your heart when you confess your love for him. You get into trouble while on patrol causing Joel to accept his feelings for you.
Reckless A F V
You are a bit too headstrong and impulsive for Joel's liking. After purposely putting yourself in danger he let's you know just how much you mean to him.
When I wake up I've lost something A V
Joel is finally happy and in love but when he wakes up.....
The swimming lesson S F
You are close friends with Joel and Ellie. You can't swim, so Ellie gets Joel to teach you at a secluded lake. All the sexual tension and pining for each other becomes too much....
Twelve days of Christmas A F
For twenty years Joel never had to think about Christmas. Painful memories of past Christmases with his daughter were easier to bury in the depths of his mind. But now Jackson's festivities are in full swing and an unexpected meeting might just give Joel a reason to embrace the holiday once again.
Every Last One of Them A V
Abby is about to kill the man you love. You can't let that happen so you make the ultimate sacrifice....
Joel Miller head-cannons
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
Oh baby A F
You and Pedro have a happy and comfortable relationship. His career is booming and you have a demanding job, so add an unexpected pregnancy and oh shit!
Oh Mama - a continuation of Oh Baby F
As the birth draws closer you think back to all the times Pedro has been there for you and how grateful you are for him.
Oh Daddy - a conclusion of Oh Baby F
You go into labour and Pedro helps you through it, proving to be the best partner and daddy you could ask for.
Forever a Winner F
It's the night of the Golden Globes awards and you're there to support the love of your life, Pedro Pascal.
#pedro pascal#din djarin fanfiction#the mandalorian fanfiction#mando x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller x you#din x reader#joel miller fic
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abby (adamnsey)’s super-duper funky fresh adansey fic rec masterpost
Hello friends. i like to think of myself as a connoisseur of adansey fanfiction and so i thought i’d put some of my favs here in a list. no one asked for this but here it is. yippeeeee
this is what i live for by kitschlet
this is my favourrrite adansey fic EVVVERRRR. this fic has everything: adam as a vampire. gansey as a human. gansey desperately wanting adam to suck his blood. adam being to proud to suck gansey’s blood. gansey being a jealous little brat about this. SEXUAL VAMPIRE TENSION. THIS FIC IS A GODSENT.
A Complex Superiority by cloudsweater
is this my own fic? yes. do i feel a bit bad about including it? yes. do i also think it is a wonderful exploration of a pre-trc adansey kiss at an aglionby party? also yes. :)
With My Hands Open by HindsightHero
this one is just sooooo well written and i love the details and their dialogue is really good ummmm.... probs one of my fav kiss stories & it takes place in cabeswater so there’s that
forests / fields / seas by VioletSargent
have u ever wondered.... what would happen if after adam walked away from the gansey house in tdt... what if after they found adam they spent another night in D.C..... well this fic answers that!!
Twelve Days ‘Til Christmas by flitwickslittlebrotha
this fic is xmas themed but I! LOVE! IT!!!! it’s just a sweet au where gansey frequents the pub adam works at and its SO CUTEEEE
A Study of Living in Your Own Skin: A Presentation by Adam Parrish to Richard Campbell Gansey III by Kasket
i just LOVE a good au and this one delivers. they get paired up to do an assignment today and there’s tension and crushes and just AH. SO GOOD.
cowboyland by Ophelia Marina
gansey visits adam at harvard and things ENSUE......
BONUS ROUND !!! ADANSEY MOVIE AU LETS GOOOOOOO
The Raven Network by declantheelynch
SORRY MY PRADA’S AT THE CLEANERS, ALONG WITH MY POLO AND MY FUCK-YOU BOAT-SHOES, YOU PRETENTIOUS DOUCHE-BAG
where is my mind? by Fix9
the first rule of the adansey fight club au fic is that we must talk about the adansey fight club au
carcass for the vultures to colonize by robinsegg
UMMMM MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO ADANSEY AU ANYONE?
Bleed All The Sweetness Away by Zee
(new addition!) HUNGER GAMES AUUU DFSHJKJDKSFJH. THIS WORKS SOOO WELL! GREAT FIC!
When the Fog Clears by cloudsweater
im sorrrryyyy yes this another one of mine im SORRRRYY its not my fault i love picturing them in Alternate Universe Scenarios!!! anyways this is a Lighthouse AU and i think it’s really deranged and good :)
if anyone has any adansey fic recs please send them my wayyyyyy. these r just some of my favs and i wanted to put them all in one spot. thank u to everyone for dealing with my brainrot ok have a nice day bye <3
#adansey#adam#gansey#adam parrish#richard campbell gansey iii#richard gansey iii#the raven cycle#trc#the raven boys#the dream thieves#blue lily lily blue#the raven king#fanfiction#fic#fics#fic recs#ao3#mine
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𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠
A/N - okay okay I know promptober just ended but this is my announcement for my twelve days of promptmas!!! It will last the 14th of December till the 25th!
Taglist
Main Masterlist
Prompts
-
December 14th - day one - baking Christmas cookies with micheal and Abby (fnaf)
December 15th - day two - first Christmas after the world ended (Daryl Dixon)
December 16th - day three - “baby it’s cold outside” (joel miller)
December 17th (my birthday) - day four - surprise birthday party (Steve harrington)
December 18th - day five - first Christmas with baby dixon (a little look into reader and Daryl’s future) to the end and back
December 19th - day six - exchanging secret Santa gifts (Steve harrington + the party + Robin and eddie)
December 20th - day seven - decorating the tree with baby Sarah and Joel miller
December 21st - day eight - reminiscing on the best Christmas present they’ve ever gotten (reader from day 7 of Promptober + Carl grimes)
December 22nd - day nine - snowball fight (Bruce yamada)
December 23rd - day ten - writing Christmas lists with Sarah miller
December 24th (christmas eve!) day eleven - the night before Christmas (Mike x reader with Abby x platonic! Reader)
December 25th (christmas!!) day twelve - Christmas morning (Sarah and Joel miller)
#fanfics#x reader#christmas#promptmas#stranger things#the last of us#fnaf#scream#the walking dead#twd#five nights at freddy's#mike afton x reader#mike schmidt#daryl dixon#Carl grimes#steve harrington x reader#joel miller x female reader
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Question...?
The clock had just struck twelve, making it officially Christmas.
Abby and James were passed out on their own couches. Lily was already upstairs in bed.
Only Harry and Al remained awake, both finishing up their hot chocolates.
"...I think we'll go to the Burrow for breakfast first and bring our presents there," Harry said through a yawn, listing out the day's events as if they didn't do the same thing every year.
He expected a comment from Al saying much the same. He was always quick to reply with his snarky comments. Not that Harry minded most of the time. They had a similar sense of humour. A similar sense of most things, really.
Which was why Harry could tell something was off when Al continued staring off into space.
"Something on your mind?" Harry said, taking another sip.
Al shook his head slowly, still looking lost in thought.
Harry decided not to push it. Al didn't do well with that kind of strategy. If he really wanted to talk, he would talk.
And sure enough, moments later, he did.
"Question..." he said, looking down at his mug.
"Answer," Harry replied.
Al rolled his eyes and gave him a moody glare.
Harry only smiled. "What's up?"
Tracing the edge of the mug with his finger, Al took a moment to speak up. "I..." he said, his face turning a deep shade of red that caught Harry slightly off guard. "What would you do if..."
Turning his full attention toward him now, Harry met the boy's green eyes. Identical to his own, but filled with something he'd never seen before.
"You know my friend Terrence?" Al said, instead.
"Of course I know him," Harry said with a shrug. "What about him?"
Al swallowed. "Well...he's not just my friend..."
A realization dawned on Harry straight away, and Merlin was he grateful for it. Al looked like he was torturing himself saying the words aloud.
But a part of Harry had always wondered.
"He's your....boyfriend?" Harry said, desperately hoping he wasn't overstepping.
Al raised his eyebrows in surprise, his cheeks turning even more red. "Bloody hell, Dad! We haven't exactly labeled it or anything..."
"Sorry, I..." he said.
"I just--"
"You don't--"
They both fumbled with their words for a moment before Al let out a long exhale. "I'm gay, okay? That's all I wanted to say."
"Right, perfect," Harry said with a nod. "So, then...what was your question?"
Al's lips parted and he shook his head. "I don't--I don't know," he admitted, looking embarrassed. "I guess I just...wanted to see if you were okay with that."
Harry frowned. "Why on earth wouldn't I be?" he said, feeling slightly offended. "Did you really think I--?"
"No, I...no," Al said, rubbing his hands over his face. "It's still just...scary though, you know? Having to announce it. No one else has to."
Feeling his heart clench, Harry pulled Al in for a hug. "I'm sorry...if I ever made you feel like you had to be scared," he said in his ear. "I'm so so sorry."
Al returned the hug. A very rare occurrence that immediately made Harry breathe easier. "You didn't, Dad," he said. "I promise, you didn't."
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Monday, the 11th
It’s a quiet morning here on our patch. The cats have found sunbeams and I’m curled up on the sofa with a book. Yesterday I was thrilled to see that hummingbirds have found our yard. I don’t see a lot of bees, and I miss that, but I’m guessing that being surrounded by farms might explain their absence. If I were a bee would I hang out in my garden or at the big lavender farm just down the road? Easy answer. I’ll have to do some research and make my yard more enticing. My zinnias are blooming like crazy and that’s what attracted the hummers. I was making lunch when I spotted the first one, bouncing bloom to bloom. Another came right up and checked out the potted flowers on the back porch. I love these little visitors.
Just a peek through the screen.
Would you believe that I finally have a little spot set up where I can start making some things again? I’ve really missed creating things with pretty paper and pictures of dead folks. I recently came across this gal and I think she’s got something to say. I’ll figure it out.
It may turn into something about a thick-headed true love that can’t even get the twelve days of Christmas right. No, it’s not a portrait in a parrot tree! That’s the only way I’ll sing it from now on.
As you can see, things are getting close to abby-normal around here. Cats are sleeping in sunbeams, hummingbirds are dancing among the flowers, and I’m back to making silly jokes. Life is good.
I’ll leave you here so I can go make up some sort of nonsense and put it on paper. I’ve decided that it’s going to be a fun day.
Stay safe, stay well, stay silly.
XOXO,
Nancy
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WEEK 15
HO HO HO, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! 🎅🎄❄🤶 It's the most wonderful time of the year! Trees are up, gifts are wrapped, and the holiday cheer is being spread! ☺☺☺ And we all know that football goes with Christmas just like fruitcake and eggnog 🍰 Let's take a quick look at the holiday traditions that make the holiday so special ⛄☃
KRAMPUS - 12 POINTS
Everyone knows about jolly Saint Nick. Yet in Austria, he has a rather sinister companion, KRAMPUS 😈 a half goat monster that beats bad little German children with tree branches 🎋 (I think I speak for all of us when I say WTF Austria) Just like JANIE beat all you bad little weiner schnitzels this week with TWELVE POINTS 🔥🔥🔥 I for one, am going to go do the dishes while I'm staying in Arizona before Janie decides to take me off the "Nice" list 😇 Even JJ won't want to be "Naughty" with Janie if it means getting beat with a tree branch 🤕
KENTUCKY FRIED CHRISTMAS - 10 POINTS
Japan is NOT known for being a Christian nation 🎌 But you know what they ARE known for? Pearl Harbor Kentucky Fried Chicken 🍗 That's right people. Every year Japanese families reserve a holiday turkey from KFC and enjoy their version of a very tasty festival. The KFC logo is even based on J.J. AKA colonel Sanders 🧔 Sadly, this is the last time I can beat the dead horse that is J.J.'s beard jokes, because his face is now a smooth as a DELICIOUS KFC Southern Fried Butter Biscuit™ 😭😭😭 (KFC absolutely did NOT pay me to say that, I came up with the idea to talk about their Savory Spicy Kentucky Super Gravy™ available as most KFC locations)
CHRISTMAS PICKLE - 10 POINTS
The German tradition beloved around the world! 🌎 where parents hide a pickle in the tree and little tikes race to be the first to find that pickle! 🥒🥒 As usual, this tradition has a lovely origin, where two little Scandinavian boys were trapped in a pickle barrel 😆 they died 😊 Warms the heart! Our Christmas Pickle this year is of course PEYTON! Though we can't wait to see him, he needs to remember that Arizona is a FAMILY place, so he better keep HIS 'Christmas Pickle' to himself!
HOLIDAY SAUNA - 10 POINTS
In the frozen tundra of Finland, locals find solace in a national tradition of stripping naked and relaxing in a hot sauna with friends and family 🧖♀️🧖♂️ I'm moving to FINLAND ✈ So catch Gabby soaking up the souls of her ancestors 👴👵, just like they believe in Finland, in a lovely Sauna! I will be peering at her through the window with a periscope 🔭
YULE CAT - 10 POINTS
Iceland has many fun, kid friendly Christmas tales 📗📘📙 Just like the Yule Cat MEOW 🐱 little Icelandic boys and girls better do a good job tending to their turnip farms, because the Yule Cat that follows Santa around will friggin' EAT you if you're lazy 🍴 Raise your hand if you would be eaten by the Yule Cat ✋ (Abby you better be raising both hands) The only one not raising their hands should be RUSTY, whose work ethic is surpassed only by his weakness for small, hog dog shaped animals 🐕🦺
FRUITCAKE - 9 POINTS
Who could hate FRUITCAKE around the holiday season?! Oh, that's right, everyone 🤢 Thought nowadays fruitcakes are (relatively) innocuous dished brought over by Mee Maw that you politely pretend to eat while feeding it to your dog, fruitcakes used to be THE MEAL. In fact, fruitcakes were so important that the POPE 💒 himself had to have a debate in the Vatican to decide if it could be legal to use butter! I think we all know what VAL would have said to the pope 😬 because at our meal last night I'm pretty sure she used a 10:1 butter-to-bread ratio 🧈🧈🧈 I kid of course 😂 Val is a wonderful soul who only uses an appropriate amount of butter (I have to suck up to her after costing us 2 pickleball games yesterday...)
BAD POTATOES - 8 POINTS
In Iceland there is a lovely Christmas tradition of leaving your shoes out by the tree for each of the 12 days of Christmas 😊 Good little boys and girls will receive loads of candy 🍬🍭🍫 in their... used... smelly... shoes 😐 And bad little boys and girls get old potatoes 🥔 Of course who could this be reminiscent of but ABBY! Each day, until about 3:30 PM, she resembles a potato: Not moving very much, wrinkly, bland 🛌🛏 Abby has never in her life uttered the phrase "The early bird gets the worm" 🦅
EL GORDO - 12 POINTS
In Spain they go crazy for the Christmas LOTTERY 🎫🎟🎫🎟 I think all us can get behind a chance at some MOOLAH. Interestingly enough, the big prize is called "El Gordo", or "The Fat One". That is the same name Logan's family gave to him after trying to provide meals for him growing up 😋🍔🍕🍖🍗 And the name he deserves after scoring TWELVE points this week, the king of the hill!
BUMP ON A LOG - 9 POINTS
You gotta love PORTUGAL! Instead of Christmas trees, they grab a log of firewood, put googly eyes on it and give them to each other as little "Christmas People"... 🤨 I tell you who WOULDN"T approve of these Christmas people, our friend JULIETTE! these flat bottomed Christmas dorks wouldn't fly with her, she wants something with a little more SUBSTANCE. Just like she sang last night at Karaoke: "WHERE MY FAT A** B****** IN THE MOTHERF****** CLUB F*** THE SKINNY B******" 😢 it's like Shakespeare was with us 📃
All these traditions are nice and all, but the best tradition of all is the PICK EM POOL! Where you can win yourself some money and get into the holiday spirit! So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! 🛷🛷🛷🛷
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All I Want For Christmas Is You
Word Count: 5.8K+
Author’s Note: ok so someone ask me why I chose pedraz and I’ll tell you. I loved writing this, I think we all missed luke smut, I know I did. And frenemies is always fun, especially when the sexual tension is real. And christmas time too! i hope you guys enjoy it.
Pairings: luke patterson x reader - cousin!julie x reader
Warnings: smut, baby!
--
Some people just radiate confidence, wherever they go, whatever they do. You meet one of those people and often find yourself blown away by their beauty, their intelligence, their sheer, raw and unfiltered talent: the sort of people that walk into a room and all eyes suddenly fall onto them, because why wouldn’t they?
In short, there wasn’t a lot that Luke wasn’t good at.
The Los Feliz senior was perhaps the most popular kid in school; the band he was lead guitarist of certainly aided in that status, but in truth he was just that likeable, that talented, that handsome. He would find himself denying it when complimented, diverting the praise somewhere else, holding on to what little humility a guy that appealing could have. The sort of person who would spend his weekends helping the homeless or saving cats from trees, all while keeping up with his schoolwork, a meticulous work out routine and band practice.
And yet he still couldn’t convince the girl he liked to go out with him.
“Morning, pendejo.” As the school bell rung one colder-then-usual December morning, Luke was greeted by the familiar term of endearment from his locker neighbour and Julie Molina’s older cousin, Y/N. A senior, like he was, and his bandmate’s closest confidante, Y/N and Luke had been acquainted for their entire childhoods, and ‘friends’ for perhaps seven months out of fifteen plus years. They had gone through grade school together, just like Luke had with Alex, and later on Reggie when he moved to LA, lived down the street from one another, ran in similar social circles for the majority of high school.
That wasn’t to say they were actually friends, quite the opposite in fact. Their mutual of Julie forced upon them each other’s company, despite the very blatant truth everyone but Luke’s lead singer and Y/N’s prima pequeña was unaware of:
Luke and Y/N were too competitive to ever get along.
In the same way that Luke lit up rooms with his smile and charmed the socks off of every person he met, Y/N did the same. Call it her adoptive mother’s perfectionist agenda, her own high expectations, or simple happenstance, Y/N Pedraz was the sort of person whose only obstacle was her own mind. The sort of person who had the brightest stars in her eyes and the sweetest symphonies in her laughter, with a brain as sharp as her wit and extensive vocabulary to offend someone in three separate languages; she was the girl with the wall of blue ribbons and the report card with straight As, the girl who, alongside her aunt, taught Julie piano.
The girl Luke had been in love with since 6th grade.
“Idiota? Are you even listening?” Luke was snapped from his thoughts to look back down at the girl stood beside him, watching him with a raised eyebrow as he tried to form enough saliva in his mouth, that had suddenly become very dry, in hopes of responding. After a few seconds of no luck, Y/N smiled and shook her head. “Not wasting your breath on me, how sweet. Julie wants you and the guys to come to mine for band practice. Something about the studio roof having a hole in it and people coming to fix it, and my mom is on her holiday detox cruise until the New Year so the only person you’ll be disturbing is me!” The chipper tone of voice was laced in sarcasm, and Luke couldn’t help but role his eyes at her, to which she scoffed. “Since I’m doing you the favour, Mr Rockstar, you should maybe be nicer to me.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you Princess?” Luke finally found his words, calmed his heart beat, and dressed his face with a cheeky smirk as he closed over his locker and leant back against the cool blue metal. “But if we were nice to each other, who would hate us?” He posed the question, earning a soft smile from the girl, a victory in his book. It wasn’t often he got a genuine smile out of her.
“The problems with being perfect, Patterson.” She collected her books and closed over her own door, spinning on her sneaker heel with a flip of her hair. “Hasta luego, guapo.” She called back to Luke, making her way towards her next class as the second bell of the day rang, and Luke muttered a soft ‘shit’ as he started in a sprint towards his first class on the other side of the school.
He managed to cross the doorway of his English class just as the bell rang, sending a wink and grin to his teacher Madame Monroe, who was so old people were convinced she immortal, and taking his seat at the back of the class with a sigh of relief, busying himself with pulling out their current reading piece and notepad.
“Hey man-” he started to whisper as he looked to his left, only to find Alex already holding out a pencil to him, the pair sharing a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’m guessing the Queen ambushed you, that’s why you’re late?” Reggie asked from his right, Monroe calling on some of the lacrosse players to wheel in the old tv stand: the end of term had some benefits, at least, and the class in unison tidied away their books for the period.
“We’re supposed to head to her place after school, band practice, Julie’s orders.” Luke explained in a low enough voice that Monroe’s limited hearing wouldn’t catch.
“She told me this morning.” Alex agreed, his friends looking over. “What? Student Council happens before school, we were both here early.” He muttered, folding his arms and slouching a little in his seat. “Besides, I like her. I know Luke doesn’t but I do.” Alex took a moment before defending himself, gesturing to the band’s guitarist with a sickly sweet smile. “She’s you, but a little less irritating.”
“Hey!” Reggie interjected, to what Luke hoped was a counter attack. “Y/N is extremely less irritating.” Reggie corrected to the chuckles of himself and Alex, and the groans of Luke stuck in the middle. “You know she got me a Christmas present last week? When was the last time I got one of those from you, Luke?”
“Can it Peters, you know I’m broke.” Luke punched his friend’s arm playfully, and the conversation ended as some VHS b-rated movie started to play, leaving Luke to sit with himself, and wonder just how he was meant to focus on band practice that night in Y/N’s house.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of Christmas movies and idle chatter about their upcoming gig, and with the end of the school day, Alex, Reggie and Luke made their way towards the Pedraz house. Julie’s Tía’s house was only a few street south of the Molina residence. The neighbourhood was lovely: the houses were a little bigger, the lawns a little greener, the air a little sweeter, but as the three friends made their way over from school that evening, the sun already setting as half past four closed in on them, they were more than aware that the Christmas decorations weren’t the only artificial thing on the street.
Everything about the place was almost too perfect: the comforts and mess and the smell of chocolate that seemed to constantly circulate over the Molina home was lost to the Pedraz residence on Mercer Drive: Alex knew, his parents developed the area. There was no room for gum on the sidewalks or dry patches of grass, not a soccer ball or trampoline or anything fun in sight. The holiday décor was simple Christmas lights, all the same colour, all the same icicle effect design in a bright white-blue to match alongside the greyscale housing. Every inch of the Mercer development looked the same, almost like a movie set for one of those new Netflix movies, and it was almost disturbing.
Almost: because just as the three boys arrived at their destination, they spotted the only house on the row with paper snowflakes in the window and a snowman sat by the door; the only house, it seemed, to have anyone under the age of fifty living in it.
“You found it!” The cry came as the front door swung open, Julie rushing over and hugging each of the boys in greeting, careful to avoid the guitars Luke and Reggie had strapped to their backs, before taking Alex by the arm and leading him inside, towards that same Molina smell of chocolate that wafted from the house. “Hurry up, Y/N made cookies.” She added, talking to Reggie and Luke, the former wasting no time in rushing into the home and kicking off his shoes.
Luke found himself paused, what his friends believed to be his reluctance to enter the home was actually his taking a moment to examine: to notice the wreath on the doorway that was sprinkled in a coat of glitter; or the way each of the snowflakes in the front room window were cut with perfectly straight lines despite the intricate patterns; how beyond the blinds he could see the flickering Christmas tree lights.
“You coming in or what?” It was the second time that day Y/N caught Luke off guard, Luke following the sound of her voice to her frame in the doorway, arms folded over a white slip dress, paired with a deep green turtleneck under it, and white fluffy slippers. Her hair was tied up, a messy bun atop her head, that did little to make her appear taller. “You’re letting out the heat, Patterson.”
“Really? With how cold your personality is, I assumed your house was some sort of modern day ice palace.” Luke quipped back, making his way up the front lawn’s path and onto the little porch. Y/N seemed hesitant to let him in, almost as hesitant as he was to enter: he had never been to her house before, this was new territory. Their common ground at the Molinas was the limit of their out-of-school socialisation. “You look really nice in, uh, the dress is…” Luke started, in hopes of relieving the tension.
“Don’t strain yourself.” Y/N seemed to concede, walking back into her house and, by association, allowing Luke to follow her in and close over the door. He followed her straight to the kitchen, where Julie was sat on a counter while Alex and Reggie dug into the fresh baked cookies. “You can you the front room, there’s another batch of cookies in the oven that need to come out in seven minutes.” Y/N began to explain to the band, Reggie pausing the shoving of sweet treats into his mouth for a moment to listen. “There’s juice in the fridge, if you need anything urgent I’ll be in my room. Upstairs, second door on the right.” She informed, walking over and letting Julie latch onto her, forcing the girl into a hug from her little cousin.
“Don’t you want to stay and listen? We’re pretty good, you know.” Julie gave her best puppy dog eyes, and Luke couldn’t help but smile as he watched Y/N pinch the singer’s cheeks.
“I know you’re good, but someone has to plan the fundraiser you’re performing at.” Y/N reminded. As a member of the Student Council, and an upstanding citizen in general, she had been asked to assist in organising the community Christmas Concert, a concert she had also gotten her little cousin’s band on the set list for. “Besides, I like surprises.” She assured, picking up a cookie from the cooling rack and taking a bite as she headed upstairs, leaving the four friends to their own devices.
--
“Luke, come on man, what is going on with you today?” Alex asked, hours later, as the four sat at Julie’s kitchen table, pizza for dinner. Their rehearsal that had had been far from great, Luke had barely been responsive half the time, and when Ray called Julie about ordering pizza for the guys and her, ending their rehearsal and sending them back up the street of Julie’s house, their was plenty left to be desired.
“The last time you played that bad was the stomach flu of ’15.” Reggie added, his eyes widening. “Dude you better not be sick.”
“I’m not, I’m fine… It’s…” Luke sighed, taking another bite of his pepperoni slice, his brows furrowed. He didn’t know what was going on with him: if it was because of Y/N and being in her house and knowing she was around, or something else entirely, but the guys were right.
He had never played worse.
“Do you really dislike her that much?” It was just that asked the question, Luke looking across the table at his bandmate, perhaps his closest friend, only to see her looking back at him with sad eyes and a deep frown herself.
“Jules-” Luke started, but she cut him off.
“I know she can be stubborn and I know she can be a little overbearing at times, but I just thought if you guys spent more time together, got to know each other, you might get along?” Julie began, setting down her pizza and beginning to pace the kitchen floor like she often did when stressed out. She took a deep breath, her voice shaky as she started up again. “She can be an asshole sometimes, sure, but she got us the Christmas Concert gig, she suggests us to play every school event, she’s my cousin Luke! And I know you two don’t always see eye to eye on stuff because you’re competitive, or whatever, but can’t you just try and be-”
“I’m in love with her.”
Julie stopped pacing then, turning to look over at Luke as he sat at the end of the table, his head hung low as his hands rake through his hair.
“That’s not funny, Luke.”
“Good. It’s not a joke.” He responded, looking up at his friends with a pained smile, letting out a short, cold laugh. “I’m in love with Y/N, I’ve been in love with her for six years… Give or take.” He confessed to it, finally, and was greeted by the most confused expressions on his friends’ faces.
“But you hate each other!” Reggie exclaimed; of the opinion he was stating the obvious. “You fight with Y/N more than Flynn fights with Carrie, you compete against her at everything, you spend more time complaining about her than anyone else you know and you know me. And Carrie! This has to be some sort of joke, man, I mean-”
“You’ve proven to the entire world you’re incompatible, both of you. Like, if ever there were two people who despised each other more, who made the effort to despise each other more…” Alex trailed off, baffled, her and Reggie both so shocked that they turned to Julie for answers.
She stood at the end of the table, arms folded just like Y/N did, her eyes narrow as she examined Luke, watching his reactions to his friends’ words. How he screwed up his nose at the mention of their shared rival of Carrie Wilson, the way he smiled like Reggie’s ranting invoked fond memories, the shift to a frown when Alex mentioned ‘incompatibility’.
“He’s telling the truth.” Julie decided, Luke’s eyes locking with hers, her face softening as his was painted by surprise. He hadn’t expected her to back him up, but then again he hadn’t expected to tell them about his dilemma either.
“He is?” Reggie whispered, and Julie nodded, confirming her statement. “But… But how? When?”
“She beat me in the school talent show… Sixth grade.” Luke said softly, the memory one he held dear, at least that was what his smile told his friends. “I fucked up and messed up my chord progressions at the end of my guitar piece… And she came on stage and just sang her heart out.”
“If I remember correctly, that happened and then you put pudding into her gym shoes as revenge.” Alex added, still not totally convinced.
“I just took credit for that one… It was actually Dorothy Matthews.”
“That makes sense, she was a mean kid.” Reggie agreed with a nod of the head and an accompanying shiver. “And five inches taller than me for all of middle school.”
“She was really tall, wasn’t she?” Luke agreed, the pair sharing a laugh as Julie and Alex watched on.
“Of topic, guys!” Alex snapped after a moment, the room falling silent as the blonde though over his next words. “So, you’re in love with Y/N, have been for years… And why haven’t you just asked her out?” The question had the conversation back on topic, all eyes on the brown haired boy as he chuckled to himself.
“I have. Multiple times. But it always went wrong or she misunderstood and thought I was joking, and at some point I just gave up trying.” He shrugged, letting out a sigh of defeat that had Julie rolling her eyes.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Patterson.” She said with a smirk. “A complete and absolute fucking idiot.”
“That’s not very nice.” Luke pouted. “Can’t you all just feel sorry about my unrequited love life and forgive me for sucking today?”
“Alex, who do we often refer to as ‘Luke’s female equivalent’?”
“Uh… Y/N?”
“And Reggie, if we know how Luke reacts when he likes someone, would it be safe to assume that Y/N might react in the same way?”
“You mean how Luke has no idea how to ask a girl out and instead teased her for half a decade? Oh, definitely.”
“So… Maybe, Luke, you’ve been so blinded by your assumed rejection that you haven’t noticed that maybe, just maybe, my cousin is also in love with you?” Julie posed the suggestion, and Luke sat up straight.
“That’s insane.”
“Is it though? Alex already said you both were so persistent in showing you despised each other. Maybe, I dunno, she loves you too and doesn’t think you even like her because you do shit like put pudding in her gym shoes!”
“That was Dorothy Matthews!”
“Y/N doesn’t know that!” Julie exclaimed, and Luke fell silent.
It was minutely plausible, the line of reasoning Julie gave, but a part of him couldn’t believe it even though he wanted to. Y/N was perfect; she always had been perfect, and Luke was a musician really considering dropping out of high school before the year was out. How would someone like her… Why would someone like her even think to care about someone like him?
“You know, I feel like now is where we make the big plan, get those lovebirds together, then celebrate by playing the best show ever at the concert, right?” Reggie spoke up through a mouthful of pizza, the four sharing glances.
“It won’t work.” Luke insisted.
“And what if it does?” Julie countered, smiling over at him. “Luke, if you’re so insistent then let me and the guys handle it. You just need to show up somewhere the night before the concert, ok?” She proposed, with an eagerly nodding Reggie on her right and a still perplexed Alex to her left. “Worse comes to worst, we can perform a Mariah Carey cover without you and say you’re sick or something.”
--
It was the last thing Y/N needed, really it was. Julie’s name flashing up on her phone the night before the Christmas Concert, the voice urgent down the phone as she begged her to head home, that Julie would meet her there. It wasn’t like she could say no to her baby cousin in distress, far from it: she would be more than willing to punch the daylight out of whoever had hurt her Jules.
That was what Julie had been betting on, of course, and Y/N arrived home from the mall that evening to find her front door open and a note on her porch.
She rushed over, her brain scrambling to figure out just how to tell her Uncle Ray that Julie had been kidnapped, grabbing the note from the floor and tearing it open:
I’m fine, you’ll thank me later.
Julie xx
“Dios mio…” Y/N muttered: her relief integrated with annoyance. Of course her cousin had planned something to get her away from her responsibilities. A glance at her watch, and Y/N realised getting back to the mall in time that night before it closed wouldn’t be a possibility.
That’s when music started to play from inside the house.
“Is this some kind of joke?” She called into her house, noticing for the first time that candles that lit up the hallway in a trail towards her kitchen. They bathed her home in a warm glow, one far more welcoming than the chilly breeze from outside. And with nothing better to do, and curiosity peaked, Y/N stepped inside, closed the front door behind her and followed the trail.
“No joke, I’m afraid… I was just as shocked as you were.” The voice that greeted wasn’t the one Y/N expected: but then, no-one really expected Luke Patterson of all people to be standing in their kitchen, beside what seemed to be a candlelit dinner for two sat on the dining table. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You hungry?” Luke asked with a nervous chuckle, one that Y/N reciprocated. She was safe to say slightly confused, but she had no intention to refuse.
“Starving.” She smiled in response, one of those genuine smiles Luke always liked to see on her face, and Luke pulled out a chair for her to sit down. She accepted, taking a seat and quickly taking her hair out of it’s ponytail when Luke turned around to fetch a bottle of grape soda from the counter.
“Clearly none of our friends have fake IDs, so please pretend it’s alcoholic.” Luke apologised, but the words had Y/N giggling as he poured her ‘wine’ to accompany the pasta dishes that sat before the pair.
“I’m assuming Julie devised some sort of elaborate scheme to make us friends or something?” Y/N asked, and Luke scratched at the back of his neck, the dread already building in his stomach.
“Sort of, yeah.”
“Sort of?” Y/N asked, her brows furrowing as she waited on Luke’s explanation. He quickly picked up the bottle again with a shaky hand, clearly not the best of ideas, since the pouring of red grape soda into his wine glass soon turned to the toppling of said glass and the liquid spreading across the table.
“Shit!” Luke exclaimed, jumping up and surveying the mess he had made, opting to pull of his shirt in a split second decision to try and mop up the juice before it hit the grey carpets below. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I swear to God I’m not usually this uncoordinated.” He rambled, managing to mop up the juice without getting any on the carpet. His eyes moved up, to check in on the silent Y/N, who sat with clasped hands and wide eyes. “Fuck…”
“You’re shirtless…” She muttered, doing her best to look anywhere but Luke’s naked chest and abdomen.
“I am.” Luke agreed, watching the reaction with interest. H wondered for a moment, trying to assess whether she was being respectful of his body and not looking out of simple decency, or if she was embarrassed by the situation for him, or something else. “Y/N?
“Uh huh?”
“Want to tell me where the laundry room is?” He asked, holding back a laugh when she darted up and rushed towards the utility room at the back of the house, beckoning him to follow, grape soda soaked shirt in hand.
Y/N was quick to turn on the light and busy herself setting up the washing machine, seeming glad to have something to do from Luke’s perspective. When she held out a hand for the shirt, he passed it over, crossing to the sink to wash the stick of the soda from his digits as Y/N messed with wash settings.
“It’s uh… It’s just me and mom… I don’t really have clothes you could change into.” Y/N muttered, coming over to the sink to wash her hands free of grape soda too.
“That’s fine.” Luke responded, and physically felt Y/N tense beside him for a moment. “I mean, the wash will take an hour, drying another… Two hours isn’t so long.”
“Two hours is long enough.” Y/N retorted drying her hands and making a quick beeline for the door. A hand caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Why so edgy, Princess?” Luke asked, unable to find it in himself not to tease the clearly wound up Y/N.
“None of your business.” She responded, looking him in the eye before wrenching her arm free and starting from the main floor of the house.
“I mean, I just want to know what I did wrong, Y/N.” He pleaded, sarcastic in tone, watching Y/N march and efficiently blow out the candles that lit up the kitchen and hallway. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from just being around her, or that fact he was just dumb enough to try it, but when Y/N finished blowing the candles out at the front door, Luke took his chance and pinned her in when she stood up.
“Let me go.” She demanded, keeping her chin high and a level head, here eyes locked with his. Had Luke not been more interested in answers, he would have lost himself in those eyes.
“Not until you answer my question. We’ll call it my Christmas present, since I know you got Reggie and Alex something.” Luke replied with a shit-eating grin, one hand coming to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, why so edgy, Princess?”
“Like I’d tell you, asshole.”
“Was it the food? The candles? You don’t like grape juice!” The incorrect guesses, the implied teasing, there was only so much Y/N could handle before she lost her temper.
“I don’t like you! I don’t like you appearing out of nowhere in my house and making dinner and having fire hazards everywhere! I don’t like you mopping up soda with your shirt and acting like you being shirtless is no big deal when it is! It really is…” She trailed off for a second, snapping back from whatever memory flashed before her eyes. “I don’t like you so close to me either! I should have you arrested for trespassing and indecent exposure, Patterson.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because if you really didn’t want me this close to you, you would have punched me in the face by now.” Luke chuckled. “Everyone knows after Bradley Jacobs in sophomore year that you have a mean left hook.” He reminded her of the time she punched the kids making sexist comments: she had charmed her way out of suspension.
“You’re meant to be performing in my Christmas show tomorrow, I’d prefer you not to have a black eye.” The excuse was weak, they both knew it. A silence filled the air as they stood close, somewhere between fear and tension, of what kind Y/N didn’t want to admit. “Stop being an asshole, Luke. It’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?” He teased further.
“To do this when you don’t even like me.” She whispered, her eyes closing as she let out a shaky breath, only for them to open in surprise when a set of lips met hers. Luke took the chance, of course he did, and he was glad he did. The taste of her strawberry chapstick was like heaven, the kiss sweet and gentle and chaste. He moved himself back, adding to the space between them as Y/N leant back against the door, her pupils blown.
“Y/N?” He asked, checking in, trying to figure out if he’d be getting the same reward as Bradley Jacobs for his actions. Her name being said shook off the daze she was in, Y/N looking up at Luke, rather apprehensive, stood shirtless in her hallway after he had just kissed her out of nowhere.
“Why… Why didn’t you do that sooner?” She asked, quietly, a smile and giggle coming to her lips as they looked at one another, catching Luke by pleasant surprise.
“I didn’t think you liked me.”
“Didn’t think- Luke I asked you out two weeks ago and you said no!” She exclaimed through her laughter, another wave of giggles hitting her when Luke’s mouth formed into an ‘o’.
“The library trip…” He realised, letting himself laugh too. “I mean, you really weren’t specific, and you’ve rejected me too you know.” He replied, the smile settling on his face one that wouldn’t go away anytime soon.
Especially not when Y/N closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his.
With the realisation of their stupidity, a sudden desperation added itself to the equation. There was time to make up, actions to apologise for, tension to finally put to use, and neither were planning on stopping until they had won. The kissed turned hungry, tongues clashing as Luke’s hands came down to Y/N’s thighs and lifted her into his arms, starting the climb up the stairway to the top floor of the house.
Y/N wasn’t sure how Luke knew where her room was, she wasn’t sure if what she was doing would backfire on her in some way, but frankly, she didn’t care. As Luke’s hands melted against her body, pulling off her shirt as they fell to the bed, all she wanted was him. His lips moved from hers to her neck, nipping at the skin softly as he hands worked off her skirt, and Y/N’s worked on unbuckling his belt.
They were both in their underwear in a few moments, breathing heavy and looking at one another: Y/N laid back on the bed, Luke sat back on his heels at the end of the bed.
“Do you-”
“Yes.” Y/N replied before Luke had a chance to finish the question. “Do you?”
“God yes.” He agreed, moving up her body and pressing kisses against her skin, goosebumps forming wherever his cold lips hit. When his kisses reached her underwear, his hands wrapped around the flimsy lace material and pulled them off, the kisses continuing on the insides of her thighs.
“Jesus Luke, haven’t we teased each other enough?” Y/N cursed, the words coming out as a moan. It was a sound Luke had wanted to hear her make for so long, he had to put effort into not losing himself right then and there.
“Fair enough.” He conceded, taking no further hesitation in pressing his fingers against her damp core and his tongue to her clit.
Y/N found it hard to control the noises that left her mouth as Luke got to work pleasuring her, his fingers moving at a rapid and steady pace as his tongue teased her sensitivity, the curl of his fingers to her sweet spot only added on by the pressured of his tongue. She did her best to hold back, to quieten down, but in response Luke’s touch disappeared.
“I want to hear you, Princess.” He grinned, moving up the bed and taking her hands into one of his, placing them above her head. “Keep them there.” He ordered, and while Y/N was far from someone who took orders from anyone ever, if it meant Luke’s tongue would be back on her heat, she was happy to do just about anything he said.
As his tongue went back to her core, Y/N didn’t hold back on her moans. She’d thought about the exact event happening at least twice before, but had never pictured Luke at being so good with his mouth. It made sense logically, as a singer his mouth was his weapon, and… Her brain wiped clean as another moan escaped her, pressure building in the pit of her stomach.
“Fuck, Luke…” She whimpered, her back arching, her head falling back into the pillows.
“Cum for me.” Luke spoke in a low voice; his smirk ever present as his fingers took Y/N over the edge into euphoria. It was waves, the feeling a pure pleasure falling over her body, sending her legs trembling as Luke helped her ride out the high. He only moved once he was certain she had completed, slipping his fingers from her core as he leant over the bed, lifting up his jeans to find Y/N resting on her elbows, an eyebrow raised.
“What?” Luke asked as he retrieved the condom from his jean pocket. “A man’s got to be prepared.”
“You really thought I was that easy?” Y/N asked with a grin and she took the package from him and tore it open, taking her time to pump his shaft before rolling on the protection.
“Not that easy in general, no… But I can be…” Luke spoke and Y/N’s lay back and he lined himself up with her entrance, a twinkle in his eye as he pushed himself inside her and spoke. “Persuasive.” The moan elicited from Y/N seemed to prove his theory.
His movements were slow and gentle at first, both of them taking the time to get accustomed to one another, but with a nod from Y/N for Luke to continue, he took control. The pace became fast, thrusts powerful and deep, Luke making sure Y/N wouldn’t be forgetting the feeling of him inside her any time soon. His hands pinned down hers, pressing Y/N down into the bed as he pounded into her, relentless, both chasing their highs.
Y/N rolled her hips in time with Luke, earning groans from the man on top of her, taking the moment of weakness to flip them over, her hands now pining down Luke’s as he lay back on the bed, his face clearly stunned by the move she had pulled, though it didn’t last long. His eyes screwed shut as he let out a groan, his head rolling back at the feeling of Y/N riding his cock, each roll of the hips casting moans from their mouths.
“I’m close…” Luke muttered, looking up to see Y/N somewhere near completion as well. Her hands on his did little to combat his strength, taking control once more to grabbed Y/N’s thighs, thrusting upwards into her a rapid speed for them both to reach their highs through a strings of curses and cries of pleasure.
Y/N let herself fall limp on top of Luke as they both caught their breath, their chests rising and falling in time with one another.
“Well…” Y/N spoke first, biting her lip as she lifted herself off of Luke, giving him a chance to bin the condom. “That was…”
“The best Christmas present ever.” Luke whispered as they lay side by side on Y/N’s bed, the words sending them both into fits of laughter, ones Luke quelled by kissing Y/N gently.
“Yeah. Agreed.”
--
Tags: @reggiesleatherjacket @parkeret @calamitykaty @crybabyddl @delicatelukepatterson @lukespatterson @kcd15 @siennanoelle01 @eries45 @lolychu @lazydaisy19 @reggieandthereggies @writerinlearning @mjflower @uhmitstori @walkingonshunshine @kristencoontz @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @ritz-hell-hotel @mishappend @dovegranger @dmcfarland1 @cherrymaybank @oswinsleaf @only-here-for-jatp @jatpfan99 @n0wornever @bookdealer5 @epikskool @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @emotionalbruv @korydickson @uglypeachh @rogersangel @independentgirl @mon-charmante @writingforphantoms @musicconversedance @heimdoodle @-episkey- @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @simp4madi @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @blueyed-one @ghostlyb1tch @leahstypewriter @parkeret @lukereggies @hologramband @all-in-fangirl @daisiesforlacey @valntynegillespie @lukespaterson @dovesgrangers @sunsetswerve @sorryimricki @dani27297 @talksoprettyjjx @imsydneywalker @katie-navarro @aydoubleu @kaitieskidmore1 @magnet-girl @axen-gers @dpaccione @mjrsposts @starswereherspotlight @g7aesthetic
#abby's twelve days of christmas#luke patterson#luke patterson x reader#luke patterson smut#luke patterson imagine#luke patterson x y/n#luke patterson fluff#luke jatp#jatp luke#jatp#julie and the phantoms#julie molina#reggie peters#alex mercer#fluff#smut#fluffy smut
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Books I've Read
2024:
The Mister - E.L James
The Hypnotist's Love Story - Liane Moriarty
A Country Escape - Katie Fforde
Dear Cupid - Julie Ortolon
Lock and Key - Sarah Dessen
Summer Rental - Mary Kay Andrews (accidental reread)
2023:
I Remember You - Harriet Evans
Sex and the Single Witch - Theresa Alan, Holly Chamberlin, Carly Alexander
The Orchardist - Amanda Coplin
The Ex-Boyfriend Yard Sale: Finding a Formula for the Cost of Love - Haley McGee
Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop - Abby Clements
The Summer List - Amy Mason Doan
For Better, for Worse - Carole Matthews
One Perfect Summer - Brenda Novak
Beach Season - Lisa Jackson, Holly Chamberlin, Cathy Lamb, Rosalind Noonan
Villa Serena - Domenica De Rosa
Sunset Beach - Mary Kay Andrews
Sleeping Arrangements - Madeleine Wickham (Sophie Kinsella)
An Island Wedding (Mure, #5) - Jenny Colgan
Opposite of Always - Justin A. Reynolds
Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy
One Hundred Names - Cecelia Ahern
2022:
The Interestings - Meg Wolitzer
Thanks for the Memories - Cecelia Ahern
Falling - Jane Green
First Comes Love - Emily Giffin
Can You Keep A Secret? - Sophie Kinsella
The Cake Shop in the Garden - Carole Matthews
Remember Me? - Sophie Kinsella
The Hypothetical Girl - Elizabeth Cohen
The Gatecrasher - Madeleine Wickham (Sophie Kinsella)
Dreamland - Sarah Dessen
Vintage - Susan Gloss
The Vacationers - Emma Straub
That Summer - Jennifer Weiner
Summer At The Garden Cafe - Felicity Hayes-McCoy
The Beachcomber - Josephine Cox
Love Always - Harriet Evans
On The Other Side - Carrie Hope Fletcher
Writers & Lovers - Lily King
In Full Bloom - Caroline Hwang
Christmas Dessert Murder (A Hannah Swensen Mystery: Christmas Caramel Murder, Christmas Cake Murder) - Joanne Fluke
Pre 2014:
To Be Perfectly Honest - Sonya Sones
This Is What Happy Looks Like - Jennifer E. Smith
The Fault In Our Stars - John Green
Looking For Alaska - John Green
Paper Towns - John Green
The Abundance of Katherines - John Green
Crank - Ellen Hopkins
Glass
Fallout
Burned - Ellen Hopkins
Smoke
Eleanor & Park - Rainbow Rowell
Get Well Soon - Julie Halpern
Have A Nice Day
Falling in Love with English Boys - Melissa Jensen
Tweet Heart - Elizabeth Rudnick
The Summer I Turned Pretty - Jenny Han
It's Not Summer Without You
We'll Always Have Summer
------
2014:
Sing You Home - Jodi Picoult
The Earth, My Butt and Other Big Round Things - Carolyn Mackler
Being Friends with Boys - Terra Elan McVoy
Billy and Me - Giovanna Fletcher
13 Little Blue Envelopes - Maureen Johnson
The Last Little Blue Envelope
Twenties Girl - Sophie Kinsella
Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Babe in Boyland - Jody Gehrman
Faking It - Cora Carmack
Losing It (first in series, read backwards)
All Lined Up - Cora Carmack(Rusk University)~
Amy & Roger's Epic Detour - Morgan Matson
Since You've Been Gone - Morgan Matson
The Geography of You and Me - Jennifer E. Smith
Anna and the French Kiss - Stephanie Perkins*
Lola and the Boy Next Door - Stephanie Perkins*
Girl Online - Zoe Sugg/Siobhan Curham
Finding It - Cora Carmack(losing it series)
Every Day - David Levithan
2015:
Isla and the Happily Ever After - Stephanie Perkins*
Uglies - Scott Westerfeld
Pretties
Specials
Extras
To All The Boys I've Loved Before - Jenny Han-
Life On The Refigerator Door - Alice Kuipers
My Life Next Door - Huntley Fitzpatrick
The Secret Life of Prince Charming - Deb Caletti
Breakfast Served Anytime - Sarah Combs
Aristole and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
All Broke Down - Cora Carmack~
Attachments - Rainbow Rowell
Pretty Face - Mary Hogan
Perfect - Ellen Hopkins (read out of order)
Impulse
PS. I Still Love You - Jenny Han-
My true love gave to me : twelve holiday stories - edited by Stephanie Perkins
The Statistical Probablity of Love at First Sight - Jennifer E. Smith
All Played Out - Cora Carmack~
2016:
Second Chance Summer - Morgan Matson
All I Know Now - Carrie Hope Fletcher
Dream A Little Dream - Giovanna Fletcher
Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
You're The One That I Want - Giovanna Fletcher
Hello, Goodbye and Everything In Between - Jennifer E. Smith
The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson
The Guardian - Nicholas Sparks
Landline - Rainbow Rowell
The F-It List - Julie Halpern
Solitaire - Alice Oseman
This Lullaby - Sarah Dessen
Bliss - Shay Mitchell & Michaela Blaney
2017:
The Chocolate Lovers' Diet - Carole Matthews
The Chocolate Lovers' Christmas
The Chocolate Lovers' Wedding
How To Start a Fire - Lisa Lutz
The You I've Never Known - Ellen Hopkins
Summer Rental - Mary Kay Andrews
All The Summer Girls - Meg Donohue
Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac - Gabrielle Zevin
Windfall - Jennifer E. Smith
All The Bright Places - Jennifer Niven
The Sun Is Also A Star - Nicola Yoon
2018:
Everything Leads To You - Nina LaCour
We Are Okay - Nina LaCour
You Know Me Well - Nina LaCour & David Levithan
The Disenchantments - Nina LaCour
Something Like Happy - Eva Woods
Meant To Be - Julie Halpern
Always and Forever, Lara Jean - Jenny Han-
2019:
Let It Snow - John Green, Lauren Myracle, Maureen Johnson
2020:
So Inn Love - Catherine Clark
The UnDomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella
The Night Swimmer - Matt Bondurant
Welcome to the Real World - Carole Matthews
My Life Before Me - Norah McClintock
2021:
A Winter's Tale - Trisha Ashley
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine - Gail Honeyman
A Hopeless Romantic - Harriet Evans
The Boy Next Door - Meg Cabot
Mermaids in Paradise - Lydia Millet
The Vintage Guide to Love and Romance - Kristy Greenwood
Italian for Beginners - Kristin Harmel
Love & Gelato - Jenna Evans Welch
The Summer of Us - Holly Chamberlin
Swapping Lives - Jane Green
The Friends We Keep - Holly Chamberlin
The Daughters - Joanna Philbin
Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore - Robin Sloan
The History of Love - Nicole Krauss
This Time Next Year - Sophie Cousens
Misery Loves Cabernet - Kim Gruenenfelder
Time Between Us - Tamara Ireland Stone
Second Chance - Jane Green
Sorry Not Sorry - Sophie Ranald
I Was Jane Austen's Best Friend - Cora Harrison
Miss You - Kate Eberlen
Meet Cute: Some People Are Destined To Meet - Jennifer L. Armentrout , Sona Charaipotra, Dhonielle Clayton, Katie Cotugno, Jocelyn Davies, Nina LaCour, Emery Lord , Katharine McGee , Kass Morgan , Meredith Russo, Sara Shepard , Nicola Yoon , Ibi Zoboi , Julie Murphy
The Idea of You - Robinne Lee
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be still, my foolish heart
summary: gibbs attends a halloween party while reader is dressed up as a saloon girl. and gibbs has always liked westerns.
okay okay okay but consider this: it's halloween, abby wants to do a costume theme with the reader. as such, reader ends up in a western themed costume and gibbs internally freaks out because she unknowingly looks exactly like the type of girl in the old westerns that he had crushes on when he was younger
words: 1,119
warnings: she/her reader
tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @kittenlittle24 @24601error-prisonernotfound @andreasworlsboring101 @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox
Gibbs wonders, not for the first time tonight, if he could slip out of this party undetected.
It’s not as if anybody even knows he’s here. He’s done a good job of keeping to the edges of the room; not engaging in conversation if he could absolutely help it. Some weird music he’s never heard before is playing on the dancefloor, but his only form of entertainment is a drink that’s definitely not strong enough to get him through the night.
Gibbs doesn’t even know anybody here. Damn Vance for making him come along to this Halloween party.
“It’ll be a good look for the agency,” he said to Gibbs. “Maybe you’ll even make some new friends.” Gibbs snorts, remembering the Director’s words.
Slowly, he walks away from the bar (if you could even call it that) toward the tables in the back. They’re a good place to hide out - out of the way and not as lit up and populated as the rest of the room. Gibbs figures he should be able to bunker down there until he can leave.
He keeps his eyes down, not taking the chance to catch eyes with somebody and have them initiate conversation. But as he makes his way over, he spots a person who always seems to stand out in a crowd; even on Halloween.
It’s Abby’s special gift. It helps her social butterfly personality, which is the reason why Gibbs hopes to avoid her. Just for tonight.
But immediately, Gibbs can tell she’s dragging somebody along behind her. And with a punch to the gut, he recognizes you, even under the costume. And your costume, well...all night, he’s been clueless. Not the slightest idea of what anybody at this party is supposed to be dressed up as. McGee tried to explain his space trek thing with the pointy ears, but it went completely over his head.
You, however...Gibbs is forced to a stop as he stares.
It’s some sort of Wild West getup. The ruffles of your dress, the boots, the corset - it’s unmistakable. Something he’s seen a hundred times in the movies. And perhaps Gibbs should have just acknowledged it and moved on and definitely not continued to stand there gawking like an idiot.
Of course, Gibbs never does what’s best for him. Just the way you look tonight, it’s like peering into the past. A far younger version of himself watching the same old Westerns he revisits to this day. Staring at the maidens with wide eyes and warm cheeks and once again, Jethro feels the same reaction coming up.
Before he can remember that he’s supposed to be hiding, Abby spots him. Now, it’s impossible to simply disappear. She grins and drags you along with her, obviously excited to reach Gibbs and surely show off your costumes. And once you finally stop in front of him, Gibbs has to avert his eyes.
“You actually came!” Abby says gleefully. She doesn’t even seem disappointed that he’s wearing jeans to a costume party.
Gibbs simply shrugs. “Had to,” he replies evenly. You smile at him, like you’re amused, and Gibbs feels his stomach twist up a bit.
Such a stupid reaction to a simple Halloween costume, but God, you were the spitting image of the type of girls in those old Westerns that Gibbs would fawn over when he was young. A twelve year old Jethro, staring at his TV much like he stares at you - comparable to the likes of Miss Kitty Russell or Helen Ramirez.
Abby speaks up again, and his eyes instantly move to her. “What?” He asks.
“I said, do you know who I’m dressed as?”
Gibbs pauses, his gaze flickering once more to you - like he can’t seem to look away. But he forces his attention to Abby and analyzes her costume. And to his credit, he does try to put a name to the colorful costume. But much like everybody else at this damn party, he’s got no clue. “Nope,” he finally says.
Abby scoffs with a roll of her eyes. “I’m Sally! From The Nightmare Before Christmas?” Gibbs remains silent. Only quirking his brow, so Abby just sighs at him. “Fine. I’ll go find McGee. He’ll get my costume.”
Spinning around, she walks off toward the dancefloor, leaving you alone with him. Gibbs clears his throat, about to excuse himself, but you speak up first. “Do you like my costume?” You ask him, twirling a bit back and forth to make the ruffles on your dress move. “Do you know who I am?”
“Uhhh,” Gibbs croaks out, “Rio McDonald?”
Immediately, your brows knit together in confusion, and Gibbs already knows that you likely have no idea who that actually is. The name simply slipped out, and Gibbs shifts his weight as you shake your head.
“No, just a saloon girl,” you answer lightly. “Tony’s dressed as Doc Holliday, so Abby thought I should-”
“You’re here with DiNozzo?” Gibbs cuts in.
“Kinda,” you tell him. “We only matched costumes.”
Gibbs simply grunts - Tombstone wasn’t even that great a movie. “Well, I was just leaving,” he says lowly. He’s not even sure you heard him over the music, but now, Gibbs is feeling even less sociable than before. He wasn’t even planning on leaving this early, but now, he doesn’t give a damn if Vance gives him hell for it. He just wants to sit in his basement before he says anything humiliating.
Quickly, he walks past you. Shoulders hunched, eyes forward. From here, he can see the exit. Sweet freedom. But then you call out to him, and Gibbs stops without even thinking about it. Turning slightly, he watches how your frilly dress moves as you approach him.
“You never answered my question,” you tell him, a smile pulling on your lips.
“Huh?”
“Do you like my costume?”
Gibbs freezes. He’s almost afraid of answering, and yet, you’re watching him with repose - on any normal day, he finds it hard to treat you like any other agent. It’s unfortunate, but you’ve got some odd hold on him. But right now, with your hair done up like it is and that saloon girl dress on that makes his cheeks undeniably warm, Gibbs figures he’s already failed at preventing his own humiliation.
“You look great,” he finally answers. And he notices, immediately, how he complimented you. Not the costume.
He prays you didn’t notice.
You blink once at him, looking a cross between surprised and pleased. But Gibbs doesn’t dwell too much on it. He nods at you, turns, and finally walks away.
And he promises himself, right then and there, that he won’t go home and put on his copy of Gunsmoke.
#ncis reader insert#ncis x reader#ncis imagine#leroy jethro gibbs x reader#leroy jethro gibbs imagine
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Abby/James for the Christmas thing
@backedagainstthewall || Ship Meme: Christmas Edition
who starts putting up decorations in october? Abby starts sneaking them in some time around Thanksgiving. And then absolutely by December 1st.
who buys the advent calendars? Also Abby, but she doesn’t start buying them until Diana is old enough to open them with her.
who places mistletoes all around the house? They actually don’t do mistletoe.
who wraps the presents for other people? Abby.
who puts the final star/angel on the top of the christmas tree? James lifts Abby up.
who’s the one that hates eggnog? Gonna repeat this answer. She does not enjoy eggnog with alcohol.
who’s the one that bakes christmas cookies for guests? Abby absolultely.
who sends out the christmas cards? Whoever is going to the post office.
who knows all the words to twelve days of christmas? Abby knows maybe five days of it.
who’s the better snowman builder? James.
who starts snowball fights? Also James.
who’s the one that wakes the other on christmas morning by playing christmas songs really loudly? Diana.
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The Walking Dead / Supernatural: A World Changed
Hii so this is gonna be a story about a crossover but also not really a crossover from the walking dead and supernatural.
Summary: Y/N is from Boston and moved to Los Angeles to be a nanny, she’s been doing it for a while now and loves the two, soon to be three, children like they were her own. One day she goes to work and it seems like the world around her is falling apart. People are dying, unbeknownst to her they are coming back to live. She is trying to find a way so she stays alive and the people around her too and she needs help, but she’d rather does it on her own.
Characters: Y/N, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jack, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Claire Novak, OC Clark Cattaneo, OC Jayden Cattaneo, Mentioned: OC Alice Cattaneo, OC Mark Cattaneo , OC Birdy Cattaneo
Warnings: angst, language, violence, awkwardness? slight fluff?
Music: In The Darkness - Timo Brandt
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ2GCGBTBls
Part 8 The Soccer ball
Day 763
I’ve been in the bunker for about a month now since I went back with the Winchesters. Al and I had said goodbye, because she really wanted to go to Texas. She had tried to get Dean and Sam to take a interview, but they said that we really needed to get back to the bunker.
I have also decided to take Al up for the advice she gave me and let go that Dean and Sam where hiding something. I also wasn’t ready to tell my story to everyone either. So I decided to let it go.
They gave me a job after I was with them for a week. I patrolled the gates every other day and teach the kids. There weren’t a lot of kids though. It was just Clark, Jayden, a girl quiet named Abbie she was about twelve and Jack. What I didn’t understand was why Jack was here. He seemed to be around eighteen years old and he must have been to school before all this. But he was always the one with the most questions that I didn’t understand why he never got to know about. About simple things like when the U.S. got the independence or the wars we were involved in. He would always ask why it happened, when and how. These should all be things he should’ve learned in middle school. Maybe he was home schooled? I don’t know. But they were all good kids, even though I might be bias, because two out of the four kids were mine. the ‘school’ hours were usually not very long. About two or three hours and then I was off for the rest of the day.
The kids got out of the room where we had ‘school’. I took Clark and Jayden to go outside. It was getting a lot colder now, but luckily Dean had surprised me earlier this week with warmer jackets for me and the kids. Now it was finally time to test it out.
We got out of the door and walked up the stairs to go outside. Not many people were outside because of the cold. I only saw Dean watching the gate with Jody and saw three other people either keeping a look out for the fence or cleaning up.
“Why don’t you go look for something to play with sweetie.” I said to Clark. His imagination was so big. Any object he found was a toy for him. He smiled and ran off to the trees that were inside the fence, he usually got his sticks from there.
I looked down at Jayden who was holding my hand. He was gonna be two soon. It felt bittersweet. Seeing him grow up was amazing, but for him to never know his sister or parents was a difficult thought to have.
“Hey y/n!” I heard coming from the fence. Dean walked to the car that was parked next to it and got something out of it. He gave the gun he was holding quickly to Jody before he came walking towards us. “Claire and I found something else on our run.” He said as he showed me a soccer ball. Jayden gave a big smile at that. “What do you say Jayden?” I asked giving him a little push to say something. He still wouldn’t say a lot of words at all. Dean crouched down and put the ball in front of him. “Thank.” He said quietly and I almost missed it, but Dean didn’t. “You’re welcome little nugget.” He said as he ruffled his hair gave him the ball and stood up. Jayden was looking at me, waiting for permission to go play. “You can go bubs, go play with your ball.” I said smiling at him. Jayden ran off but still stayed very close, he always wanted to be as close as he could to either me or Clark.
“That was very sweet of you to do, Dean, thank you.” I told him. I truly was grateful, they didn’t have real toys here. Only the sticks Clark kept finding.
“Yeah, really it was no problem. Claire actually found it when we were looking for supplies.” Dean explained while rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, I’ll be sure to thank Claire as well for getting them the ball.” He nodded and smiled at that.
“So.. how have you been liking it here?” He asked awkwardly. “I like it a lot. This is the first time since this all started I’m with a group in the winter. It’s a lot less stressful.” I didn’t realize until just now how hard it was to find food around this time of year. When Jayden was just born I don’t think I have ever felt that level of stress before in my entire life. He cried so much.
“Well I’m glad that you guys are here. You bring a new light to the group.” He stated simply, like it was obvious. But I didn’t know that. “How so?” I asked I didn’t know what he meant. I was looking at him now. He was wearing his usual brown leather jacket, it looked very worn. “Well.. you know.. Clark and Jayden.. and you.” He said he looked a little nervous saying that, but I don’t know why. “How is that a new light to the group?” I said slightly laughing. I liked seeing him uncomfortable. He always seemed so though around other people, but not now.
“I don’t know, you just seem to light up the room whenever you walk in one.. All of you.” He added that last part quickly. “Thank you.” I said simply. I didn’t know what else to say. There was a short awkward moment of silence. So I decided to keep up with the awkward small talk, I’d rather have that than awkward silence.
“You know it’s almost the new year. And I’m pretty sure it’s Christmas around now.” I told Dean. I was looking back at Jayden who was happily playing with the ball and Clark was still playing with a lot of sticks that he had found.
“Is it? What date is it?” He asked. “Well it’s day 763 since the world ended.. given it was November when that happened it’s almost the new years.” I explained. Dean was thinking about what I said for a second. “You’ve counted the days since the world went to... shit?” He whispered the last part, to make sure Jayden or Clark wouldn’t hear. “Yes.. Haven’t you?” I thought this was kind of a thing everybody was doing. “No, not really.. at least not anymore.” “Why did you stop?” I wondered out loud. “At first I did it I guess to hold on to what was before.. and seeing how long it took for the world to go back to normal. Then that just didn’t happen and I stopped.” He explained. “So you gave up on that thought of things going back to normal?”
“No not necessarily. I guess I just excepted that this is the way it is now. Don’t get me wrong I would love to have things go back to normal, but for me everyday that got added to the count disappointed me more and more. So I just excepted it. Why are you keeping up with the days still?” He asked looking at me.
In all honesty. I don’t know why I was still counting. Because my count has been for something horrible this whole time. I know exactly how many days it has been since the world ended. I know exactly on what day Birdy and Alice died. I know the exact day that I killed people. And those things only seem to stick out. Sure I know the birthdays of Clark and Jayden, but that was different. Maybe I am still trying to hold on to a different time I’m just never going to get back.
“I don’t know why I haven’t stopped, but maybe some day.. when I guess I’m ready to let go.” I was a little disappointed that I was still holding on to something like that. Dean must have noticed my disappointment and stepped closer to me. He turned me to face him.
“Don’t feel disappointed about something like that. When you’re ready to move on, you’re ready. Everybody takes their own time in this stuff. It’s not like anybody knew the world was going to fall apart.” He reassured me. That made me feel happy. He was standing so close now our hands were almost brushing. I don’t know why but I got the urge to give him a hug. Maybe it was because I was still very stressed. Maybe it was because I finally felt some what safe. Or maybe it was just because I wanted too. So for the first time in a while I decided to listen to my instincts and give him a hug. I put my arms around his torso and put my head against his chest. “Thank you.. for everything.”
At first he seemed to hesitate and I was about to pull away until he put his arms around my shoulders. “No problem, doll.” He said. It felt so good to have human contact again like this. He was so warm and he smelled like whiskey, gunpowder and motor oil. He smelled soo good. I pulled back to look at him. I never noticed, but his eyes are a beautiful emerald green and he had a few freckles spread around his face. Probably never noticed this, because I’ve never been this close to him before. We were both looking deep in each others eyes, until I felt a ball hit my leg. I quickly let go and gathered myself. Jayden was running up to me.
“Mamma, ball.” He said happily. “Did you just make a sentence?” I asked happily to Jayden. “Mamma, ball.” He said again. I have never heard him say a two word sentence before. I lowered myself to hid eyesight. “Do you want me to play?” I asked and he nodded at that. “Alright lets go.” I told him and walked off. “Thank you again for the ball Dean.” I told him one more time. Dean gave me a wave as he walked back to the gate.
“So.. you and y/n?” Jody said with a knowing smile. Dean took his gun from Jody. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Dean said as he was doing his best to avoid Jody’s gaze. “Yeah right mister though guy.” Jody said laughing as she was going back on the look out. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked slightly irritated. “Hmm.. Nothing. Lets get back to work.” Jody stated. She knew what she meant. Around everybody he had a though demeanor, but around y/n or Clark and Jayden he seemed to turn in a softy.
“Why did you tell y/n that Claire found the ball?” Jody asked. “Because she did.” He stated. “Claire told me something else though.. Didn’t you go out your way to find a ball? Or did she tell me that wrong?” Jody gave Dean a knowing look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stated. Dean looked back around to see that y/n, Clark and Jayden were going back inside. It was getting quite cold. She waved at me as she went back in. Dean smiled and waved back at y/n as she walked in.
-
I took Clark and Jayden to the kitchen to get something ready for them to eat for dinner. Donna had just finished making dinner with two other people that lived there. “Oh Hiya little troublemakers.” Donna said smiling at Clark and Jayden. They loved Donna. I mean what was not to love about her, she radiated this happiness everywhere she went and when ever she smiled you just couldn’t help yourself and do the same.
“Hi Donna! Guys say Hi.” I told Clark and Jayden. “Hi Donna.” Clark said and Jayden waved. “Still not much of a talker?” She asked me. ”No, not yet, but it will come.” I told Donna more reassuring myself. “I got some food ready. You guys hungry?” Donna said changing the subject. Clark and Jayden were basically jumping up and down.
As Donna and I were getting plates ready Claire walked in to get some dinner too. She got a plate and started putting food on it. “Thank you by the way for the ball you and Dean found.” I said, I decided to not single her out because she usually seems a bit more reserved and I didn’t want to put her on the spot.
“Oh.. Uhm.. You’re welcome, but I didn’t find it.” Claire told me. “Dean and I had split up he said he wanted to look for toys and when he came back he found a ball for your kids.” She went on to explain.
“Oh, Dean sai.. Thank you anyway.” Claire gave me an awkward smile and went to sit down.
I thought that was really sweet that he took time out of his day for that. Why couldn’t he just tell me that himself?
...
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Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! :)
#dean#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean x you#deanwinchtser#sam winchester#supernatural#the walking dead#supernatural fanfic#supernatural imagine#supernatural fanfiction#twd fanfiction#the walking dead fanfiction#dean winchester
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Perfect equipoise: a perfect fantasy. A more realistic American tableau was unfolding in Chicago, where the conspiracy trial was at its entropic height.
During jury selection, the questions the defense wanted the pool to be asked included “Do you know who Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix are?” and “If your children are female, do they wear brassieres all the time?” In a pretrial hearing Judge Hoffman described the “intent” standard by which the defendants were to be judged: “The substance of the crime was a state of mind.” (That was just the way Time had defined Middle America: a state of mind.) To that standard, the defense was glad to accede. When the twelve jurors turned out to be middle-class and middle-aged, except for two girls in their early twenties, Leonard Weinglass, the lead defense attorney, moved for a mistrial, claiming his clients weren’t being judged by a jury of their peers—which would have to be chosen also from people not drawn from the voter rolls, because blacks, the young, dropouts, and misfits were not well-enough represented on them.
The government had selectively indicted to display a cross-section of the monstrous personages rending the good order of American civilization: the older guru (David Dellinger); two long-haired freaks (Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin); the by-any-means-necessary Negro (Bobby Seale); two SDS militants (Tom Hayden, Rennie Davis); two radical young faculty members (a chemistry professor, John Froines, and a sociology professor, Lee Weiner, who were supposed to have planned a bombing). The prosecutors warned on TV that the defendants might walk into court the first day naked.
That didn’t happen, though when court adjourned on New Year’s Eve defendant Froines and his girlfriend did pass out autographed nude posters of themselves.
The jury was sequestered every minute they were outside the Federal Building: if states of minds were on trial, even the cultural air was prejudicial (some stories they missed: the Mobilization, the Silent Majority speech, the Moratorium, the rise of Spiro Agnew, the second moon shot, the My Lai massacre). They received a respite from cabin fever the day after Christmas when they were treated to a Disney on Parade show. But even that was prejudicial: the monkeys in the Jungle Book number were go-go girls. Alice in Wonderland was done up in psychedelic patterns.
Jerry Rubin called his indictment “the Academy Award for protest.” Judge Julius Hoffman seemed to relish the notion. “Tell me something,” he asked New York Times reporter Tony Lukas, who had called up to ask for press credentials. “Do you think this is going to be the trial of the century?”
Outside, trial marshals confiscated spoons, books, compacts, nail clippers, attaché cases—and two pistols. Defense sympathizers waited half the night in line for a spot in the gallery; the judge gave seats instead to Chicago socialites (one hippie who survived the gauntlet leapt up in the spectators’ gallery during a defense argument to cry “Right on!” and was swarmed so badly a witness thought marshals might have broken some bones). When Bobby Seale’s family managed to get seats, Judge Julius Hoffman summoned a marshal and had these strange people with bushy Afros removed. The jury wouldn’t be able to watch his child’s and wife’s reactions when Seale was bound and gagged like a slave. They weren’t there on November 5, 1969, either, when Judge Hoffman sentenced Seale to an unprecedented four years in prison for sixteen counts of contempt of court and severed his case from the rest, turning the Chicago 8 into the Chicago 7. Reporters made a mad dash for the phones. The courtroom marshals unpinned their badges, put them into their pockets, and scoured the jammed courtroom for anything else sharp, fearing an outbreak of hand-to-hand combat.
The next day a defense lawyer argued the four-year sentence was illegal and asked the judge to explain himself. Judge Hoffman replied, “I have known literally thousands of what we used to call Negro people and who are now referred to as black people, and I have never heard that kind of language emanate from the lips of any of them.” That was the day Bob Hope sent out his letter to senators “FOR A WEEK OF NATIONAL UNITY.”
Judge Julius J. Hoffman was a strutting, little bantam cock of a man. On the first day of jury selection he read out the indictment to the jury pool like a nineteenth-century thespian. Defense lawyer William Kunstler objected. Judge Hoffman boomed, “Motion denied!” and said he’d never apologize for “the vocal facilities the Lord hath given me.” When one of his young law clerks was told to prepare a denial of the defendants’ motion to see the wiretap logs and replied, “But, Judge, that’s not fair,” citing the plain letter of the law, the old man flew into a rage that awed his clerk—who was told not to return to work after his vacation.
Federal judge selection was supposed to be random. But in Chicago, the fix was always in. In big mob cases, the state always angled to argue before Judge Hoffman: he always decided against the defendant and made the prosecuting attorneys look like heroes. He “is the bane of do-gooders who would give every bum a second chance, and a third and a fourth and a fifth,” Chicago’s American said. He was also a self-hating Jew who took willful pleasure in mispronouncing his fellow Jews’ names (Weinglass: “Fineglass,” “Weintraub,” “Weinruss,” “Weinrob”) and wouldn’t let one witness wear a yarmulke in court (“Take off your hat, sir”). He popped a vein when Abbie Hoffman called himself his “illegitimate son,” but hated David Dellinger (“Derringer,” “Dillinger”) most of all: he was a WASP who’d surrendered privileges the judge so dearly wished to possess. Hoffman was especially taken aback when one of the defendants informed him that the plaque for the Northwestern Law School classroom named after him had been ripped from the wall.
“The plaque?”
“Apparently while the board of trustees feels affection for you, the student body does not.”
The defense was determined to put the war on trial and the defendants’ lifestyle on proud display (the Boston 5 had “sat like good little boys called into the principal’s office,” Dr. Spock had pointed out, and were railroaded nonetheless). The Chicago defendants were determined to show why their state of mind was morally superior. The seventy-four-year-old they called Mr. Magoo was a hanging judge, hired to grease the rails for a conviction that would only be overturned on appeal. It was a show trial. So why not put on a show?
The prosecution presented its case first. Their witnesses were undercover infiltrators. Once, when a witness was called just as one of the defendants exited a side door, the rest of the Chicago 7 braced themselves: was one of their own a police spy? (Actually, he was just going to the bathroom.)
One prosecution witness was simultaneously a member of the executive committee of Veterans for Peace, the Chicago Peace Council, the New Mobilization Committee to End the War—and the Chicago Police Department Red Squad. The people most useful in the movement, radicals often learned too late, were the ones later revealed to be spies; being paid for their time by the government, they were the most avid “volunteers.” Another had enrolled in the Northeastern Illinois State College SDS and had led a group that pushed Northeastern’s president off a speaker’s platform. (The most militant activists, radicals also discovered too late, were often police-agent provocateurs.) He testified that Rennie Davis said their plan to recruit for Chicago was to “lure them here with music and sex”; at the meeting where he claimed he heard that, he himself had suggested disabling army jeeps with grappling hooks. A third prosecution witness was a college newspaper reporter hired as a spy by the Chicago’s American columnist Jack Mabley. A fourth had worked as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin’s dirtbag motorcycle-gang “bodyguard.” A fifth was a policewoman who’d dressed for her work in Lincoln Park every day in white hippie bell-bottoms carrying a .38 Colt in her bag.
This witness, Officer Barbara Callender, testified blushingly, “Every other word was that F-word.”
Cross-examination: “Haven’t you ever heard that word in the station house?”
The government objected to the line of questioning. The objection was sustained. Part of the prosecution’s strategy was to establish that the defendants were obscene. Ten days later, when another Red Squad member testified, he said he’d told a newsman “to turn the censored cameras around because of that civilian brutality.” His side believed it was obscenity to say [censored] without blushing; the other believed it was obscenity during an evil war to save your shame for mere words: the war was the obscenity. (A joke going around the New Left: a policeman tells a protester to come back after she has removed the obscenity from her FUCK THE WAR placard and she returns with one reading FUCK THE.)
The prosecutors, U.S. Attorneys Richard Schultz and Thomas Aquinas Foran, were perfectly cast. Schultz was so ploddingly literal-minded he could call the most obvious Yippie put-ons devious incitements to riot. Foran was a Democrat who said he had been a closer friend of the late Bobby Kennedy’s than Tom Hayden had been. In his summation he spoke of his empathy for the kids, who “feel that the lights have gone out in Camelot.” But “these guys take advantage of them. They take advantage of it personally, intentionally, evilly, and to corrupt those kids, they use them, and they use them for their purposes and for their intents. And you know what are their purposes and intents?…This is in their own words: to ‘disrupt.’ To ‘pin delegates in the Convention hall.’ To ‘clog streets.’ To force the use of troops. To have actions so militant the Guard will have to be used…. ‘Tear this city apart.’ ‘Fuck up this convention.’…‘We’ll lure the McCarthy kids and other young people with music and sex and try to hold the park.’”
The prosecution’s aim was to reduce a complex stew of motives, interests, approaches, and personalities to a concentrated, unified plot. They said David Dellinger, the Gandhian who had little direct role in Chicago, was only pretending to be a pacifist and was really the rioting’s “chief architect” (“Oh, bullshit. That is a complete lie,” Dellinger shouted. “Did you get that, Miss Reporter?” Judge Hoffman replied, and revoked Dellinger’s bail). Prosecutors said the ham-handed self-defense training in Lincoln Park was combat training. Patrolman Frapolly described a meeting in which he claimed he heard plans to throw burning flares at the cops.
Mr. Foran: “Were any of the defendants present?”
The Witness: “Yes. Weiner and Froines were at this meeting. So was Abbie Hoffman.”
Mr. Foran: “Do you see Mr. Hoffman here in the courtroom?”
The Witness: “Yes, I do.”
Mr. Foran: “Would you step down and point him out, please.”
The Witness: “Mr. Hoffman is sitting with the leather vest on, the shirt—he just shot me with his finger. His hair is very unkempt.”
The hippies’ hippie-ness was on trial; style was a battleground. Abbie Hoffman, asked why they lured innocent youth to Chicago with sex and rock bands, replied, “Rock musicians are the real leaders of the revolution.” Posture was a battleground. When Judge Hoffman admonished William Kunstler not to slouch on the lectern designed by the Federal Building’s distinguished architect Mies van der Rohe, Abbie replied, “Mies van der Rohe was a Kraut.” He added that the courtroom was a “neon oven”—thus deploying his Madison Avenue brilliance in the service of the defendants’ pet theory that America was becoming Nazi Germany. Pencils, even, became a battleground: “primly squared off and neatly sharpened beside a few neatly stacked memos on the prosecution table,” the Evergreen Review’s John Schultz wrote; “askew and gnawed and maybe encrusted with a sliver of earwax,” a proud part of the “unholy clutter,” on the defense table. (When Abbie Hoffman, a very hard worker, took the stand, he said, “Work is a dirty word instead of fuck is a dirty word.”)
Humor was a battleground most of all.
The judge fancied himself a rapier wit. But when the defense table laughed at him, or with the defense—as when Abbie and Jerry showed up in judicial robes—he made sure the court reporter got it in the record, for in the courtroom laughter wasn’t appropriate. Which jurymen laughed when was how both sides kept score.
Based on that calculus, when the prosecution rested on December 9, the day after the Nixon press conference that earned him a snap 81 percent approval rating, movement sympathizers predicted a hung jury. That prediction led to a debate in the defense camp. Tom Hayden said that, since they weren’t going to be convicted, they could best get on with the revolution if they rested their case without mounting a defense, ending the affair in a mistrial. Others—Abbie, Jerry—said the trial was the revolution. The Yippies won: they would use their defense to introduce “Woodstock Nation”—the title of Abbie’s new book—to America. They would fight through the jungles of TV.
They spoke at colleges, women’s clubs, and churches to raise money for their defense, to warm receptions. At a tony synagogue in suburban Highland Park, Illinois, fourteen hundred turned out to hear them. At universities they were treated like the Beatles. At a University of Chicago rally, Rennie Davis announced he would continue fighting the way he was fighting even if they put a pistol to his head: “How can you be a young person and have any other position?”
Thomas Aquinas Foran would have said the same thing, if asked about his own position.
It seemed an auspicious week to indict an Establishment gone mad. As Wednesday night, December 3, 1969, became Thursday morning, December 4, what the Chicago Tribune had called the “wild gun battle” at Black Panther headquarters in a West Side apartment building left two Panthers, twenty-one-year-old leader Fred Hampton and lieutenant Mark Clark, twenty-two, dead. Lewis Koch, the young New Left producer for the local NBC affiliate, smelled a rat in the cops’ claim they were met with “a shotgun volley.” He’d seen film of the cops leaving the building: smiling, embracing, exulting as if they’d won a football game—not the behavior of men who had just survived an ambush. He put Panther Bobby Rush on the afternoon news the next day, who called it cold-blooded murder and invited viewers to the apartment to see for themselves. The Chicago Daily News columnist Mike Royko took him up on his offer. The morning that the conspiracy-trial prosecution rested its case, Royko published a column called “The Hampton Bullet Holes.” According to the police account, Royko wrote, “miracles occurred. The Panthers’ bullets must have dissolved in the air before they hit anybody or anything. Either that or the Panthers were shooting in the wrong direction—namely, at themselves.” Royko had examined the building with a ballistics expert, who identified at least seventy-six bullets coming in, including twenty-four in the wall near Hampton’s bed—and not a single one coming out.
Chicago cops failed to secure the crime scene. People lined up around the block to tour the open-and-shut evidence. Years later it came out that the FBI COINTELPRO had provided Chicago cops with the floor plans of the apartment, and an FBI infiltrator had slipped secobarbital in Fred Hampton’s drink the previous evening to make it easier to murder him in his bed. Such revelations would only have confirmed what the Chicago 7 defense already knew: the “justice system” wasn’t a system of justice, “law and order” was a cover for state-sponsored crime.
Those same days the last cop indicted for crimes during convention week was on trial. The jury absolved him of beating a twenty-year-old hitchhiker after only an hour of deliberation. The prosecution was so convincing, the defense so obviously false, the shocked judge implored of the foreman, “Are you certain, not guilty?”
The Silent Majority was practicing jury nullification, just as the Chicago 7 opened their defense.
The first defense witness was a supervisor at a candy factory. He displayed slides he had taken of police chopping their way through a crowd, kicking kids when they were down—without provocation, he said. The next day he was fired from his job. And any pretense to a straight defense was abandoned. The prosecution said the Chicago 7 had lured lambs to slaughter with music and sex. So the Chicago 7’s defense would be…music and sex.
Jacques Levy, director of Oh! Calcutta! (the off-Broadway play where the cast took off their clothes), Timothy Leary, Allen Ginsberg, Country Joe McDonald were all called to the stand. (“Dr. Leary, what is your present occupation?” “I am the Democratic candidate for governor in California.” “Doctor, can you explain what a psychedelic drug is?”) Judy Collins broke out into a chorus of “Where have all the flowers gone?” (Judge Hoffman: “We don’t allow singing in this court.”) William Kunstler presented folksinger Phil Ochs with exhibit D-147, the guitar he’d used to perform “I Ain’t Marching Any More” at the Festival of Life. He, too, tried and failed to sing.
The following colloquy ensued: Abbie Hoffman had “led the crowd in a chant of ‘Fuck LBJ,’ didn’t he?”
“Yes, I think he did….”
“Now, in your plans for Chicago, did you plan for public fornication in the park?”
Allen Ginsberg had been in Chicago helping calm things with his Buddhist chants. Judge Hoffman had once been an ally of Ginsberg’s. He’d ruled in 1960 that the avant-garde Chicago literary magazine Big Table wasn’t obscene, noting that William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch was intended “to shock the contemporary society in order perhaps to better point out its flaws and weaknesses,” quoting the Ulysses decision on the subversive necessity of art. But that was a different age, when such nuances were possible. Now everyone had to choose a side.
One day a clerk at Barbara’s Bookstore in Old Town saw a middle-aged man pacing around. A member of the prosecution team, he asked, “Do you have any of Allen Ginsberg’s books?” She went to hunt some down. He said, “Could you hurry up? The future of the country may depend on this.”
Later that day, on the stand, Ginsberg explained, “I was chanting a mantra called the Mala Mantra, the great mantra of preservation of that aspect of the Indian religion called Vishnu the Preserver.”
Thomas Aquinas Foran leafed through one of his newfound literary treasures.
Mr. Foran: “In The Empty Mirror, there is a poem called ‘The Night Apple’?”
The Witness: “Yes.”
Mr. Foran: “Would you recite it for the jury?”
The Witness:
THE NIGHT APPLE
Last night I dreamed
of one I loved
for seven long years,
but I saw no face,
only the familiar
presence of the body;
sweat skin eyes
feces urine sperm
saliva all one
odor and mortal taste.
Foran, sarcastically: “Could you explain to the jury what the religious significance of that poem is?”
Ginsberg, earnestly: “If you could take a wet dream as a religious experience, I could. It is a description of a wet dream, sir.”
Defense witness Linda Hager Morse was a pretty Quaker girl from Philadelphia who had won the Kiwanis Decency Award and first marched for peace on New York’s Fifth Avenue in 1965. She was now a revolutionary. The defense wanted her to talk about why it was necessary to overthrow capitalism. The judge ruled that out of order. The prosecution, however, was glad to pick up the thread in cross-examination, and the judge was glad to let them. What Morse said encapsulated the strangeness of the last four years of American history. One part sounded quite like Lyndon Johnson’s Great Society speech: “My ultimate goal is to create a society where everyone is fed, where everyone is educated, where everyone has a job, where everyone has a chance to express himself artistically or politically, or spiritually, or religiously” (Johnson: “a society of success without squalor, beauty without barrenness, works of genius without the wretchedness of poverty”). The other part couldn’t have been further afield from Johnson’s consensus bromides. Assistant DA Schultz posed the question: “You practice shooting an M1 yourself, don’t you?”
The Witness: “Yes, I do.”
Mr. Schultz: “You also practice karate, don’t you?”
The Witness: “Yes, I do.”
Mr. Schultz: “That is for the revolution, isn’t it?”
The Witness: “After Chicago I changed from being a pacifist to the realization that we had to defend ourselves. A nonviolent revolution was impossible. I desperately wish it was possible.”
Rennie Davis thought this was the defense’s most effective witness with the jury. He asked a reporter what he had thought of Morse’s testimony. The reporter’s answer spoke to the polarization: “It certainly was a disaster for you. Now you’ve really had it.”
Could your daughter kill?
The defendants had intended to win the sympathy of the big jury out there, the general public. Their message was seen through a glass darkly. “What did go on in Judge Julius Hoffman’s courtroom?” asked the back cover of one of the many paperback books that appeared later reproducing court transcripts. With no cameras to record it, it was hard to know. Afterward a friend asked Tony Lukas of the Times which of the defendants had defecated in the aisle of the courtroom.
Most newspaper coverage came from secondhand wire reports, built from a written record that the judge made sure reflected every defense outrage and whitewashed every prosecution one. The Times’s Lukas paid careful attention to such unfairness, but his editors pruned him ruthlessly: Abbie Hoffman always “shouted”; Judge Hoffman always “said” (even if it was really the other way around). To much of the public, the presumption was that the defecation was nonstop.
William Kunstler offered his summation to the jury on February 13, 1970: “I think if this case does nothing else, perhaps it will bring into focus that again we are in a moment of history when a courtroom becomes the proving ground of whether we do live free or whether we do die free…. Perhaps if you do what is right, perhaps Allen Ginsberg will never have to write again as he did in ‘Howl,’ ‘I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,’ perhaps Judy Collins will never have to stand in any courtroom again and say, as she did, ‘When will they ever learn?’”
Thomas Foran offered his summation: “At the beginning of this case they were calling them all by diminutive names, Rennie and Abbie and Jerry, trying to pretend they were young kids. They are not kids…. They are highly sophisticated, educated men, and they are evil men.”
The jury returned their verdict after five days. All seven were acquitted on the conspiracy count. Froines and Weiner were acquitted of the charge they’d constructed an incendiary device. But Dellinger, Davis, Hayden, Hoffman, and Rubin were found guilty on the indictment’s counts two through six, which cited Title 18, United States Code, Section 201—the provision of the Civil Rights Act of 1968, passed to honor the martyr Martin Luther King, outlawing the “travel in interstate commerce…with intent to incite, organize, promote, and encourage a riot” and to “speak to assemblages of persons for the purposes of inciting, organizing, promoting, and encouraging a riot.”
The liberal editorialists praised the jury’s ruling as judicious and well considered, a complex split decision: the system worked. Spiro Agnew called it an “American verdict.” It was indeed an American verdict: almost as soon as the trial began, the jury had split into polarized camps. One believed the defendants were not guilty on all accounts. The other believed they were guilty on all counts. Only three jurors actually agreed with the decision as rendered.
They had socialized apart, eaten apart—and, when together, spent most of their time in the jury room debating child-rearing philosophy. One of the convict-on-all-accounts jurors talked about the time she took her willful daughter to see a shrink who said she just needed “love and patience”—and how she stalked out saying of her daughter that she needed to have something “shoved down her throat.” They voiced their fears that their children would end up hippies, said things like “They are evil” and “This is like Nazi Germany—hippies want to take over the country” and “They had no right to come into your living room.” The liberal jurors argued that slovenliness wasn’t a crime, the prosecution was corrupt, and that for the first time they were afraid the government might be spying on them. They wondered whether the antiriot statute was constitutional. At that, the conservative side wondered, if the law didn’t protect decent people from this, then what did it protect them from?
A journalist later observed the sociology that divided the two groups. “The convict-on-all-counts jurors tended to be people who had moved recently from the city of Chicago itself to the suburbs. They were the hard-line we-worked-hard-and-won-our-way-according-to-the-standard-rules-of-social-mobility-people…. The acquittal jurors tended to be those who had been longer situated in the suburbs or outlying parts of the city, and were easier in their attitudes about raising children.”
Franklins and Orthogonians: they hated each other too much to agree on anything. They sent out notes to the judge that they were a hung jury. The judge refused to accept them: “Keep deliberating!” A juror finally brokered the split-verdict compromise. Judge Hoffman still was not satisfied. So he exercised his discretionary power. Over two long days, he called each defendant and each defense lawyer before the bench and delivered contempt specifications for each act of schoolboy naughtiness, sometimes reading out long stretches from the record: “Specification 1: On September 26, during the opening statement by the Government, defendant Hoffman rose and blew a kiss to the jurors. Official Transcript, Chapter One.”
Abbie Hoffman got a day in jail for that. He got six days for calling the judge, in Yiddish, shanda für di goyim. (The judge read the phrase, which meant “a Jew who shames Jews in front of the gentiles,” from the transcript haltingly and pronounced, “I can’t understand the following words.”) David Dellinger had insisted, on Moratorium Day, on reading a list of the war dead. For that, he got six months.
The law had spoken. John Lindsay responded, “The blunt, hard fact is that we in this nation appear headed for a new period of repression—more dangerous than at any time in years.” Foran, at a booster club rally at a parochial high school, said, “We’ve lost our kids to the freaking fag revolution.” Rennie Davis said that when he got out of jail, “I intend to move next door to Tom Foran and bring his sons and daughters into the revolution” and “turn the sons and daughters of the ruling class into Vietcong.” Jerry Rubin signed his new book—Do It!—to “Judge Hoffman, top Yippie, who radicalized more young Americans than we ever could.” And Tom Hayden said, “Our jury now is being heard from.”
In Ann Arbor, five thousand students and hangers-on marched to city hall busting windows and wrecking cars. The FBI put a “White Panther” on the ten most wanted list, who wrote from exile in the Michigan woods, “I don’t want to make it sound like all you got to do is kill people, kill pigs, to bring about revolution,” but “it is up to us to educate the people to the fact that it is war, and a righteous revolutionary war.” In Madison a student stole an Air Force ROTC training plane and tried to bomb an army ammunition plant (just as a student radical stole a plane in the newly released Zabriskie Point).
The preliminaries in the trial of the “Manson Family” were all over the news: Manson had hoped, it turned out, to foment a race war. Weatherman Bernardine Dohrn said of the murders, “Dig it, first they killed the pigs, then they ate dinner in the same room with them, then they even shoved a fork into a victim’s stomach! Wild!” On February 17, what appeared to be a copycat crime emerged, a hideous attack on a military family: a Green Beret captain, Jeffrey MacDonald, reported regaining consciousness from a knife attack to find his wife and two children, Kristen and Kimberly, dead. He remembered what one of the intruders, a woman wearing a “floppy hat” and carrying a burning taper, chanted: “Acid is groovy, kill the pigs.”
In St. Louis, at 2 a.m. on February 23, the Quonset hut housing Washington University’s Army ROTC program was burned to the ground. In frigid Buffalo, on February 24, the president of the State University of New York campus summoned cops to control the threatened disruption of a basketball game. The next night, forty students stormed his office. A police squad chased them into the student union. Eight hundred students attacked the police. At the precinct house, amid the Jewish-looking haul, one arrestee heard a cop say that America “should have let Hitler win, he’d have known how to take care of these fuckers.”
That same day, William Kunstler, facing two years in jail for contempt of Judge Hoffman’s court, gave a speech at the UC–Santa Barbara stadium. Ten years earlier he had dropped out of the executive-training program at R. H. Macy’s; how things had changed. “I have never thought that [the] breaking of windows and sporadic, picayune violence is a good tactic,” he now said. “But on the other hand, I cannot bring myself to become bitter and condemn young people who engage in it.” Students whistled and cheered. Hundreds strolled to a rally in the adjacent town of Isla Vista. One of them idly swung around a bottle of wine. The cops, thinking it a Molotov cocktail, arrested him. Violence broke out. Kids burned down a Bank of America branch. Ronald Reagan ordered his attorney general to look into charging Kunstler with crossing state lines to incite a riot.
On March 6 a mysterious explosion collapsed an entire town house in Greenwich Village. Cops searching through the rubble pulled out three dead bodies and enough live-wired dynamite bombs to blow up the entire block if detonated at once. The house had been a bomb factory, and one of the bombs was intended to slaughter attendees at an upcoming dance at Fort Dix. One decapitated body was identified by a print taken from the severed little finger of the right hand: Diana Oughton, a Weatherman. Another was a leader of the 1968 Columbia University strike. The third was a Weatherman based at Kent State University, in Ohio.
On March 11 a bomb gashed a chunk out of the corner of the Dorchester County Courthouse in Maryland, site of pretrial hearings for H. Rap Brown for inciting the burning of the schoolhouse in Cambridge in 1967.
The next night, in Buffalo, hundreds of students fought a running battle with police, throwing Molotov cocktails at the faculty peace monitors trying to keep the two sides apart.
Three days later Judge Hoffman received an enthusiastic clap on the shoulder from Richard Nixon. He was a special guest at the president’s weekly Christian service in the East Room, where the Reverend Billy Graham preached that America’s “differences could melt in the heat of a religious revival.”
In New York City one day in March, fifteen thousand people were evacuated from office buildings from three hundred separate bomb threats. On April 4, Governor Reagan, in a reelection campaign speech to the Council of California Growers, said of government’s dilemma of beating back the mounting violence, “If there is to be a bloodbath, let it be now.” That America was in the middle of a civil war had once been but a metaphor. How soon before it became real?
- Rick Perlstein, Nixonland
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A list of every book I have reviewed in the order I have read them
Suddenly spying By Gin Mackey
The dead boyfriend By R.L. Stine*
Give me a k-I-L-L By R.L. Stine*
According to a source By Abby Stern
Quinsey wolfe's glass vault By Candace Robinson
By the Fates freed By Patricia D Eddy
The bride of glass By Candace Robinson
Murder at the inn By Penelope Sotheby
Murder in Bermuda By Penelope Sotheby
Hearts are like balloons By Candace Robinson
The twelve mile straight By Eleanor Henderson
Deadly Shades H.D. Thomson
Sweet justice By Lindsay E. Smart
Deadman's tome final contact By Candace Robinson and various other authors
Titled justice book 2 By Adele M. Cooper
The secret of chestnut hall book 1 By Olivia Swift
Dinning with the dead By Carrie Marsh
Family by love a birth mothers wish By Kaycee Parker
The scary stories volume one the shadow man By Dark Mistress Aurora*
Ten By Gretchen McNeil*
Nine parts bluster and other stories By Az Anthony
The road to Sampson's quarry book 1 By Sophie Tucker
The secret of the jewel shop book 2 By Olivia Swift
The beginning of forever By Seven Steps
Meat By Bones Monroe
Escape to Sampson's Quarry (Sampson's Quarry Mystery, #2) By Sophie Tucker
Almost picture perfect Blooms, Bones and stones cozy mystery book 3 By Olivia Swift
#murdertrending By Gretchen McNeil
Murder at woodruff mansion Sea oak's mystery book 3 By Adele M. Cooper
The secret of the quilt book 4 By Olivia swift
The silent Santa The sea oak's mystery book 4 By Adele M. Cooper
Second Chance in Sampson's Quarry (Sampson's Quarry Mystery #3) By Sophie Tucker
My new crush gave to me By Shani Petroff*
Bacon pie By Candace Robinson
The reading Buddy By Bryce Gibson
The baby on the back porch By Lucia N. Davis
Bum Steer By Bones Monroe
The lies they tell By Gillian French
Murder in the mountains By Miles Lancaster
Backeries and bones By Nic Roberts
Murder at the manor By Ct Mitchell
Parrots and Payback By Ruby Loren
The favorite sister By Jessica Knoll
The secret of the pendant book 5 By Olivia Swift
Lady Grace By Margaret Manners
you may know kill the bride By R.L. Stine*
the secret of the stones (Blooms, Bones & Stones #6) By Olivia Swift
Secrets of a small town book 1 By Adele M. Cooper
An Unexpected Christmas in Sampson's Quarry (A Sampson's Quarry Mystery - Book Four) By Sophie Tucker
Christmas magic café book 1 By Olivia Swift
The comfy canine murder case A Paige Moore Mystery book 2 By Adele M. Cooper
Spirit Magic: A Chocolate Magic Cozy Mystery book 2 By Olivia Swift
Tethered county line horror #4 By Bryce Gibson
Troublemaker By Heather Beck
The great jewel robbery a front page mystery By Elizabeth McKenna
Verdict realty #1 judge . jury . torturer By sea Caummisar
Blind date By Nick Clausen
They Came at night By Nick Clausen
Human flesh By Nick Clausen
Law and disorder By Olivia Arnold
Chasing Chelsey don't look back By Desiree L. Scott
Verdict realty 2 unhinged By Sea Caummisar
A predator and a psychopath By Jay Kerk
Celtic spirits a chocolate magic cozy mystery By Olivia Swift
#murderfunding By Gretchen McNeil*
A homecoming to forget By Emily Camp
My dog sees ghosts By Dakota Duncan
Clouded by envy By Candace Robinson
The poison of war By Jennifer Leeper
sleep, tiny dreamer By Shanita Allen
K-9 cop case #1 - the dreck report By Erna Muller
Intricate deception (intricate #1) By Jennifer Rayes
Intricate intensions (intricate #2) By Jennifer Rayes
How to do things your phone won't : common sense guide to real life. By David Lastinger
Deadly seduction By Cora Clark
Intricate obsessions (intricate #3) By Jennifer Rrayes
Veiled by desire By Candace Robinson
Dead meat : day 1 By Nick Clausen
Color wheel art : Halloween art projects By Susan Srikant
Lucid sacred dreams By Conrad Guardipee
The descending darkness By Michael Chulsky
Lullaby of flames By Candace Robinson
The cleaning lady By Kay Oliver
Blood sucker comic By Katja Vartiainen
Ghosted By Jayne E Rowney
the career killer By Ali Gunn
Dead meat day 2 by Nick clause
Dead meat day 3 By Nick Clausen
Lonesome Spirits: A Chocolate Magic Cozy Mystery book 4 By Olivia Swift
The loop By Nick Holloway
Christmas Spirits: A Chocolate Magic Cozy Mystery book 5 By Olivia Swift
..............................................
I have not posted these reviews yet
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Murder at Macbeth By Sam Goodwin
The august havens chronicles wanted By Shelby Haisley
My snake smells mummies By Dakota Duncan
My cat hears vampires By Dakota Duncan
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