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aurorasilverthorne · 2 years

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Vampire Don't Fall In Love: Chapter #5

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!! The Bailey School Kids books and all of the characters belong to Marcia T. Jones and Debbie Dadey.

Note: Hombre Lobo belongs to me. If you use him in fanfiction or fanart, just please remember to credit me as his creator. Thank you.

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Mr. Lobo walked from his house on Forest Lane to the old Clancy Estate on Delaware Boulevard. It wasn’t a long trek. Ten to fifteen minutes at most. He carried two bags of supplies in one hand and a large tool box in the other.

He kept telling himself the only reason he was going anywhere near Mrs. Jeepers was because Eddie and his sister needed the old house to be livable. He was doing the work for the children not her.

Lobo paused on the sidewalk outside the overgrown yard. The Queen Anne Victorian had been left in shambles by the previous owner. Busted shutters dangled haphazardly from window seals, leafy vines crawled up and along both sides of the house, broken glass panes, crumbling wooden boards and eroded metal frames dared local prowlers and thieves to take their best shot.

Lobo noted how the steps and porch groaned under his weight. He lifted the heavy iron knocker. It struck the wood. Once. Twice. Three times before the old door creaked open. He found himself face to face with Mrs. Jeepers.

She wore a polka dotted dress, a pair of black boots and her curly red-orange hair pulled back into a ponytail by a ribbon. The dark crimson spots on her crisp, white blouse and matching skirt looked like blood spatter peeking out at him from beneath her black silk vest with its silver buttons.

She tried to smile for him, but it just came off as awkward and a bit forced. “Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it and I am sure the children do too.”

Lobo doubted it. The children didn’t like them. Perhaps they sensed the beasts that lurked just beneath the skin, or Mrs. Jeepers had slipped up and let her true nature show.

She stepped aside so he could enter the house. Cobwebs and dust greeted him.

“Where do you want me to start?” he asked.

“Why don’t you begin in the backyard and work your way in from there,” she suggested.

Lobo nodded.

He spent the rest of the day ripping out weeds thick as a man’s fingers and mowing grass so high it brushed his hips. He laid out stone pavers and lights, even planted seeds for an herb and vegetable garden before he added a different batch of seeds in the front for a flower garden.

After watering the seeds and returning the push mower he’d borrowed from a neighbor, Mr. Lobo paused to examine all his work. Both yards looked better, but he was already calculating in his head everything he’d need to repair the interior of the house.

A delicate hand, its tapering fingers tipped with green polish, rested on his shoulder. He didn’t turn. He knew who stood beside him. Mrs. Jeepers smelled faintly of wintery night air, damp, clean earth and roses.

“You’ve done enough for today,” she told him. “If you would like to return tomorrow after school lets out, that will be fine. I must ready myself for work. There is much to do and little time for it.”

“I’ll be here around three-thirty or four. I need to pick up some more tools and supplies at the hardware store. Give me a call if you need anything.”

He jotted down his number on a crumpled up napkin he’d found in his pocket and gave it to her.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Jeepers.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Lobo.”

Lobo watched her walk back inside the house and waited for the unmistakable click of a door lock sliding into place before he headed home.

Bailey wasn’t a large city, more like a small town, but that didn’t make it safer. A woman living by herself was a prime target for all manner of criminals.

All werewolves were protective and territorial. Lobo kept watch over the human residents and a close eye on the preternaturals who called Bailey City home.

He saw Boris Hauntly working in his conservatory at the Hauntly Manor over on Dedman Street. Boris’ mother, Madame Hauntly, was treating some local children to milkshakes at a Doodle Burger on Main. Drake and Frank were at the park shooting hoops with O’Grady and Eugene. Dr. Granite and Mr. Ore were off helping Dr. Victor with an experiment at the Shelly Museum.

Everything is as it should be, he told himself.

Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, he’d brainwash himself into believing it. He’d try anything to stop thinking about her.

Yeah…right…

His mind immediately drifted to the all-too-familiar scent of cold night air, damp soil and roses. To the pale, beautiful face that had haunted all his dreams for more than a century.

Mr. Lobo pushed old memories aside and unlocked the door to his house. He saw no reason to revisit the past. Better to put it behind him than to obsess over what might’ve been and would never be again.

◇◇◇

Justine Hauntly froze upon seeing her favorite cousin’s tears. “Sorina, what…what happened?”

Mrs. Jeepers quickly wiped the salty droplets from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It is nothing. Allergies, perhaps.”

Justine folded her arms. “This would not have anything to do with Hombre Lobo, would it?”

Mrs. Jeepers bit her bottom lip to keep from sobbing. “No…”

Justine sighed. “Sorina, it is only natural for you to feel as you do. I am sure seeing him again is not easy. The two of you were close once and things did not end on the best terms.”

“I left him at the alter on our wedding day with only a letter asking forgiveness and no real explanation,” Sorina reminded her. “Hombre despises me. He will not so much as look my way unless it is necessary to maintain professional appearances.”

“Have you tried speaking with him privately?” Justine asked.

“He will not stay in a room with me if it means we will be alone together,” Sorina replied. “I…I may have upset him during his first music lesson. I panicked at seeing him after so many years and…”

“And…?” Justine urged her gently.

“I touched my brooch,” Sorina went on. “I should not have. His breed are immune to our allure, I know, but the magic…touched him. Hombre became angry. He believes I did it on purpose.”

“Using magic to coerce another is considered taboo amongst the werewolves,” Justine admitted. “But you did not mean to do it. I am sure he will calm down, and once he does, you will be able to discuss what happened and why it was necessary for you to react as you did.”

Sorina sniffled. “I hope you are right. I can not stand that he is so upset with me. I wish I could make Hombre understand that I regret my decision. He does not realize how badly I have missed him.”

“Perhaps fate is giving the two of you the chance to reconcile and start again,” Justine suggested.

“If so,” Sorina replied, “I do not intend to waste the opportunity I have been granted. I will speak to Hombre. Even if he rejects my feelings, at least I will have done all that I could to right the wrong I committed against him.”

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#fanfiction #original character #horror #adventure #mystery #bailey school kids #mrs. jeepers #romance #vampire #fanfic #werewolf #book series #hombre lobo #madame hauntly #boris hauntly

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

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Can I ask for an scenario were the proxies have to interact with Charlie? Like, maybe for example the boss sends the 4 of them to Kate’s old house for some reason, or Charlie just wonders into them because he’s scared

Grilled Cheese Sandwiches

[Proxies and Charlie]

[Warnings: like, none?]

[This is like full fic length bc I kinda liked the idea]

“Kate?” Tim’s soft voice called out from the driver's seat. He sees that she’s gazing out the window, lost in her thoughts. A small sigh escapes his lips as he leans back, hand gently patting at Kate’s shoulder. “Kate, we need to go.”

The dark haired woman stirs, blinking rapidly in response. She pauses. “I’m sorry?”

The men in the car laugh, Toby devolving into giggles as he clicks her seatbelt. “We’re h-h-here,” he smiles.

Kate shifts, slightly uncomfortable in her seat as she reaches to unlock the door. There, down the driveway is the house that used to be hers. She slides out, listening as her teammates do the same. Her shoes rest on the gravel and gently press against the earth. She hasn’t been able to see her house in the daylight for goodness knows how long. In fact, most of the time she’s here, it’s nighttime.

“You okay?” Brian asks as he rests his hand on her shoulder before moving to her upper back. He’s gently guiding her to the house.

She shrugs ever so slightly, a cloud overtaking her eyes. “Not sure.”

Brian hums and gently rubs her back as they walk up to the house. “We’ll be in and out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim suddenly cuts in.

“W-Why exactly a-a-a-are we h-here?” Toby asks as he catches up to his three group members, stretching his arms and cracking his neck as he does so.

“Operator said we needed some files or something,” Tim answers. “Shouldn’t be that hard, yeah?”

Kate feels a little on edge and nostalgic when she sees the brick walls that surround her home. She takes a glance around. The yard needs to be done as there’s tall grass and weeds that have overtaken the once pretty garden. Ivy and vines grow over the windows, the brick needs some upkeep - it’s a mess. But surprisingly enough, the swingset is still intact. She walks down the path to her front door and reaches out for the doorknob, opening it and raises her brows to see that it’s open. “Huh,” she murmurs. “Wonder if there have been any squatters in here.”

“Sure hope not,” Brian says as his gloved hands trail the tall grass’ edges. “Means we gotta go out there and hunt them down.”

Tim and Toby both sigh in agreement, grimaces crossing over their faces. This house is practically a time capsule into Operator behavior and the like. It reeks with his energy. This place is only open to proxies, and even then, they have to be cleared proxies. If any humans made it in here, that means they have to get killed. That’s just how it is.

Kate steps into her old house, slightly displeased to see that the house looks eerily similar to how she left it with the minor additions of Lauren’s snooping as well. It doesn’t feel or smell like someone has been in here for a while. She begins to explore the place, her hand on her weapon just in case as her teammates file in.

‘So,’ Tim begins in the back of his proxies’ heads, ‘just a few files. Apparently we’ll know ‘em when we see ‘em.’

Toby snorts slightly. ‘You don’t have anything more solid than that?’

‘No.’

‘They’re bound to have Lauren on them,’ Kate says. ‘It’s uh, just the feeling I get.’

Hums echo throughout the house from her teammates as they split and scope out the house. Kate stands in the kitchen, looking for the files. Nothing so far. She sighs. She was hoping they’d be in and out.

“Any luck?” Brian calls out after deeming the house safe.

“Nope,” Tim calls out from the TV room.

“N-Not here either,” Toby says from one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Kate hums as she opens up the drawers. “Empty,” she says.

Tim sighs and runs his fingers through his hair as he rounds the house, mindlessly looking for the things the Operator asked of them. He’s a little upset that they’re just not out there in the open, but that would be convenient, far too convenient. He begins to look out the window, watching for the birds and other things, anything to just calm down. He pats absentmindedly at his pocket, feeling his pack of cigarettes. “Goin’ out for a smoke,” he says over his shoulder to Kate who is still searching the kitchen.

Tim steps outside and lights up a cigarette, placing it between his lips before sucking in a slow breath. He watches the clouds as they swim in the sky, the sun as it passes overhead. What a beautiful summer afternoon. He’s honestly zoning out when he hears a rustling in the grass. What is that? His head turns and so too do the hairs on the back of his neck. Something is on the grounds and it doesn’t feel human. Tim immediately drops his cigarettes and crushes it under his boot before palming his gun.

Dark eyes begin to scan over the tall grasses as he remains planted at the doorstep. He’s about to call for his teammates in what they lovingly call ‘head talk’ before he sees something peeking out of the tall grass, just outside the brick gates. It has dark hair and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the lush green. Before Tim can even make any plan of action, it’s up and stalking towards him. He swears under his breath, raising his gun towards the creature.

It hisses, making clicking noises and snarling as it keeps a distance, large hands get held up defensively as Tim growls back.

Kate, in the kitchen, hears this and internally panics. At first, she thought it was some rabid raccoon or something, but she recognizes those clicks. That’s Charlie! She slams her drawer and then rushes out to the front where Tim, Brian and Toby are locked in a standoff with the poor thing.

“Woah, woah!” She cries out, extending her hands as she does so.

“Kate, get back,” Tim hisses, hand reaching out to grab at her collar. He grows in disapproval when she pushes off of him, quickly coming to the zombified proxy’s side.

Upon seeing Kate, the creature pauses. It purrs lowly and lowers his head.

Kate stands in front of him, arms out. “He’s not gonna hurt you.” She gently pushes Charlie back, wanting to get him as far away from her teammates as she can.

“It c-c--could be an o-outlier,” Toby says with narrowed eyes, hand not loosening its grip on his hatchets.

Kate takes in a deep, frustrated breath and shakes her head. “His name is Charlie.” She explains. “He’s what we are.”

“What we are?” Brian asks with a tilt of his head, brow raising, but gun still pointed. “He can’t be.”

Toby nods in agreement. “P-Proxies don’t l-look like t-t-that,” he murmurs with uncertainty.

Tim sighs deeply as he lowers his gun, holstering it. “This is what happens to proxies if the Operator wills it,” he explains, a small grimace on his lips. “It’s the radiation.”

Uncomfortable chills run up and down the spines of Tim’s teammates as they slowly put their weapons away, frowns on their faces.

Charlie tilts his head, though his body language conveys that he’s clearly still distressed over what’s happened. His hands are waving, ready to strike should he need to, teeth bared and ready to snap.

Kate runs her fingers through her hair and waves off her other teammates. “Go back inside, let me handle this,” she commands. “He’s harmless, but you’ve made a bad impression on him.”

“He shouldn’t have been poking in the grass,” Tim says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Kate sticks out her tongue at him. “Get inside, and bring me two sandwiches.”

“Excuse you?” Tim says in slight surprise.

She looks over her shoulder as she gently grabs Charlie’s large hand, leading him to the swingset that is surprisingly still intact. “Go take a seat buddy,” she guides in a warm tone, watching as Charlie slowly slumps back over to his most natural pose, quietly walking towards the swingset. “You heard me,” Kate calls back over her shoulder.

Tim rolls his eyes and heads back inside, mentally telling Toby to make two sandwiches.

Toby, who is watching as Charlie sits on the swingset, rolls his eyes at Tim’s command before sauntering off to the kitchen. He’s admittedly surprised to pull open the fridge and see it’s stocked with food and there’s fresh bread. ‘What kind of sandwiches did you guys want?’ Toby hums as he rummages through the fridge.

Kate pauses swinging. ‘PB&J would be fine,’ she replies. ‘Really anything goes though, Charlie just looks hungry.’

Toby obliges and frowns for a moment. ‘Do you think you and Charlie can wait a second?’

‘Why?’

‘I have something special in mind.’

Kate hums and then nods. ‘Yeah, take your time, Tobes.’ With Charlie at her side, Kate begins to talk with him, buying Toby some seconds. “So, you feeling alright, buddy?”

Charlie chirps quietly, swinging beside her.

“Did the big guy send you here?”

Charlie nods.

“Is he being mean again?”

Charlie’s eyes lower as he shivers slightly, another solemn nod dragging his head downwards as he focuses on the pretty flowers that grow up from the ground.

Kate furrows her brows with a small frown and stands up from the seat, peeling off her hoodie. She drapes it over Charlie’s shoulders before sitting on the gravel just in front of him, pulling at the pretty pink and blue flowers. “I’m here now, yeah?”

Charlie purrs as he holds the arms of her hoodie, a small smile curling upwards on his face.

Kate hums softly as she weaves him a flower crown.

Inside the house, Toby is almost done with the grilled cheese sandwiches. He’s melting the cheese on the second one when Brian and Tim stroll in, a tad bored from watching Kate and Charlie.

“That’s surprisingly nice of you,” Brian lightly ribs. “Smells good though.”

“Why don’t you ever make these with us?” Tim inquires with a small chuckle.

“I c-c-can make them n-now for u-u-s,” Toby begins, flipping the sandwich. “B-But my s-sister used t-t-to make these w-when I was u-upset. F-Figured C-Charlie needed a p-pick me up,” he explains, a small smile on his lips as he turns off the stove. Toby places it on the plate and grabs it before heading to the front door.

In the front yard, Kate is just finishing placing a flower crown on Charlie’s head. The colors compliment his hair and Kate giggles softly as he coos. “You’re so pretty,” she compliments, gently tapping where his nose should be, making him giggle in response. Her nose picks up the scent of Toby’s cooking and a warm smile spreads over her lips. There he is, in the doorway.

“T-Thought you g-guys would l-like these,” he says as he meets Kate halfway.

“You’re so thoughtful,” Kate smiles as she takes the plate into her hands. “You wanna come say hi to Charlie?”

“I-Is he o-okay with it?” Toby asks, wanting to ensure Charlie won’t get wound up again.

Kate glances over her shoulder to the large cryptid like proxy that is currently playing with the flowers that adorn his head. “He’s fine,” she hums, leading Toby to the swingset. “Hey buddy,” she quietly greets. “Toby made some sandwiches for us.”

Charlie tilts his head curiously at the new scent, both Toby and the grilled cheese. He pokes at it before lifting it.

“It’s s-s-still a little h--hot,” Toby warns as Kate sits him down on one of the swings.

Charlie tilts his head again.

Toby blows a bit on his hand.

Charlie follows in suit before chomping into the sandwich, mouth opening and closing like a dragon due to how hot it is.

Both Kate and Toby laugh.

Brian and Tim watch from the windows as Toby, Kate and Charlie begin to get to know each other, giggles and positive energy flowing between the three of them as they do so.

“Should we let them stay?” Tim hums.

Brian nods, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, let the kids play.”

Tim chuckles, patting Brian on the back. “You check the basement for those files yet?”

“Nah, did you?”

“Wouldn’t be asking if I did,” Tim grins.

Brian rolls his eyes. “Be right back,” he informs, hazel eyes reluctantly leaving the vision of the swing set.

#masky #masky creepypasta #tim wright #tim wright marble hornets #hoodie #hoodie creepypasta #brian thomas #brian thomas marble hornets #marble hornets #creepypasta #creepypasta scenario #kate the chaser #kate the chaser scenario #charlie matheson #slender the arrival #slender man

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

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Beneath the Heat of the Sun

A/N: There isn’t really a plot to this. Just some protective!Eskel and soooo much fluff. Here is my masterlist. Here is the link to go to if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists. And thank you to my baby @writingawaymylife thank you so so much for reading over this and helping me out with it!! I love you babe<3

Warnings: implied smut, name calling, use of the word whore in a not sexy/dirty talk way

Word Count: 2.8k

The soft breeze blowing by offered little comfort to the sun that beat down on your skin relentlessly. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight. Birds sung in the treetops, and once in a while, you’d see a rabbit or two run by.

The day had been quiet but busy. Eskel was up before dawn fixing and tidying up things around the house. He always did this before he left home for the Path. You were up shortly after him, having felt the bed move slightly as he got up.

You rested on your knees in the middle of your strawberry garden, pulling weeds and picking the ripened fruit from the vines. Every now and then, you’d have to shoo one of your animals away. All they want to do is eat the plants and destroy the strawberries.

You swiped the back of your hand over your forehead, wiping the thin layer of sweat from your skin. You were just in a white chemise tucked into a thin skirt but it felt like you were going to die from the heat.

Magnus, your one month old lamb, tried to sneak into the garden for the third time. He watched you carefully, taking slow steps. He was a sneaky little thing, but he wasn’t nearly as sneaky as he thought.

You spotted him and pointed your finger at him.

“Magnus, don’t you dare.”

He bleated loudly and jolted forward, snatching a mouthful of strawberries and greens. He dashed off, white tail flicking happily behind him.

“You are so rude, Magnus.” You shook your head.

The sound of a quiet chuckle came from across the garden. Eskel was down on one knee fixing a part of the fence that the chickens could get through. His side was to you, giving you the perfect view of his profile.

Sweat covered his sun kissed skin. His dark hair was mostly pulled back into a low ponytail but some unruly strands fell out around his face. His lips were parted just slightly, golden eyes focused on the wire fencing. The muscles in his arm flex as he bent the wire how he needed and that vein in his forearm was popping out.

“Are you laughing at me scolding our son?”

“I would never.” He shook his head, looking at you out of the corner of his eyes. He met your gaze, a little smile tugging at the corner of his scarred lips.

“You’re the reason he’s such a spoiled little thing.” You shook your head, mocking disapproval.

You had stumbled upon Magnus’s mother, who you named Nissa, a week before she had Magnus. She was pregnant and her owner was selling her at the market in town. You didn’t think about getting her at first. Your cozy cottage tucked into a hill in Toussaint was crowded enough with the chickens, goose, two horses, and foal that already called the property home. But then you thought of how Eskel had been different ever since Lil Bleater passed away three months earlier. You thought that perhaps this little lamb would lift his spirits.

And Magnus did just that. The witcher clung to him like his first born. The first few days of his life, Eskel never left Magnus’s side. Magnus was a sickly lamb but as soon as he was healthy and able to walk, he was getting himself into trouble. He had a personality similar to Lil Bleater, one that made Eskel smile whenever he thought of it.

You pushed yourself to your feet and padded over to the bucket of water you had retrieved from the creek just a few minutes earlier. Some of the chickens were drinking from the bucket. The cool water was refreshing, a stark contrast to the dry, hot air.

You waited patiently for them to finish before dipping a rag into the water. You glanced over to Eskel. His back was now to you.

You carried the sopping wet rag at your side, carefully watching him as you moved towards him. The grass beneath your feet was soft and effectively silenced your steps.

“I’m thinking that next year, I’ll have to put a second fence around my strawberries. The chickens love them.”

“I think Magnus likes to help them out too.” Eskel sighed. He was oblivious to what you were doing. He was too focused on the fence, on fixing it for you. “He’s the one who broke into the fence for the chickens.”

“Troublemaker.” You hummed softly.

Once you were behind the witcher, you rung the rag out. The water fell onto his shoulders and down his back. He flinched at the coldness and gasped.

“And you say Magnus gets his bad habits from me.” Eskel looked over his shoulder to you. “I’m trying to work here, doll.”

You offered him an innocent smile, kneeling down behind him. Your fingertips traced the lines of water over the divots in his back caused by his muscles and by scars.

“We should take a little break.” You thought out loud.

“What did you have in mind?” He turned his head straight to look down at the fence.

You kissed his shoulder blade, your lips ghosting over a jagged and thick scar. He looked over his shoulder once more, knowing you were up to something. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. His brows drew together slightly. Your eyes met his but he couldn’t read you. The little smile on your lips showed you were passive and content. You leaned up to kiss his temple, swiping a few pieces of dark hair from his brow.

You stood up straight and hummed, moving away from him without offering an answer.

His gaze followed you, watching you move to the creek that rested just beyond your strawberries.

On the other side of the creek was a dirt road that led to town. The creek was wide but it was shallow. Most of the creek right in front of your house came up to your ankles but sometimes it got a little deeper.

Every now and then, the hem of your skirt would get snagged on the grass or a fallen limb but it never changed how elegantly you walked, how gracefully you appeared.

Curious, Eskel followed you.

Magnus bleated loudly and trotted across the yard to join you too. He always had to be included in everything the two of you did.

You looked over your shoulder to see if your witcher was following you. A smile crossed your lips when you saw that he wasn’t too far away.

You pulled your skirt up just a little and stepped into the edge of the creek. The water was cold and made you shiver, but it felt so nice after being in the heat all day long.

The rocks beneath your feet were flat and smooth.

A hand slipped around your waist as Eskel moved around you to stand in front of you. You let your skirt go, your hands coming up to his arms. Your fingertips brushed over the slopes of his broad shoulders until you could tangle your fingers in his hair.

“You mentioned yesterday that you’d have to leave soon.” You murmured quietly, eyes flickering down to a scar that crossed over his throat. It was thick and clean. Someone had tried-and nearly succeeded-in decapitating the witcher.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” He dipped his head down to kiss your clavicle. “Just want to enjoy this.”

You nodded, unwrapping your arms from his neck. Your fingers trailed up and down his bicep. He took your hand to stop you, bringing your fingers to his lips so he could kiss your knuckles. You turned your hand in his grip so you could cup his jaw. You smiled lightly at the feeling of his scruffy jaw scratching your palm. His facial hair had grown out more than what he usually allowed it to, and you admired it. It was a good look on him.

“I like this.” You complimented, your words hushed even though there was no one around to hear.

He grunted softly, rubbing his scarred cheek.

“Need to shave.”

“Then I shall mourn your scruff until it returns to me.” You leaned up to brush your lips across his jaw, enjoying the way his prickly scruff felt.

He smiled shyly, dipping his head down to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“I do love the way it feels against my lips when I kiss you.”

Magnus bleated loudly to announce his arrival and jumped into the creek, splashing water on the both of you. Eskel lifted his head and sighed, looking down at the lamb.

“Well, that didn’t last long.”

Your arms released him so you could pet Magnus.

“He’s just so spoiled.” You knelt down in front of the lamb and rubbed his neck. “You spoil him.”

“Yeah. I can’t help it.” Eskel rubbed the back of his neck. “Love him too much.”

“I know you do.” You stood up and kissed his cheek, then looked at the creek.

You grinned a little as you knelt down close to the water. You scooped up a handful and threw it on to Eskel. It hit him in the lower stomach.

“Oh, now you’re in for it.” Eskel moved towards you quickly. You didn’t have time to get away. He swept you off of your feet, holding underneath your knees and your back.

You giggled, kicking your feet lightly.

“Eskel! Put me down!”

“If you say so.” He moved to a deeper part of the creek. It wasn’t very deep but it came up to his knees. He carefully placed you down in the cold water. You gasped and jolted, clinging to his shoulders.

“Eskel!” You squealed his name. “It’s freezing cold!”

“Oops.” He grinned.

You put your hand into the water and splashed him, catching him in the chest.

This sparked a fight between the two of you. He moved away from you, wanting to escape the splashing. You continued to splash him but once he was at the edge of the water, he casted aard down into the water just in front of you. This caused the water to practically blow up on you, soaking you from head to toe.

You fell into a fit of laughter while he grinned.

“Need some help up, doll?” He offered, moving towards you with his hand stretched out.

You placed your hand in his and allowed him to pull you to your feet.

His eyes flickered down very briefly to your chest. Your chemise was soaked through and had become completely see-through.

“I saw that.” You playfully swatted at his chest.

You could’ve sworn a soft pink rose to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized shyly, eyes falling from your face.

“I’m just messing with you, love.” You put your hand on his arm to stop him from walking away. “Just teasing you. It’s okay.”

You brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and kissed his jaw.

“Remember that I am yours.” You murmured, one hand coming up to rest on his stomach. Beneath scarred, tanned skin was firm muscle.

His breath caught in his throat for a second. It always did whenever you told him that, and his heart would beat a little faster.

He nodded his head and leaned down to kiss your lips briefly.

“Why don’t we go finish the garden and then we can settle down for the day?” You suggested.

He nodded once more, smiling when you stood up on your tiptoes to kiss him again.

Magnus bleated and used one of his front hooves to dig at your ankle.

“You better get your son before he dies from lack of attention.” You giggled, looking down at the lamb. He peered up at you, blinked, and bleated again.

“He’s your son too.” Eskel sighed. He scooped Magnus up in one arm. The lamb bleated loudly. “You get into too much trouble.”

Eskel left the creek first but stayed on the bank to wait for you.

You lifted your skirt up a little so you wouldn’t trip over the material as you carefully navigated the rocks beneath the water. You lost your bearings for a moment, your foot sliding on a slippery rock.

Eskel looked back when he heard you suck in a breath from your lips. You managed to balance yourself once more, eyes flickering up to look at Eskel.

“You okay, doll?”

You nodded, giving him a smile, and continued across the rocks.

“Would you look at that, boys?” A voice came from the dirt road to your right. There was a group of men, six of them, and they had stopped to watch you.

You brought your arm up to cover your chest. Being that your shirt was now see-through, you didn’t want any unwanted eyes looking where they shouldn’t.

“Why don’t you just take that top off, love?” One suggested. His friends bursted out into laughter.

Your skin crawled from them gazing at you like some piece of meat.

Eskel was stepping in front of you before you had time to say his name. He set Magnus down so he could have his hands free. The lamb trotted over to your horse, Ghost, who was resting beneath the shade of an oak tree.

“Come on, doll.” Eskel turned his back to the group of men, his arm slipping around you.

“Hey! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Why don’t you come over here and keep us company?”

“Forget about that mutant freak.”

You stopped in your tracks and tried to turn around to confront them but Eskel wouldn’t let you.

“Just keep walking, Y/N.” He said.

You gritted your teeth together. You hated that the nosey people in your village had found out about Eskel. You weren’t ashamed of your witcher, but you knew how they would treat him, how they would react knowing a witcher was living among them. They always spoke down on him and treated him like dirt. You couldn’t stand to see the way they were with, acting as if he was any less human than they were.

“Show us your tits, love!”

“Have some decency, would you?” Eskel finally snapped, looking back at the unsavory characters. This made the men tense up and their smirks disappear.

“What are you going to do about it, freak?”

“Eskel.” You said his name, fingers digging into his bicep when he turned as if to confront them. “Come on, my love.”

Eskel breathed out through his nose, lips pressed together in a tight line. Still, he refused to move.

“Eskel.” You said his name once more, this time a little more sternly.

Silently, he turned and started to guide you towards your home.

The group of men shouted a few more lewd remarks at you, but you ignored them.

“Take Magnus into the house.” Eskel spoke softly to you.

“What are you going to do?” You drew your brows together.

“Finish the fence. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

“Eskel, please don’t provoke them. They aren’t worth it.”

“I know.” He dipped his head down to kiss your lips. “I just want to make sure the chickens don’t get into your garden while we are inside.”

“Magnus!” You called the lamb’s name, patting your thigh. He came trotting over to you, bleating and kicking his back legs. You picked him up as Eskel moved away from the house.

You closed the door behind yourself, placing the lamb down on his feet. Then you went to the window that overlooked your garden. From there, you could watch your witcher finish up the fence that bordered the garden.

The men were still on the road. Their mouths moved but you couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Eskel ignored them, but you could see how tense he was, how rigid with frustration he was.

When he finished with the fence and started to move towards the house, you left the window to find dry clothes for you both.

Eskel found you rummaging through your wardrobe.

“I-I’m sorry that happened, Y/N. That they said those things to you.”

“What they did isn’t something you should apologize for, Eskel.” You glanced over to him, giving him a little smile.

“But I just hate that they-they looked at you like some toy. Just something to use to-,”

“Hey.” You cut him off softly, finding a thin dress, and stood up. “It’s fine. It’s over. It’s done with. No need to linger on it.”

He nodded, fingers still curled into tight fists at his sides.

You tossed the clean chemise on to the edge of your bed and then moved to him. Your hands started on his shoulders, trailing down his arms to rest on the backs of his hands.

“I love you.” You whispered, eyes twinkling as you gazed up at him.

A little smile tugged at the scarred corner of his lips.

“I love you too.” He leaned down to kiss you but you stopped him.

“Not until we are out of these soaking wet clothes.”

“Then let me help you.” His smile turned into a grin as his hands found the hem of your chemise.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @she-wolfoftheinquisition @titaniafire @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#eskel x reader #eskel fluff #eskel x reader fluff #protective!eskel #the witcher eskel #the witcher #oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

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generalfoolish · 3 years

Text

Feel The Heat

Part Two: Something More

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Rating: 18+ (b/c minors shouldn't lurk, it is illegal and not polite.) But this is big fluff, just more exposition and pining and world building. I do curse, so there's that.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: June and Frankie are big idiots, and they keep bumping into each other in the wildest of places. Again, and I can't overstate this: they’re both MASSIVE idiots.

A/N: Hey babes! This is going a little slower bc I want to give more with each update, I normally keep around 1K and these are little beasts. But I'm excited with the story, some threads are exposing themselves, and there will be more Frankie X OC time in the next part. For now, enjoy this little taste of yearning and pining and overthinking and general angst over meeting a cute new somebody. 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

June checked her phone as she stirred the pot, and groaned at the email count. More than half were parents who “couldn’t” make the conference, and the rest were from her principal wanting to reiterate the importance of those meetings. She dropped the phone back to the counter, and focused on her pot. She had googled what to do with Brandywines, and had decided on a slowly simmered tomato sauce. It paired beautifully with the fresh garlic and basil she had picked up, and the whole house smelled like an Italian restaurant.

This was her favorite way to use up produce in the summer. She spent hours simmering and canning, and got to enjoy the fruits of her labor in the dead of winter. She knew she could easily gift the sauce made from those beautiful tomatoes, and she had every intention of doing so.

Sundays passed so quickly, she hardly had time to dwell on the farmer, but when she caught a whiff of her stove she had to find something to do. She worked through the emails, sending reminders that the conferences were mandatory, and that if the parents couldn’t make it during the week before or after school, she was available to meet online. She fought the temptation to open her weekends. She was working on work boundaries with her therapist.

June had an easier time fighting off thoughts of the farmer as the day waned on, and she thought, foolishly, that she could just forget the brown eyed grump she had met.

Frankie was having a hard time focusing on anything. Liv was a bundle of energy, and he tried not to snap at her. He had her come help him in the garden, but he ended up sending her to dig for worms after she trampled another vine.

“Ew! Worms are gross.” She argued.

“I know, but didn’t you want to go fishing? Fish eat worms, it’s how we can get them out of the water.” He explained, carefully. She considered him, then bounded off, calling out to the worms. He chuckled watching her, and went back to pulling weeds. With a moment of quiet, his mind flitted back to the woman. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamt of her. She was lounging in the back of his mind, waiting for him to stumble into the memory. Liv was a good distraction, but she only held the woman at bay for so long. He grumbled and wiped his brow. He decided to give it up for now, the woman and the weeding.

“Princess, I think we have some hotdogs. Let’s try those.” He called over to Liv, who excitedly left behind her freshly dug hole.

“Daddy, Mrs. Becka wanted me to remind you about the school stuff.” Liv told him, grabbing his hand as they walked. He exhaled sharply. He had forgotten the meetings. He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through Becka’s texts. She had sent him the teacher’s number at some point, he knew, the trouble was finding it. Finally, he clicked the blue hyper-linked number and called it. Liv ran inside ahead of him, looking for the hot dogs, and he waited at the door as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Ms. Collins answered breathlessly, and he cleared his throat.

“Ms. Collins? It’s Olivia Morales’ dad, calling about the meeting?” He heard something clatter on the other end. “Is now an okay time?”

“Yes, sorry, Mr. Morales, I was just...it doesn’t matter. My schedule is a little tight, when did you have in mind?”

“Something early, maybe before drop-off?”

“Sure, uhm, let me check my calendar,” She sounded distant, he thought, probably on speaker. “Yeah, Tuesday morning? I know that’s quick, it is all I have though.”

“Yeah, I can be there. Like 7am?”

“Yes, that’s great. See you then.” The line disconnected and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d heard her voice before. He rolled his eyes at himself, of course he had. She was his daughter’s teacher. As if on cue, Liv ran out with a hot dog. He smiled brightly and ruffled her hair.

“‘Kay, kiddo, let’s go catch some fish.” She grinned at him brightly, showing off the hole her first lost tooth had made. His heart caught as he realized she was growing up so fast.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” June laughed. She had her mom on the phone, connected through Bluetooth. “I’m just leaving the school now!”

“I just don’t see why you’re having to set these meetings up now. The kids have hardly been in school for a couple of weeks.” June sighed as she merged on the highway to head home.

“I know, it's just something my district does. The hard part is wrangling parents.”

“Well, if you had any children, you’d know how much they require of you.” June rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose. Her mom was always quick to bring up her lack of a partner and children. Not that June didn’t want those things, they just haven't panned out for her yet.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sure you’re right.” She acquiesced, knowing the argument wasn’t worth the effort.

“Have you met anyone? You’re only getting older, you know.”

“Thanks Mom. Uh, I have a date tomorrow night, actually.”

“Well, what’s his name, do I know him? What does he do for work?” June rolled her eyes, and wondered why she had answered the call.

“I don’t know anything about him. It’s a blind date.”

“Not even a name?” June bit her lip, debating telling her Mom the nickname.

“He’s ex-Army, goes by Fish. That’s all I know. Oh, and he’s single. A new teacher sat it up for me.” June explained, hoping her Mom wouldn’t have much to say.

“Fish? Oh, wow. Terrence really messed you up, huh.”

“I’m getting a call from a parent, I’ll talk to you later.” June lied, ending the call. Terrence had really messed her up. Not that that was of any importance to her dating life, or this blind date’s name. She sighed hard as she pulled into her driveway.

“Monday’s really are the worst.” She told the empty space of her car. She grabbed her bag and hurried inside. It had been a long day, and she was ready to polish off her bottle of wine from the night before. She walked in and let her bag drop to the floor, and crossed to the staircase. She groaned as she climbed the stairs. She was exhausted and still had a ton left to do.

June stripped quickly and threw on her yard work clothes. She stopped by the kitchen and poured some wine into a cup with a lid, before making her way outside. The day before she had started a small garden, and she was determined to make something grow out of it. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The wine wasn’t really helping either.

She had been short with a few parents while she was tending the fragile plants. It was a little late in the season to try and start anything, but she had picked up some discount plants that she wanted to help limp along for a little longer. She hoped she hadn’t put any of the parents off, and tried to remember who all had called.

June wiped her forehead with her gloved hand and tried to sort them out. Steven’s mom, Cynthia, was meeting her during lunch. That would be short, thankfully. Steven was a good kid, quiet. Graham and Ginger’s grandma was coming Wednesday afternoon, the parents were out of the country for something. Mia’s dad was going to call during the planning period. Ashley’s mom was coming Tuesday afternoon. And Olivia’s dad was coming Tuesday morning. June felt her shoulders sag, and she drained her wine. That wasn’t even half of the parents left.

She gave up on the garden and stalked inside. She wanted to scare up something for dinner, but didn’t really feel like making anything. She gave in and called the local Indian place. They knew her order, and said they’d be there soon. She grimaced, wondering how much money she had spent on Vindaloo over the years, and decided not to think about it. She had enough time to slip in the shower to wash the sweat off, before the delivery guy knocked on her door. She tipped him generously, and sat down on the couch.

June clicked the tv on and scrolled through her watch list. She settled on some mind-numbing detective show, and ate half of the curry. She put the rest away, and grabbed her bag by the door. The bag was a mess, but she managed to find her red pen and the papers that needed grading, and she settled back in.

Soon, the mindless task paired with a full stomach and the wine had her falling into a deep sleep.

Frankie was pissed. He was giving up the best time of the day for harvesting to meet with Liv’s teacher, and Ms. Collins couldn’t be bothered to show up. His thoughts went back to the phone call the day before, and he gritted his teeth as he realized she had put him off twice. Over something she had wanted to set up. He’d gotten the bundles of paper she had sent home on it. Yet, here he was, and she was nowhere to be found. He pulled his phone out, and considered punching in her number, but stopped himself.

Frankie had to exhale deeply four times before he could lay his phone down. He had gotten here a little early, and it was just now 7 am, and he didn’t have a set schedule. Liv was with Ashley, Becka had insisted on taking them to drop off so he could have plenty of time with Ms. Collins. Not that it mattered now, he thought, dryly. At ten past, he pulled his phone back out, and brought her name up. He was angry again, and had every intention of calling. But before he could press her name, the door swung open, and his heart dropped.

June woke with a start. The birds were singing outside, the light was all wrong, and she was on the couch. Shit, she thought, jumping up. Shit, shit, shit. She had overslept. She hurried up the stairs and threw on something presentable, and didn’t even check herself in the mirror. She could do her makeup in the class. She grabbed up the half graded papers and shoved them in her bag, and ran out the door. She dumped everything in the passenger seat and drove much faster than usual. She was about halfway to the school when she realized she was meeting a student’s parent this morning. She hadn’t had any coffee, and her brain was starting to slow down from the adrenaline of being late, and she could not remember who she was meeting. She parked, and popped her vanity mirror down and grimaced. She looked like she was having a bad morning. She decided to throw her hair up in a messy bun, and grabbed the mess up from her passenger seat.

She basically ran into the building, her flats ricocheting sound off the concrete walls. She swung her door open, apologies already falling from her lips, when she looked at the parent. The apologies died on her lips, and her mouth fell open.

“You?” She asked, dumbly. “Frankie?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, a bitchy ghost, she grimaced.

“You?” He stood now, and started to move to her.

“Uhm, you can’t be here. I’m meeting a student’s parent, and how’d you even know where to find me?” She started rambling, but when the words were out she realized how stupid they were. “Oh my god, you’re the parent?” She barked out a laugh, and dumped her bag on her desk. He grinned, and wiped the back of his neck.

“Liv’s dad. I’m Frankie Morales.” He told her, faltering from shaking her hand.

“Perfect. I’m Juniper Collins, you can call me June, or Ms. Collins, whatever you prefer. I’m sorry I’m late, I...I started a garden yesterday and wore myself out. That’s what I was doing when we spoke on the phone,” She told him, laughing. June had only tried gardening because she wanted a common foot with him. She didn’t want to tell him that yet, though. “Anyway, let’s get to Liv. Liv is a great girl, Mr. Morales.”

“Frankie.” He interrupted, with a small smile.

“Okay, Frankie. Look, Liv is great, she really is. She struggles in class sometimes, though. She is smart as hell, but she seems to struggle. I wanted to give you some information about ADD or ADHD. It presents differently in girls, and is often overlooked. I haven’t known her long, obviously, but I actually was diagnosed much later in life, and I remember doing some of the things she’s doing. Would you be interested in some info on that?” June asked carefully, their relationship was rocky and weird, and she didn’t want to overstep. This was her job, though. It was a little bit not her job, actually. But she always wanted to look out for her girls, especially when they were as smart and incredible as Liv.

“Oh, wow. I had no idea she was struggling.” Frankie muttered, and removed his cap. June sucked in a sharp breath at his light brown, bouncy curls as they spilled out. He was beautiful. She distracted herself by moving behind her desk and grabbing a folder she had laid out for Liv, for this exact reason, and she thanked her past self for being put together. Then she went and sat beside him at the small activity table. She felt comical sitting next to him in the small chairs, he was spilling over his own. She laid down the folder and put a hand on his arm.

“Look, it isn’t a struggle that she notices yet. It’s her recall, her attention span, and her ability to focus. That sounds like a lot, I know, but there’s a simple test, and there are effective alternatives to stimulants. I’m on one, and it really helped me. Life is only going to get harder for her, if she has it and it remains untreated, but she has no idea. She isn’t “different” yet, and she’s doing so, so well in class. She is a model student. I just want to help, that’s all.” She watched his face as she spoke, and by the end, he seemed defeated.

“I should have noticed. I’m her dad. I...I’ve been worried I’m not around enough, and now you drop this on me.” He laughed dryly. She patted his arm.

“Liv talks about you all the time. She loves you, Frankie. She tells us all the time about her pilot dad.” June said it before she had time to think, before she connected “Liv’s Dad” with Frankie, the man before her. And then, her big mouth spit out something she wanted to take back immediately. “But you’re a farmer, right?” He looked up into her eyes, and his face was hard.

“Anything else you wanted to tell me about Liv?” His words were right, but the tone was too harsh. June flinched back from him, and dropped her gaze from his suddenly hard face.

“Liv is a great girl. She’s great to have in class. I have nothing else for you.” June told him monotonically, going on autopilot so as not to cry. She had spent the whole weekend thinking about him, then she had planted a stupid garden to have more in common with him, and then fate brought them back together, and she screwed it up again. She decided it was done, then. Frankie Morales was not in the cards for her. Sure, she might see him again because she taught his daughter, but she was through thinking of him like that.

“Good. I have to get going, next time try to be on time.” He scolded, as he stood abruptly and left without another word. Slowly, June followed and shut the door behind him. Alone, at last, she started crying.

~~~

“Idiot. You fucking idiot.” Frankie berated himself in his truck. He couldn’t believe it when she swept into the room. He had found her. Not her, he thought with a grimace, Juniper. The name felt so appropriate. It was an old name, but it suited her so perfectly. He exhaled roughly and tried to rewrite the scene. She was looking out for Liv. She wanted Liv to be happy and succeed. This woman cared more about his daughter than Liv’s own mother. And as soon as she tried to get to know him, he bit her head off and made her feel bad for being late. Jesus, what a dick. He had found her, and in a single moment, he had managed to ruin it again.

He put the truck in drive and headed home. Nothing left to do here, he thought bitterly. He was pulling up the driveway when he remembered that she had started a garden. It wasn’t a coincidence, he realized. She had started a garden because of him. He parked the truck and laid his head against the steering wheel. He had pushed her away at every turn. The market, the bar, and now at the school. He had seen her face before he left, and knew it was done. He had pushed too far, too fast. Of course, she would want nothing more to do with him. He had done nothing but treat her like shit.

He got out of the truck and threw his hat. It didn’t do much except get his cap dirty, but it was all he could do. He pulled his phone out, and pulled her name up. He typed a long message, and erased it. Then he tried again, and erased it again. His pride was getting in the way. He couldn’t tell her about his piloting years. The army, spec ops, Colombia, the coke, or any of it. She could just hate him, and then he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

~~~~

June paced up and down her classroom. Her face was puffy, still, and she had been struggling to focus all day. She couldn’t meet anyone new for dinner; she wasn’t in the right headspace for a date. Let alone one where she would have to leave a lasting impression. She chewed her thumb nail before heading down the hall.

Samantha's classroom was pretty close to her own, and June was glad for it. If she had had to walk further she would have lost her nerve. June knocked tentatively on the door, before pulling it open. Samantha looked up and grinned.

"Hey girl! Are you excited for your big date tonight?" June’s own smile fell from her face.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I want to cancel." Samantha's smile pulled down quickly.

"Why?"

"I'm having kind of a bad day for impressions," June told her flatly.

"Well, I couldn't if I wanted to. Santiago is out of town, no reception. I don't have the friend's number." June groaned.

"Okay, alright. Ugh, probably for the best. Do you know anything else about him? I’ve had kind of a rough day. You said, ex-military right?”

“Yeah, Santi doesn’t really talk about that time, and I haven’t pushed it. I met him a while back, Fish. He’s sweet. I think he’ll be your type. You like tan brunettes?” June nodded, laughing and thinking about Frankie Morales again.

“He’ll be perfect. Doesn’t say much and likes beer, that’s all I know.” Samantha gave a small shrug.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll let you finish eating.” June said, excusing herself.

She left feeling defeated. A parent was going to be late this afternoon, she had gotten the email after the Frankie disaster. Which meant that she was going to be late to dinner. She wasn't killing it in the men department so she hoped that despite a military background he wouldn't mind her tardiness. She couldn't handle another horrible scene like the one from this morning.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which she was glad for. Her nerves were on the edge. She tried to ignore how much Liv favored her dad, and how she loudly told the class about their upcoming camping trip. She found herself listening intently, despite herself. And even chuckled at the girl’s memories of the last trip. June’s mood improved with the day, too. She even played a little music in the background while the kids worked on their worksheets.

By the time she had hauled herself into her car, the last thing she wanted to do was go to dinner. But she swiped on her favorite lipstick and drove to the restaurant. If she broke the speed limit, she would only be about five minutes late, and she pushed it. She wanted to drink some wine, and forget about Frankie Morales. Another tan brunette in her life would do her good, she thought happily. She was tired, but she wanted to make the most of it.

---

Frankie was looking back and forth between the menu and his watch. He couldn't believe that another woman was about to be late on him. He was trying hard to get June out of his mind, and his blind date wasn't making it easy on him. He chuckled when he realized what he was doing. Just meeting a total stranger for dinner. He didn't have much choice in the matter, he thought, remembering how Pope had basically told him where and when, without asking if Frankie was even interested.

She had good taste, he conceded. This was his favorite spot. They made amazing, fresh pasta. He was eyeing the cocktail menu, when she rushed in. He couldn't believe he was running into her again.

It was June, because of course it was. She was flushed, probably late again, he huffed, but she had put on a bright red lipstick that made his heart stutter. He lowered his gaze back to the menu. He hoped she wouldn't see him out on a date, even if he saw her. The hope was short lived because she made her way to him, her eyes glinting with an emotion he couldn't place, and she exhaled deeply.

"Let me guess, your call sign is Fish, right?" His eyes snapped to hers and she laughed while nodding. It was her. He had found her again. The waiter walked over and she told him to bring a bottle of red, and a beer for him. He told the waiter his brand, and raked his eyes over her.

"Sorry I'm late, I had a crazy day." She mused once she had taken two deep sips of her wine.

"Yeah? What is it you do?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that this was their start over. Their fourth, or so, start over.

"Teacher. Yeah, I teach. Most days it's easy, but some days there are parents." She told him, her cheeks flushed.

"Hopefully, no jerks?" He asked, quickly taking a sip of his beer. She held her head to the side before she sighed.

"I don't know what's going on here, Frankie. It's kind of exhausting. I think you're pretty handsome, you grow amazing food, you have a beautiful daughter, but I think we just keep messing up. How about, just for now, we enjoy this meal and the company, and tomorrow we can talk about what it means that we can't keep away from each other?" He searched her eyes. She was tired, he could tell, but she was so sincere. He wanted desperately to know why she sat down instead of just leaving. He wanted to know why they were seemingly so connected. He wanted to know if he'd been on her mind too.

"I'm thinking the carbonara." He answered, and she smiled before looking the menu over herself. The rest could wait. He had found her again.”

#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #Frankie Morales x oc #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #original character #feel the heat #juniper collins #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal

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iwillbeinmynest · 4 years

Text

Redcove Harvest - Bucky x Reader(f) Chapter 3

Authors Notes: Glad to know ya’ll are enjoying this! If you happen to really like it, please consider reblogging or commenting. It really helps me understand what parts you do or don’t like about my work. :)

AU: Farmhand AU and SingleMom!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k +

Notes/Warnings: (Notes are for the whole series) FLUFF, mentions of a past toxic relationship, a wild storm at the end, drama and a break-up, mentions of drinking, kids being adorable and ridiculous, kissing, romance and a tiny bit of angst if you look hard but nothing more than that of a Hallmark movie.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

The next week went without a hitch. Bucky would show up at eight, and get right to work mowing the fields. After day four, he had both front fields mowed. He spent the next two days repairing all the holes and broken parts of the fence that lined the front of the property. After that, he cleaned up the fence line by cutting down saplings and removing weeds and vines. He even fixed the mailbox that sat out by the dusty road.

This morning was supposed to be no different but as he pulled up to the house, thunder rumbled. He hopped out of his truck and grabbed his wide brimmed hat. He figured working in the rain might beat working in the early spring heat. He walked over to the tractor but before he could hop on, he heard her.

“Bucky!” She shouted from the porch.

He turned to see Y/N waving him over. He jogged her way and as he reached the steps, the rain started.

“What’s up?” He asked her.

“Well, I figured with the rain I could steal you for some barn work.”

“Oh,” He replied as he took his hat off. “Yeah, I mean I was still planning on mowing. I know you’ve got those three back fields that are still pretty high.”

She waved the thought away. “It’s okay. I know it will get done. I need to get the goat barn fixed up and the horse stables need some minor repairs.”

“Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”

Y/N walked with Bucky in the light rain down to the yellow barn a couple dozen yards from the back of the house.

He’d been there a few times when he needed to talk to her or grab a tool. The goat barn was actually an old horse stable; the entire right side of stalls had been turned into one large stall that connected to one of the three back fields and the left side was a gardening workshop. One of the left side stalls had been turned into a small greenhouse.

Next to the workbench, in the garden shop, there was a large storage bin. It was lit up red with a heat lamp and he heard the faint sound of peeping.

He walked over and, sure enough, there were at least a dozen little chicks running around or huddled under the lamp.

“When did you get these?” He asked. He crossed his arms and smiled back at her.

She stepped up beside him. “Yesterday. Steve had them ordered for me and they finally came in.”

“Nice.”

She shifted her weight and her arm brushed against his. She moved away and apologized.

“Doesn’t bother me.” He reassured her. He really had no problem making contact with her.

She cleared her throat and walked over to the large goat stall. “So,” she changed the subject. “There are several boards around this opening that leads to their pasture. I had a billy a year ago who was a menace and rammed into it all the time. I’m so glad I got rid of him.” She chuckled. “And, goodness, he stank!” She turned to Bucky, “Did you know Billy’s pee on their beards? Because I didn’t.” Her face twisted in disgust.

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I did know that.”

She huffed and grinned. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty new to this whole farm thing, so I’ve been learning as I go.” Y/N laughed at herself.

“New?” Bucky asked, surprised. “Looks like you’ve got a pretty good grip on it all.”

She shrugged lightly, “I mean, I didn’t start from scratch. This was Gavin’s family’s farm.” She paused then clarified, “Gavin was my husband’s name. He grew up here and when his parents passed, he got the farm. He did a lot of the clean up when we moved in and he purchased the livestock and foul. He even cared for most of them - the chickens have always been my thing, though.”

“What about the garden?” Bucky looked out the barn doors to the lush field full of greenery. The gentle rain was doing the day’s watering.

“That’s all me, too, but I only started gardening a few years ago.”

“Well, don’t sell yourself short. This is a lot of property, you’ve done a great job by yourself.” Bucky said as he opened the gate to the goat stall and stepped inside to examine the busted and rotting boards that needed replacing.

“I actually had a good bit of help.” She said as she leaned over the chick bin and pulled out the water dish. She went to the large sink near the workbench and began rinsing it of poop before she filled it back up. “After Gavin died, Steve came over and showed me the ins and outs of cows and goats for a month or two.”

That surprised him. Steve didn’t ever mention that.

“Yeah, and his friend, Nat, showed me how to garden.” Y/N put the water dish back and picked up the feed dish.

Bucky nodded to himself, “Nat has quite the green thumb for making gardeners.”

“That she does.” Y/N smiled as she returned the now full seed dish.

Bucky leaned over the gate and watched as Y/N tended to some seedlings that were on her work bench, spraying them with a squirt bottle. “So... can I ask what happened to Gavin?”

Y/N nodded but didn’t say anything and didn’t turn to face him, she just kept watering the little cupped sprouts.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s fine.” She turned to him with a somber look on her face. She took a deep breath and looked at Bucky. She wasn’t sure if she should say what she was thinking but, Gavin was dead, what was he gonna do about it?

“Gavin...was a jerk and a bully,” She started.

Bucky’s brows shot up but he kept listening.

“And what’s worse, he had no idea he was like that. He thought he was a great man- and sometimes, he was- but he had a habit of belittling people he didn’t agree with. It didn’t matter what, if he didn’t like it, you were stupid for thinkin’ it. He had his way of doing things and that was that, anything else wasn’t worth his time.” She crossed her arms and looked down at her boots. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I fell in love with a man like that but it was easy. I met him in high school. He wasn’t as bad then but I figure that’s because he was still growing and learning. It’s not an excuse, but he got it from his daddy. Compared to his dad, Gavin was a saint. Charles was as mean as he was stubborn and Gavin got the brunt of that growing up and he had no way of dealing with it other than doin’ the same stuff to other people. He didn’t do it to me until we were married and being that we were so young, I just thought it was a wife’s job to do what her husband said.”

Bucky swallowed and shifted his weight when she did the same, almost like they both broke out of the trance of story telling and listening.

“But there were good days. He wasn’t a monster. He could be really sweet, actually. He bought me the chickens after one of our fights, built me the fence around the garden after another. He never said sorry, he’d just build or buy me something. And I appreciated it. I really did love him.” Y/N suddenly realized that in her rant she’d never answered his question. She flushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about it. I guess I should get to it,” she chuckled.

Bucky smiled at her from his spot on the gate. “It’s fine.”

She took a deep breath. “Um, Gavin fancied himself a great driver, no matter his state. So, he went out with his friends one night and got plastered. He got in the car to come home and drove it into a tree at one hundred and ten.”

Bucky cursed.

Y/N nodded. “He at least had the decency to put me in the will when we got the house, so.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’m sorry about all of that.”

She smiled at him and Bucky got the sense she was only doing it for his sake.

“I was too for a while. But I’m...happy, now.” Her smile seemed more genuine when she said that.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He grinned at her.

Y/N looked at him for a moment before turning back to her plants.

Bucky also got back to work and they spent most of the morning like that, just working in silence. Bucky was even able to finish the woodwork in under two hours before he fixed a few breaks in the goat field fence.

Around noon, Y/N invited him up to the house for lunch and after he declined twice, she finally insisted.

Bucky was happy to go.

* * * * * * *

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acrowamongsparrows · 3 years

Text

Day 4 Accomplished/Macabre

His hand ran through the tall grass as he walked through the wood, a slight smile on his face as he felt the dew drops of early morning sticking to his fingers to slide among the scars of his trade. He was hunter and trapper, but not in the sense that many thought. When someone called for a hunter they expected a tall, meaty man covered in furs who spoke little and always had something monstrous to show of his prowess. David was different.

A beard was clear on his face but that only was due to the weather and how much Sara had been enjoying to play with it when the babe was in his lap. Margaret would roll her eyes and smile at her husbands as she busied with their quaint home full of a mixture of hand-me-downs and furniture from Lan Exeter. He was particularly proud of a looking glass he'd bought from a merchant ship from the south, there was something incredible of looking into heavens on a clear night. His family was poor in the eyes of the city but in the eyes of Markhor he was quite the upper class, to almost the extent of Buckenhall if he really wanted to be.

But there was the differences again, David was content. Not in a way that spoke of a man accepting his life, but true contentment and happiness in his small cabin with his girls. He was happy with his steady trade of hunting game and bringing it to the small market or Alina. He was happy to spend an evening in the Leaf, hear a wild tale, and go home to Margaret's arms or walk home hand in hand with Margaret when her mother could watch Sara.

Adjusting his half cape about his shoulders, David began to slow his pace as he peered between the weeds for his catch today. They said he had sixth sense for where the game was hiding, but truthfully he knew he was just patient and could be quiet. His gait grew even slower as he listened, no breeze which was good for him as it meant his scent stayed put. A shake of the grass to the right would bring him to a stop, slowly easing himself down to one knee and breathing in softly through his nose. With well practiced silence, David would slowly pull his crossbow from around his back to hand a bolt already held in place by a clip he'd imagined up himself. He was lucky Candell could forge such a small item and for little cost.

A finger gently moved the metal knob to the right and unlocked it before setting a bolt to the fire lane. David let his breathing grow softer and tell her near held it, craning his ears to the sounds nearby that he knew was his quarry. Speed and efficiency was the key if he hoped to bag his deer today, but knew that any false start or move could be just as disastrous.

Patience.

Patience was his power and he knew how to control it as he waited for one more move to pinpoint the exact spot of the deer's bed.

One breath. Two breath. Three breath. A shift in the grass as autumn decided it needed to let forth a sigh as much as him. A flash of yellow, a blink of black, and now he was pushing up to his feet.

One breath. Two breath. Three breath. The deer was rising, two short antlers rising as fast as him as the black glassy eyes of the deer locked with his own.

One breath. Two breath. Pull. The bolt flew straight and true, the skilled bowman's shot driving deep into the broadside behind the front let. Three breath.

The deer in panic and pain flew, it's heavy legs pulling it straight up and bounding into the tall grass as it caught the flecks of crimson from it's wound as it stumbled back toward the wood. David smiled as he followed the trail of blood, reaching back to reload his crossbow as he walked along behind it. Today was a good day.

Blood flecked the crushed weeds as they grew thinner and broke into the forest edge into the woods. Tuft of grass and scrape of dirt from a drug horn was only a few yards further, the beast was putting up quite a fight as he followed the trail of his prey. The blood was falling faster as he walked, thicker, and more frequent as he sped up his step further into the wood in fear of losing the thing to some other predator. Further he traveled that began to seem more likely what happened as he noticed the darker it grew the deeper he went after.

"You gotta slow down by now," murmured David as he stepped over a large rock and pressed on, noting a torn bit of fur to match the splatter of blood nearby. Still warm. "Where the hell are you going?"

The trees broke again as he marched onward leaving a soft clearing before a copse of trees loomed ahead. David came to slow halt as he looked up at those trees, they sat tall and still. Much like the air around him as he licked his lips and tried to hear something out there in the open air. Nothing. A feeling of dread sat in the pit of his stomach as he stood there staring at the trees. He should cut his losses and go home. They had plenty. Plenty of skins, meat, and money this wasn't worth it. But human nature was an animal unto itself as curiosity burned brightly through logic, springing forward with his loaded crossbow to investigate further.

The yards to the trees took seconds to reach, but the smell in the air hit him far before. Rank and earthy, like rotten meat as he coughed and lifted his sleeve to his mouth in hopes of saving him from the stench. It was like a tide of putrid ilk that was awful and familiar as he wandered these woods for years to know the smell.

Death.

It felt far to poetic to put it in terms like that in his head, but the thick air of stench made him want to vomit as he entered the gathering trees. His eyes falling over the trunks of the trees as he noted a strange tangle of dark veins rising from the earth to dig deep into their bark. They pulsed with an eerie almost breathing motion as he thought better of touching one, knowing his curiosity could only push him so far into this adventure. But he needed to find out what was going on, the village needed to know.

He should have turned back but the blood trail lead into the enclosure.

The circle of trees wasn't large but it felt thicker by the strange rooted trees surrounding the perimeter as David let his eyes move swiftly about for signs of the deer or the thief who had drug it so far. Maybe a wolf or a bear, it was the logical idea of what was out here. His booted feets gently slid through dead leaves, going silent and quiet as he could be in the face of this unknown foe. The crossbow resting in the crook of his shoulder as he looked about in the silent shadows, sweeping the area as he followed the trail. Crimson were dashed by brown and yellow leaves as the blood shined in the dark but were also framed by strange purple fauna.

Crouching down, David let his finger brush the face of one of the violet flowers but never picked it. It felt like any other flower but for some reason he recoiled from it's touch, as if there was something ready to bite him in the face of plain beauty. They felt wrong. Blooming, season, and abundance as he stood back up again to follow his bloody trail again. It felt like hours since he'd begun and by the deep shadows around him the sky was doing little to aid him in reminding it was only maybe early afternoon. Night ruled here.

The trail ended at the base of a tree, violet flowers spread about in a blanket of bright ground stars as they stared at him much as the eyes ahead of him did. So many eyes.

Crows rested in the many empty branches above, their white staring eyes regarding him in silent judgement at his presence within their hold. Where once leaves of green or even red and gold had sat now were the many feathers of the birds. Black and beyond counting, David could already feel his mouth growing drier and chest tighter as he felt a great warning coming from them as he stared up at them.

Run away. Run away if you can. Run away.

Swallowing hard, David pressed on the last few feet in the face of the carrion nightmare that guarded from above and let his eyes settle upon what they surrounded.

His kill lay on the ground before that great tree, but it had not even made it halfway here on it's own thanks to his original bolt. No the thieves were to be thanked for that.

Twisted, crouched, and eyes much like the crows above stared at him from now from below where they surrounded what he hoped was their meal. But that would need mouths. Teeth. Tongues. Taste. Only the blank broken animal skulls with black empty sockets leered at him with their flickering empty witch light. Hands like warped branches wrapped in thorns and vine to hold them split into what appeared as claws had obviously only been random bones split. The bones were clearly just as good to do their work as they carved and ravaged the carcass of his kill, splitting the fur and skin like a ripe tomato to spill the precious dying life of the deer into the soil beneath it. Greed was clear in that earth's hunger as the blood seemed to disappear as quickly as it spilled into the loose dirt. His deer was not the first to litter these monsters table as the jutting hunks of bone and sinew lay strewn about with purple flowers growing in the bed of corpses.

David found he was gasping now, the thick putrid air filling his lungs as his legs grew weak to the sight of the graveyard of the macabre. He wanted to look away from the eaters of the dead but only found his eyes widening as he looked beyond them to the base of the tree.

The picked apart face of men and women sat pierced and hung by the roots of the tree, their bodies splayed for all to see who could see. There was no blood left among those dried husks of humans as their bodies were twisted and pierced by the foliage all around only to leave the slow succor of their bones. Mouths wide in silent screams to match the holes of sharp beaks. An offering to those above still. There were to many faces in that tree.

One breath. Run. Two breath. Run. Three breath. David was running.

The black leaves above moved as one and the collective caw of their hunger rang like thunder to match an ominous high pitched hollow roar from the lungs of some long dead being.

The flowers continued to bloom.

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eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Weeding It Out

[Groundskeeper!Chris Evans x Reader]

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: just a roll in the hay

Your patience wore thin as you sat in your backyard. The goal before summer set was to get your vegetables planted and sprouting by fall but nothing could be done with the yard overrun by a thicket of poison ivy. Your mother had already gotten her steroid shot after showing you where the best area is to start growing, unbeknownst to her that she waded through a gnarly amount of poison ivy. You saw the blisters form on her arms and neck, you weren’t risking it.

You could use a nap though, feeling your head jerk backwards under the weight of sleep as the afternoon warmth lulls you. But the gardener was supposed to be here an hour ago to spray the necessary elements that kill the weed. If you weren’t so desperate to get it over with you would’ve cancelled long ago but luckily you cleared your afternoon for this.

Your phone dings with a message:

Your groundskeeper, Chris, will be arriving shortly. Please remember to have someone 18 years of age or older present on the property while the maintenance is performed.

“Finally.” You get up and make your way to your front door, noticing a truck parked outside.

You squint through the living room and notice the company name on the side. What he was doing, you couldn’t tell, but you are more than ready to get this show on the road.

You walk towards the truck and knock hard on the passenger window. The burly looking white dude peers over at you and rolls down the window.

“Ma’am?” he asks.

“Yeah, are you Chris? Supposed to have been here an hour ago?”

His face freezes in slow motion, looking at a notebook in his passenger seat and back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. The last job-”

“Ok, it’s fine! Long as you come on, I don’t have all day.” You stand outside his truck waiting on him.

Chris squints, anxiously biting his lip. “Ma’am, I gotta do some paperwork first, then I’ll be right with you.”

You bend into the window. “You had over an hour of time to do paperwork. And as a PAYING customer, I expect timely service or I can just find a manager who can serve me better.”

Chris rolls his window up and gets out of the car. This comment may have struck a nerve in him, but you don’t care. He struck your nerve first, why be polite when the rudeness arrived on time by being late.

He goes to the bed of his truck digging out a tool box and some hose contraption.

“You have big arms for a gardener,” you say matter-of-factly to him, lingering your gaze along sculpted mounds that make up his biceps. Of course gardeners lug bags of soil and work with tools and heavy machinery sometimes, but dude was cut.

He closes the back of his truck, stopping short in front of you. “What is that supposed to even mean? You think I just pick flowers all day?”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Isn’t that a compliment in the end? You’re giving this attitude that I cannot be receptive to, despite how pretty you are.”

He scoffs, looking off toward your house. His jawline is strong underneath the chestnut collared beard, it’s so obvious he is fine with or without it. Quite the unicorn. Even his odd length locks give off a vibe that tempted you to pull it back and give those baby blues more spotlight.

“Is the problem this way?” he asks, pointing to the gate leading to the backyard. You nod and follow behind his perky behind.

Entering the backyard, Chris lets out a whistle.

“And remind me how much work I’m doing in this jungle today?” He walks slowly around the overgrown parts, shouldering his way past some vines.

You stammer past your embarrassment. “I have added plants for aesthetic, thank you! All I need is the poison ivy knocked out in that corner. I can’t have that shit turning me into a mess.”

Chris looks back at you sarcastically. “Right, that'll do it. And these are all just weeds-”

“No opinions! Get to work!” You command, sitting back on your wicker seat to watch him work. Chris sets down his box and pulls out gloves, a solution bottle, some handheld clippers, and a mask. Putting it on, he looks toward the corner you pointed out and meanders over there carefully. You can tell he lifts something other than flowers with a wide back like his and shoulders giving you more views than the nature surrounding him.

The ivy falls to the ground as he snips away at it. You sigh happily feeling your ancestors pride at the white man tilling your grounds.

As he pulls out his bottle of solution, hooking it up to a hose he says, “You may want to step inside. This isn’t safe to inhale and any wind could blow it on you.”

You shrug, getting up cheerily. “Fine with me. I needed a drink anyway! Like I said, just don’t get into my other plants please.”

In your fridge you pull out a pitcher of lemonade you made fresh from powder. You pour a glass for yourself and walk back to the sliding glass door to check out his handiwork. Chris certainly came off as a professional, spraying only the necessary amount on certain parts of the plant. His brow furrowed as he kept track of each misting of his equipment, working deeper into the brush.

You hadn’t seen a man of his pedigree in a while. Fit, fine, and fixes shit? That checks your most important boxes of what stirs your pot in a partner. You take a slow sip of the semi sweet drink and let the chill liquid do its work on cooling your thirst as Chris walks back out from the poison ivy area to take his shirt off.

You almost spat all over your glass as you stood further to one side so you weren’t fully visible. As he peels his shirt off, you got the behind the scenes look of what he had to work with. His pants ride low on his hips, exposing the dips in his hips that naturally lead your eyes to what his zipper hides. The feathering of hair that outlines his pecs and down the middle of his stomach forced you to bite your fingernails to keep from reaching through the glass. He folds his shirt hastily in a ball form and tosses it on his toolbox, resting his hands on his hips until he looks over at the other side of your yard. He struts over to some of your vines, showing off his back end some more, giving them a once over before getting down on his knees taking off his gloves and pulling at the roots.

Your instincts jump into action as your set aside your drink and rush over to him.

“Hey! I said no!” When you reach him he is still pulling at the ground. You feel like it’s a trap to tap him on the shoulder since his skin is exposed and you weren’t shy about how you thought he looked earlier, but to hell with it.

Tap Tap. “Chris! You’re ruining my flower bed.”

Chris stops with a huff before looking at your and pulling you by the hand down next to him.

“You haven’t done anything to this ground, have you?” He asks, digging his hands deep into the soil.

You smack off the excess dirt he got on you. “I spread some seeds once a while back,”

He chuckles, stopping to look at you like a lecturing parent. “If that’s how the world worked, it would look a lot like your backyard.”

“My yard is fine! And what do you mean, it’s growing,” you say with a pout.

“No, it’s suffocating. That’s why you need to weed all this, it will overpower what you want to grow and kill it. Look…” he firmly grasps your hand and sticks it in the soil, making you snicker.

“See how dry the top layer is? And I even see some seeds that barely sprouted and aren’t worth growing. But dig a little deeper and you see those roots that are thick and long? Those are weeds. They survive on almost nothing because they parasite off of anything.”

You feel the cool soft soil he dug up, squishing it in your fingers. “That really is nice soil.”

Chris scratches his neck. “Yeah, it’s just bad when you don’t treat it right. I can come back and show you if you want? Make up for the trouble of being late.”

“Thanks, I would like that.”

You both sit in silence a minute, digging around the dirt for weeds and things, running across a snail shell.

“Ooh! Look!” He crawl on your knees toward him holding the delicate artifact. “I loved finding these when I was a kid.” You took his hand and dropped the shell in his palm. “But Lord forbid if I ran across a snail in one, I flipped my wig!”

Chris holds it between his thumb and index finger, looking at you inquisitively. “They don’t bite, you know.”

“I know, they were just slimy and gross. Keep that one, I’ll find another I’m sure.” You get back to tearing into the ground.

“Why did you laugh earlier when I pulled you down? I thought you would snap my head off for putting you in the dirt,” he asks.

“Well I was startled at best, but it reminded me of how my Grandmother taught me about yard work and her flowerbed and shit. I wouldn’t get near it if she wasn’t dragging me to it.”

“And how would she feel about your yard now?” Chris asks with a slight smirk.

“WOW! Yeah she is rolling over in her grave, thanks Chris!”’ You say in a serious tone but smile the whole way through it, bringing out his laugh. “And put your shirt back on, you ain’t that hot out here. I mean, it’s not that hot out here.”

Chris shakes his head. “I didn’t take it off for you...poison ivy can affect you if you touch anything that touched it, hence my shirt.”

You give a guttural laugh. “Uh huh, likely story.”

Chris smacks the dirt off his hands, resolving himself. “Then go get the damn shirt if you’re so confident. See what pops up in the next morning or two.”

You cross your arms indignantly. “I ain’t doing shit for you. You work for me! Think you so cute, probably pull shit like this on old white women but I ain’t-”

Chris pulls you closer to him by your wrists, saying in a tone coming from the depths, “You’re a little stuck up for my taste.”

This sudden change in his demeanor triggered your fight response. You wrangle your wrists free and start to get up but trip on a hole in the dirt, falling partially on Chris as he tries to catch you. You knock some wind out of him as he lets out an oof.

“Ow, shit. Are you ok?” You ask with a wince.

Chris holds you in his arms staring up at you with a wide eyed wonder. You feel his heartbeat under your hands thumping hard.

You look down at his hairy chest and paw at its texture curiously.

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

You plant your lips on his right pec, feeling him inhale against your mouth. You let out a deep satisfied moan for having achieved one desire.

Chris’ hands feel down your back and across your shorts, pulling your upward.

“Take them off,” he commands, helping you with the button and zipper.

You stand over him, pulling down your shorts and panties. “I have wanted to put your face in the dirt since you came here.”

Chris looks up at you with one hand behind his head, smiling. “Oh yeah?”

“But this seems like a better idea, just don’t get cocky about it.” You hover yourself over him before settling knees, sitting your pussy right on his mouth, beard tickling the inner softness of your thighs. You rode your lips over his, using his hair as your reins. His hands grip your cheeks sturdily as he works his tongue over your labia liberally, then finding your center to tongue fuck your walls.

You sit up, resting yours hands on his chest behind you. “If you don’t suck my clit, I swear to God.”

His eyes smile at your before your lips surround your clit and put in the work you required all this time. So much for not getting cocky. You buck against his mouth, fighting your body’s desire to flee from the over stimulation but Chris’ forearms lock your thighs down to keep you in place. Your climax ran over him several times as you shrieked to the sun without a care of who heard.

Before you knew it, Chris rudely flips you off of him, turning you over in the dirt.

“Just so you know the feeling is mutual.” His hand lifts you ass up as you sputter weed clippings from your mouth.

“I knew you weren’t shit,” you say, looking back at his to see him having pulled down his pants, stroking his fully ready member and headed straight for you-

Your phone rings, waking you up from a deep nap.

“Shit! What the fuck!” You curse in confusion as you drunkenly reach for your phone that fell off into the grass.

“Hello!” you say loudly.

“Yeah, sorry for the late arrival, but I am at your front door. This is Chris with the grounds keeping company.”

You almost drop the phone and run to the door. How was that dream so vivid to not be real?

You peek through the front door but the guy is facing away, so you open it reluctantly.

“Sorry, I dozed off there,” you say meekly.

The deja vu you feel when he turns around almost knocks you backwards. The same hair, beard, wide shoulders. But this time he was a lot more smiley on introduction.

“Hi I’m Chris. You needed help with your back garden?” he asks.

You lick your lips, put on a smile and ask, “Yes. But how about a drink first?”

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fuzzballsheltiepants · 4 years

Text

The Sparrow

Green light filtered through the window. It made the room feel like it was under water, or on some foreign planet. Andrew dropped his arm over his eyes trying to block it out, trying to will himself back to sleep for another hour. Or three. Nobody was counting.

A sharp pip sounded from somewhere outside. A minute passed, and it sounded again. And again. Andrew dropped his arm and glared out into the greenish dawn. A little bird hung from one of the branches of the giant vine that clung to the side of the house. It stared at him, cocking its head to the side, bright eyes considering. Pip!

“You’re an asshole.”

The bird gave a self-satisfied pip and flew off. Bastard. Just what he needed, an alarm clock with a mind of its own.

He yawned and stretched, taking inventory of what hurt. Knees. Left thumb. Right hip. Better than yesterday. He left his cane where it was, leaning against the wall.

Going down the narrow stairs that his physical therapist had assured him were a terrible idea, he entered the tiny kitchen and grumbled at the landscape of boxes he could see stacked in the living room. The coffee maker was the one thing he had set up yesterday, and he listened to the gurgling sounds as the water dripped through while he looked over the boxes. Finding the one labeled Dishes, he dug through and pulled out a bowl and a mug.

He took his meager breakfast out onto the patio. The cracked concrete was shot through with weeds; the abandoned furniture peeling and rusted. The little pipping bird was back to sitting in the vines. He couldn’t figure out why it was there; other than the vines that were assaulting the house and a few coarse weeds, the yard was bare dirt, hard and unwelcoming and littered with junk. It was ugly as hell, but Andrew didn’t really care. All he had to do was lift his head, and the view was spectacular: rolling mountains, the caps slowly baring themselves to the spring sun, the slopes a mix of trees and green expanses that he knew from photographs were covered with flowers. Someday, he’d walk there. Someday, he’d reach the top.

Scoffing at himself, at his stupid impossible dreams, he creaked to his feet and went in to take his medications.

Andrew’s house was full of strangers. If he hadn’t just bought the thing two days ago, it would’ve been tempting to set it on fire.

They weren’t technically strangers, as Allison had pointed out, given that he worked with them. But when Renee had said she’d be stopping by to help him unpack, he would’ve preferred it if she’d mentioned she’d be bringing half the town. He glared across the room at Renee, who pretended not to notice while she helped her girlfriend unpack cooking supplies. There was banging overhead where Kevin and Matt were putting together his bed. On the one hand, he was glad he was going to be able to stop sleeping on his mattress on the floor. On the other hand…

Movement outside caught this eye, a flash of reddish brown in his front yard. “What—”

Renee paused in her silverware sorting and followed his eyes. “Oh good! Neil came.”

“What, you hadn’t brought enough people?”

His words were punctuated by a crash from upstairs, followed by Matt’s voice calling a strained, “Everything’s okay!”

“Neil’s a gardener,” Allison said, as if that should have been obvious.

“Great.” More help he didn’t want. He made his way outside, but Neil had disappeared. Grumbling, he walked around the house, only stumbling twice. A slender man stood at the edge of his backyard, facing the mountains. Andrew tried to pretend that the man didn’t improve the view considerably, and stepped up to his side.

The man gave him a slashing glance, then a matching smile. “You must be Andrew.” He held out his hand, shrugging when Andrew didn’t take it. “Neil. I’m a friend of Allison’s.”

“What fresh hell do you have in store for me?”

Neil laughed easily. “Depends on what you want. Clean all this trash up to start; after that it’s up to you.”

“Up to me.” So far not a damn thing had been up to him, despite Renee’s lip service. “In that case, can you get rid of the assholes who have taken over my house?”

“Sorry, no,” Neil said, grinning. Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off of him, and he cursed himself for his weakness. “You know how it is. Once you’re in Renee’s clutches, you will help people and you will like it.”

“I most definitely will not.”

Neil laughed again and turned back to the yard, picking up one of the discarded plastic buckets that littered the space. “I better get started.”

It was rapidly becoming familiar, getting dismissed in his own house. He would have stayed just to watch Neil work, but Dan called his name and he headed back inside to prevent a book-arranging disaster.

The rumble of a truck pulled Andrew out of the mental cocoon he went into whenever he started working on his book. The week had been blessedly quiet, save for his avian alarm clock, but it appeared that was at an end. Grumbling, he forced himself to his feet, leaving his cane leaning against the couch.

Neil was standing on his front walkway, rubbing a hand sheepishly through his hair. “Morning.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m here to figure out what we’re doing with your yard. Didn’t Allison tell you?”

Andrew thought of Allison’s parting words on Friday. “You’re welcome!” He hadn’t known what she meant and hadn’t cared. Evidently he should have. “Why?”

Neil looked at him, nonplussed. “Because having that yard basically being a wasteland of dirt is criminal?”

“Hey, it’s my wasteland of dirt.”

That damn smile made a reappearance. “You deserve more than that.”

“That’s such bullshit. Nobody deserves anything.”

Neil cocked his head to one side. “Do you really believe that?”

Andrew studied his face, the faded scarring across his cheeks, the stubborn set to his jaw that made the smile a lie. “How much is Allison paying you?”

He looked genuinely startled at that. “Nothing. I volunteered.”

“Why? What do you get out of this?”

Neil looked away, color staining his cheeks like a sunrise. “Everyone deserves a little beauty in their lives.”

Andrew wondered what it was like, going through life with the evidence of other people’s viciousness on your face, and believing in beauty anyway.

Slowly the garden took shape, each Sunday adding a little more. When Andrew greeted him the third Sunday leaning on his cane, the truckload of gravel went back to where it came from without a word. The next week, he came outside to find Neil laying out paving stones in a sunburst pattern where the concrete had once been.

Neil was interesting and unpredictable, some days working for hours in silence, others chattering at length about plants and birds, on this continent and others. Sometimes Andrew helped, raking the dirt in the raised beds, then setting the native perennials Neil had picked out gently into the sun-warmed soil. Sometimes his hands wouldn’t close on the tools, and he sat in the shade of the house and talked or read aloud from the book he was writing. Once he stopped, uncertain if Neil was even listening; his friend raised his head from where he was setting out a bird bath. “Is that it?” Neil asked, disappointment coloring his voice, and Andrew bit back his smile as he turned back to his book.

Neil arranged shrubs around the house and planted a couple of flowering trees for shade. Soon Andrew’s little pipping bird had friends of his own, and he woke to a melodic cacophony each morning. One afternoon, they sat in silence on the new furniture Andrew had ordered, sipping lemonade and watching fat bumblebees tumble in and out of hot pink flowers. The garden was almost done; the summer had already passed its peak. Andrew looked at Neil, at his summer-sky eyes and his autumn hair, and he swallowed back the grief as he realized these Sundays were drawing to a close.

The singing was not enough to stir him. He heard it, dimly, through the haze of pain, but he closed his eyes and drifted back into the darkness.

“Andrew?”

He knew that voice; it wrapped itself around his heart and pulled, forcing him into consciousness. Stifling his groan was impossible, and Neil was at his side in a flash. “How can I help?”

“I need to take my meds.” His voice sounded like gravel, and he tried to clear his throat but it was too dry to make a difference.

“Bathroom?”

Andrew hummed, and Neil disappeared, only to reappear in a second with his pill case and a glass of water. “Can I?” Neil asked, hovering an arm over Andrew’s shoulders. Nodding didn’t hurt, at least, and Neil slipped an arm gently behind him and coaxed him into a sitting position against the headboard. He held the glass so Andrew could suck some water through the straw, then handed him the pills, one at a time. When he was done, they sat there like that for a while, Andrew avoiding Neil’s eyes. He hated this, hated that Neil found him like this. Hated that this was the new reality of his life, where he could be going along okay and then suddenly be incapacitated by pain.

It hadn’t struck him down like this since he first got sick; he would never forget that panic, being alone and unable to move without screaming, having to drag himself to the bathroom. Then the weeks of doctor’s visits and tests, the medications that helped the pain but messed him up otherwise, until they finally found a cocktail that worked, more or less beating his immune system into submission. He had moved here out of sheer stubbornness; maybe he should call it stupidity. But he needed this. He needed the mountains out there, calling to him. He needed to believe that one day he would climb up there.

“Why are you here?” he asked, shattering the silence.

“It’s Sunday.”

But the garden is finished, he wanted to say; you are wasting your time with me.

Neil reached out like he was going to touch his hand, but refrained when he saw the red, swollen joints. “Did you think I was just coming for the garden?”

“Why else would you bother?”

“Andrew…I could have finished that garden in two weeks, if I’d wanted to. That was my plan, at first.” He laughed, shaking his head as if at himself. “But then you wouldn’t let me cut down that damn vine because that sparrow likes it…”

Andrew closed his eyes, hearing the unspoken words behind Neil’s soft tone. “I will never be more than this, Neil.”

“You’re Andrew. What more do you need to be?”

There was music in the trees. A symphony composed of wind through tree boughs, of the singing of birds, the chattering of squirrels, the baseline of leaves crunching underfoot. Andrew paused for breath, gulping down some water. The early springtime air traced cool fingers through his hair, and goosebumps erupted down his arms.

Recapping his water, he followed the sound of footsteps in front of him. His walking stick was worn smooth where his hand rested, and he rubbed his thumb in the glossy spot as he negotiated his way over some roots.

“It’s just up ahead,” Neil’s voice called from somewhere out of sight. Andrew took his time, even though he knew he would follow that voice anywhere. He had waited a year for this; he could wait a few minutes longer.

The trees finally opened up to a scene out of a movie. Flowers, blue and purple and white and yellow, all bowed before the wind that tore across the meadow. Neil stood on a little rise, one hand shielding his eyes, staring west. Andrew climbed up to stand next to him. He could see their house from here, the windows glinting in the sun. When he squinted, he could discern the blossoms on the flowering cherry Neil had planted near the bedroom. The tree was still small, barely taller than they were, but it bloomed with reckless abandon. Warmth crept through him that had nothing to do with the springtime sunshine as he thought of their tiny tree, and the nest the sparrows were building in its branches.

Neil bent down and kissed him, soft and lingering. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded, looking at the riot of color all around him. Up above, he could see the peak of the mountain looming white; once, he had longed to reach the very summit. Once, he had thought he would never set foot in the woods again. His free hand found Neil’s, tracing the familiar calluses and scars. “Beautiful.”

#writing #forgetmenotaftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #disabled!andrew #gardener!neil #my wriitng #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court

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thirstyforlulu · 4 years

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Alucard x Reader: For Your Convenience Chapter 1

You were just passing through. This small town was on your way, and it was getting so dark. At that hour, there was only one inn open, and thankfully they had an open room.

“What brings you to our little town?” The owner asked as they handed you the key.

“I’m heading to a town another 30 miles from here. Had to stop for the night,” You replied.

In truth, you wanted to keep your answer vague. You’d been known to dabble in magic and had heard of a town where you could get all sorts of supplies, so you decided to make the journey. However, if people knew where exactly it was that you were going, they could guess why and try to burn you for magic.

“That’s nice. Enjoy your stay,” They said.

You nodded and bid them good night, picking up your things and heading to your room. It was the first door on the second floor. It was roomy, but there was little furniture. Perfect for one night but not for much longer.

From the window, you could see the town square, dark save for the occasional flicker of someone’s lantern as they shuffled about. It was calm, quiet, and it was making you so tired.

With one last glance outside, you changed your clothes and went to bed.

The plan was for you to leave the next day as soon as you woke up, but things changed when you were awoken by a loud shriek. Throwing your covers off, you ran downstairs to see what was going on.

“Please don’t go outside, you don’t want to see that,” The owner pleaded, standing between you and the door.

You didn’t necessarily want to see anything, but if someone was hurt you might be able to help. Giving the owner a reassuring nod, you opened the door and stepped outside. To the left of the door, no more than 10 feet away was the bloodied corpse of what you guessed was a man. All around the body people crowded, murmuring and crying. They all looked so terrified.

For a moment, you worried the people would blame you since it happened the night you came into town, but a young man walked over and calmed your nerves.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably scared aren’t you?” He said.

You nodded.

“I’m not really used to seeing corpses,” You replied.

“Yes, it’s a terrible sight, but I’m afraid we’re used to it here. The vampire strikes often and leaves the remains for us all to find. It’s terrible, but we’re helpless.”

At the mention of a vampire, you were intrigued. You’d heard of them but never had a chance to actually see one. A while ago you bought a vial of vampire blood from one of your suppliers, but you didn’t actually see the vampire they’d taken it from.

“A vampire? How do you know it’s that and not wolves?” You asked.

“We thought the same thing as first. With how torn up the corpses were it would make sense, but then bodies started showing up with very little outward signs of trauma and all of their blood drained. The vampire lives in that castle up there, he comes down to kill at least once a week,” He replied, pointing off.

You followed his finger and found a large decrepit castle that you hadn’t seen the night before. It was a dark stone, probably why you couldn’t see it at night, and had several tall towers. Vines grow up the sides, suggesting it’d been in a state of disrepair for a while now.

“Has anyone confronted the vampire?” You asked.

“Heavens no! No one is brave enough. We all just hide in our homes and do our best not to go out at night.”

“Maybe I could talk to them,” You suggested.

You knew how crazy it sounded, but you were curious. This could be your chance to meet a vampire, if you play your cards right this could be very beneficial to you. Plus you might be able to help out this small town.

“Are you crazy?! You’d be killed.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” You replied, heading up to your room to change.

The young man made no motion to stop you.

You hadn’t planned on going vampire hunting this trip so you had little gear to work with. All you had in that area was a cross and small vial of holy water. That should be enough, and if not you knew enough magic to protect yourself. The rest of your things you left in your room, assuring the owner you’d be back to collect them.

After a quick stop to get something to eat, you headed into the woods leading to the castle. It was dark, with dense foliage that lapped at your legs. At times you had to climb over fallen trees covered in moss. They were slick, nearly causing you to fall, but you grabbed onto other branches to steady yourself. It was clear no one had been that way in decades, the only signs of life you could find were deer tracks or rabbit holes.

The dense greenery transitioned into a flat open yard that appeared to have at one time been perfectly manicured but had since succumbed to nature’s wrath. There were weeds growing out of cracks in the steps leading up to the door. The door itself was mostly intact, but you could see where termites were starting to get to it.

When you pushed on it, there was little resistance. A loud creak rang out in the castle’s foyer, so loud you thought for sure it would notify anyone within a mile of your presence. After a quick inspection of the room, you stepped inside.

“Hello?” you called out.

Your voice echoed off the walls, letting you hear just how nervous you sounded. You waited, but no one came, the only sound was that of a few startled bats flying off.

Feeling a tad more courageous, you took a few more steps inside, letting the door shut behind you. Eyes darting back and forth, you slowly circled, taking in the exact size of the room.

“I have to give it to you, you at least came during the day,” A voice said from a few feet behind you.

You jumped, whipping around to find a tall man standing behind you looking very irritated. His clothes were long and fancy looking, mostly dark-colored with pops of red that matched his eyes. Judging by his complexion, he was the vampire.

“P-pardon my intrusion sir, I was just looking for someone,” You sputtered.

“A vampire, you were looking for a vampire, weren’t you? Well, here I am,” He replied, gesturing at himself.

“Yes, I would like to talk to you, I have some questions.”

“You get one, make it count human.”

Sweat was starting to form on the palms of your hands. Your life might be riding on what you ask him, you had to be careful. With a deep breath, you decided.

“Why are you terrorizing that town nearby?” You asked.

He gave you a puzzled look, tilting his head, which made his long black hair fall from his shoulders. No one had asked him why he did what he does. Normally the people who came here told him to leave the town alone or asked him to spare them. No one ever cared about his motives.

“Simple, I have to feed and that town just happens to be nearby,” He said, taking a few steps toward you.

Nervous, you matched each of his steps forward with one of your own backward. His long legs made it to where one of his steps was equal to about two of your own, allowing him to get closer and closer to you. He continued until you’d backed yourself up into a wall. At this distance, it was easy to see the large fangs in his mouth. The sight made you tremble, just thinking about those digging into your neck made your heart race. Before he could say anything else, you spoke up.

“Y-you said you need to feed right? W-well what if you had a constant source besides the town?”

“What are you suggesting?”

His icy breath was on your cheek, feeding the fear you felt inside.

“What if.. I was to offer you myself instead of the villagers? I won’t run, you can drink from me as much as you want as often as you want as long as you don’t kill me,” You offered.

He was shocked at your bold suggestion, but he was intrigued, liking the idea of having a convenient source of food.

“And why would you do that? What have you to gain from giving yourself up for them?”

“Nothing but knowing my sacrifice helped others.”

Hearing that he laughed. You were trying to be noble, to help others selflessly, a notion which he found to be silly. No human would willingly give up their life for strangers, but he was interested to see how far you would take this.

“Deal, you will live here and be my walking blood container and in return, I will not feed on anyone from the nearby towns.”

“Deal,” You replied.

He grabbed you and pulled you close to him, moving your head to give him clear access to your neck. Your breath caught in your throat and your body tensed in fear.

“Now, allow me to sample my new food source,” He said, inches from your neck.

Feeling his breath made you shiver, but you focused, steeling your nerve. His fangs sunk into your neck, his lips meeting your skin. The pain was terrible, but when he began to suck you felt a warm filling your body radiating from the puncture wound.

Your blood hit his tongue just like it does with every other human he’s fed from, but with you something was different. The taste was incredible, better than anything he’d tasted before. He thought he was imagining it at first, but as he continued to drink the flavor persisted, proving it was real.

“What is this?” He thought.

The taste was so addictive, he continued to drink despite the fact that he had just eaten the night before. He held you roughly in place, drinking in an unconscious fervor. You reached up and tried to grab his shoulders to remind him to stop but it didn’t seem to work. A tiny yelp escaped your lips but he didn’t seem to notice.

He drank until you’d lost so much blood you fell to the ground. Your body was so cold, you couldn’t think straight and you feared you wouldn’t make it. The sudden movement snapped him out of it. He removed his coat and threw it on top of you, which you gladly welcomed. As you wrapped yourself up, he turned his back to you.

“Your blood is acceptable, I shall prepare a room for you. I will come for you when it is ready. Tomorrow, I will send you to get your things from town, for now just rest while your body replenishes itself,” He said, acting as if he wasn’t suffering from a painful erection.

“Thank you sir,” You replied, hoping to please him.

He walked away, leaving you laying there in the sea of his coat. You felt your body slowly start to warm back up, the feeling returning to your extremities. With blood returning to your brain, you could finally think.

“What have I done?”

#alucard x reader #alucard #for your conveniance

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foxtophat · 4 years

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HEYYYYYY BUDDY!!! guess what? it’s 6:30 and i haven’t had a chance to get onto my animal crossing fishing tourney yet so i’m gonna keep this short!

today’s chapter is about nick and john (as usual), and their trip out to the river to check some animal traps. i know, it sounds exciting, but trust me it gets better. you’ll just have to read to find out how!!!

i really appreciate all of you guys reading and reblogging and liking and commenting and kudosing and just being fantastic people all around! it’s so wonderful seeing people enjoying my work and i know i say it every time, but i MEAN IT every time! i really really appreciate you guys!

below the cut is the chapter text for all those non-ao3 people (or people who are lazy and have xkit like me). if you enjoy what i’m doing and haven’t already hit me up, i love hearing what you guys think! you know the rest of this part probably: likes, reblogs, comments, kudos, etc etc are all super cool and i would appreciate them, but i also know we live in hectic times so don’t worry yourself. you do you okay!!!

now off i go to catch some fish!!! enjoy nick and john being full dumbasses for 4,000 words!

Nick knows that Carmina's runny nose, itchy eyes, and sore throat are from allergies. He's sure Kim knows it, too. But Carmina has only had one other allergy attack in her life, and today's heavy pollen has left her a miserable, bedridden wreck. It particularly sucks that it had to be this morning, because Nick and she were going to check the traps, which means she was already half out of bed before the real misery began. She hasn't been truly sick since she was four, and Nick is hoping that they can keep that streak going for the foreseeable future, so of course he isn't going to push her to come — it's just too bad, is all.

Of course, with Carmina bed-bound and Kim in anxiety mode over it, Nick doesn't have a lot of choices when it comes to checking the traps. Either he leaves them out there for some predator to take advantage of, or he trusts John to have his back out in the woods. Considering everything that's happened, Nick is fairly confident that John isn't a threat, but that doesn't mean he can't have some lingering reservations. After all, John has been a decent person for less than a year. He might be getting the hang of it now, but that doesn't mean it won't be easy to backslide into bad habits if he's given the chance.

John killing him is a toss-up, but there's no doubt Kim will murder him if he heads off on his own. So, once Carmina is bemoaning her fate in bed and Kim has her under control, Nick meets John downstairs.

"Lucky you," he says, interrupting John mid-breakfast. "Looks like you and I are going on a trip."

Although John looks at him as though he expects it to be a short trip out behind a barn, he manages to respond with a balanced amount of sarcasm. "I thought I wasn't supposed to leave," he says, accidentally pulling off a great impression of Carmina in the middle of an argument.

"Well, you already broke that rule, what's one more time gonna hurt? C'mon, Kim will kill me if I go by myself, and I'm pretty sure she might kill you if you hang around and stress her out more."

It's the first time since bringing John home that he's left the property, not that it's a particularly exciting first trip out. They aren't going very far — there are three traps set up along the river, easy enough to find if you follow the embankment — but John still keeps close, as if they're moseying down some foreign avenue and he doesn't want to get lost. Nick knows the route pretty well by now, but he's willing to take it slow so that John might memorize some of it himself.

"Strange how little things have changed out here," John says after a while. "I was expecting a blighted hell-scape, but all of this seems... normal."

"From what I've heard, the greenery took some time coming back, so we missed most of the actual apocalypse. I guess nature had a pretty big leg up without all the people around."

John hums neutrally in response. Nick glances his way, expecting him to be lost in some dark thoughts like he usually seems to be, but John is only observing the tall, thin trees and their patched canopies. Either he's getting better at handling his inner turmoil, or he's gotten better at hiding when he's spiraling.

"I guess you didn't get to see much lying in that ditch I found you in, huh?" Nick asks. Despite himself, he's not trying to be a dick about it. He's just curious, is all — John doesn't talk about his bunker or the circumstances that brought him topside where Nick could find him. For all Nick knows, John was up and running around for days or even weeks before he got sick.

"Not really," John admits. "Although from what it looks like, not much has changed."

"Yeah. You'd have to go into town to really see the difference."

At the mention of town, John's neutral silence turns noticeably uncomfortable. "I suppose I would," he says, hedging awkwardly around the topic. It's the same routine he pulls out every time Nick or Kim mention going to public spaces, especially this past month or so. Nick understands his reservations — hell, you couldn't pay Nick to go somewhere where he would be as unwanted as John would be in town — but Nick also doesn't want John to hide for the rest of his life. He doesn't think he can keep a secret that long.

John surprises Nick by taking it one step further. "They have enough to worry about without my inglorious resurrection making things worse," he admits, offering his first genuine reason not to go beyond not wanting to be killed by a mob.

Nick chuckles. "That's awfully considerate of you," he teases. He's managed to find a balance between antagonizing and friendly ribbing, although the difference is probably lost on John. "At this rate, you might convince people you're a whole other person."

Almost immediately, Nick regrets the suggestion. It would be relatively easy to fade into anonymous obscurity if John wanted — not that he thinks John would want to. Nick just doesn't want to be the guy giving him bad ideas.

"It's simpler to stay here," John replies, sounding as though he'd dismissed that option a while back already. "Safer. If Jacob taught me anything, it was that I wouldn't make it one week by myself in the wilderness."

It's another first to have John mention his family outside of verbally disowning them for other people's comfort. Nick wants to pry up those floorboards in particular, because the brotherly relationship between the youngest and oldest Seed had to be a bizarre one, but John's pensive enough about it without him digging further. These are the baby steps that Kim's always talking about — he has to let them be small, and let John take them when he's ready.

They eventually reach the clearing, where scraggly trees give way to what used to be the river's embankment. With the river having moved some ten yards, the land has been left open to grow thick with weeds and vines. The traps they set out here tend to have the best luck; even Carmina's earliest snares managed to catch squirrels and rabbits all the time. Since it's been a couple of days since they last had meat beyond old jerky, Nick is especially hopeful that they're going to get lucky again today. The more traps that they fill, the more food they have, and the more food they have, the more they can trade and give away. Nick isn't sure if paying Grace's trust back with rabbits is going to work, but damned if he isn't going to try.

Unfortunately, it looks like something else got to the trap before them. Nick examines the fibrous old rope that had kept the trap anchored to the tree, which must have frayed enough for some predator to drag the cage down to the bottom of the incline. It's an old animal control trap from before the bombs, so it's unlikely to have broken, but Nick is not looking forward to making it down the embankment and getting mud up to his knees. Especially not while wearing his last pair of mostly-intact jeans.

"What are you doing?" John asks incredulously as Nick starts to gently pick his way through the brush down the slope. "That's a terrible idea."

"Suddenly you know so much about everything," Nick grouses. "We need that trap. I've got this, just stay there and —"

Nick hopes he never has to admit it again, but John is apparently right to warn him. The dirt under the thick foliage is loose and wet from the earlier rains, which Nick only realizes as he sinks his boot right into the root system of the vines holding the erosion at bay. He pitches down the hill, managing to bring up his arm a fraction of a second too late to save himself from going headfirst into the ground. His elbow takes most of the damage, followed immediately by his temple, ringing his bell so thoroughly that he misses the rest of his full-on tumble down the slope. He's face-first in the dirt one second, and face-up to the canopy the next, the world still spinning even when Nick is pretty sure he's hit the bottom.

Somewhere nearby he can hear the river, and all around him are deep green leaves and bright pink flowers. Sunlight shines in through the trees, and for a moment the amber light turns the world around him into an alien landscape. The plants rustle in the breeze; somewhere on the incline above, he can hear roots tearing through the dirt. They're miles away, on the contour just above him, and Nick struggles to focus on them.

Somebody is calling his name. How long has he been lying here? Dazed and aching as he is, Nick can't tell if it's been seconds, minutes or longer since he fell face-first down the hill. He doesn't want to move — his entire body aches, his ankle throbs, and there's a painful blooming knot behind his ear that tells Nick he definitely hit his head somewhere on the way down.

The sunlight shining down on him is blotted out as John Seed looms into view as he reaches the bottom of the embankment. Nick has trouble making heads or tails of what he's seeing at first, but as John approaches, he starts to make more visual sense. He's looking around the dirt, sliding his foot through the brush before every step. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but as soon as Nick catches sight of the rifle lying in the weeds nearby, he starts to get an idea.

He must see it at the same time as John does. As John reaches down to pick it up, Nick tries to come up with something more intelligible than a painful groan, failing miserably. John weighs the rifle in his hands, staring at it, largely ignoring Nick's struggling to move. Nick barely manages to push himself to his elbows by the time John sighs with noticeable relief, pulling the strap over his shoulder so that the rifle can hang harmlessly off his back.

He crouches down next to Nick, who's still struggling, even after the danger has passed. "Quit it," John tells him, reaching out to steady him before he goes falling back into the dirt. The relief he'd felt holding the rifle must've been short-lived, because he only looks concerned and mildly upset now. Nick can't help but think he's upset because Nick thought he was gonna shoot him. He should apologize for that, probably.

"Nick," John repeats.

"Ugh," Nick groans. "I think I smacked a rock on my way down." He reaches up to feel the back of his head, and it's only John's grip on his shoulder that keeps him from falling back again.

"Stop squirming," John sighs. "Just — stop ."

Nick hates to listen to John's orders, but he's the one who didn't go ass-over-teakettle down the hill, so he's sort of the de-facto leader for now. It's a hard sell, but it's not like Nick's got any options right now, so he has to let John feel out the back of his head and reserves his complaints to pained hissing every time John prods the throbbing spot on his skull.

He feels momentarily faint when John pulls his hand away and reveals his bloody fingertips, but John doesn't seem phased in the least. "Lucky for all of us, you didn't crack your skull open," he says, somehow managing to sound both irritated and relieved at the same time.

He looks around them, which reminds Nick for the first time that they're at the bottom of a steep incline that goes on for a good mile in either direction. They're gonna have to go up the hill, which means Nick is going to need to keep it together at least long enough to get up to the top.

"I can make it," he tells John, who tries to mask his concern under schooled irritation as he looks back to Nick. "C'mon, I just need a hand up."

"I don't think it's going to be as easy as you seem to believe," John replies.

Nick groans, trying to push himself up. He doesn't admit how relieved he is when John grudgingly comes to help. He pulls Nick up by both shoulders, easily enough that it unnerves the crap out of Nick, but what's he gonna do? Complain that John is strong enough to help him?

As soon as he tries to put pressure on his left ankle, Nick knows he's screwed. He bites his tongue for the first second or two, but the sharp glass twinge every time he tries to rest his weight on it is too much to bear. "Ah, fuck ," he hisses, ready to sink to the ground again, "Yeah, that's not good."

John grabs Nick before he can drop back down to the ground, taking the weight that Nick's leg can't handle. "Damn it," John grunts. "You couldn't have listened to me just once?"

Nick laughs like it's supposed to be a joke, but John only looks offended in response. He yanks Nick's arm over his shoulder and asks briskly, "Which way?"

Nick is still thinking of climbing back up right here, but with his leg like it is that's probably not a great option. "Uh, that way," Nick chooses almost at random, his only hunch that the northern bend might ease more than the southern one.

John doesn't say much while they walk. Nick doesn't either, mostly focused on keeping his weight off his foot and trying not to give in to the urge to lie down and nap for a decade or two. Every wrong step on his bad leg makes his vision gray around the edges, but John walks slowly enough that those become few and far between.

Nick can't believe that John has ever had this amount of patience within him, much less that he's using it now as Nick grunts and tries to maintain his balance. All of his weird television ads had made him seem intense and caring, and all of the Peggies seemed to find him comforting, but Nick had realized pretty quickly that it was all an act. Or, he'd thought it was, until now, finding himself being partially carried through the forest without even the pettiest of complaining.

The incline begins to ease. Nick has no idea how long they've been walking — it's either been minutes or hours, and it's not his job to keep track of that kind of thing right now. All he's supposed to do is keep calm and coherent. Mostly coherent. Awake, anyway.

"We'll go up here," John decides at one point. "Do you need to rest?"

"What?" Nick asks, blindsided by the question. "No. What?"

"Oh, good," John sighs, "I was wondering when the brain damage would show."

He seems offended again. Nick keeps accidentally offending him, which sucks. When Nick had wanted to offend him, he never managed to, but now he doesn't even have to try. He should probably apologize, but that would set a bad precedent, wouldn't it?

"Man, I don't know, just get me home already!"

John heaves an extremely frustrated sigh, accompanied by a heavy eye-roll, and then he and Nick start the long trek up the hill. It's slow, slow going; even without Nick's sprained ankle, the dirt is loose under the brush and every step could lead to either of them rolling back down to the bottom. Even so, John keeps a firm grip on Nick's arm, digging his boots into the hillside before helping Nick drag himself up. Not once does Nick think he's going to fall.

They stop to rest at the top of the incline. Nick flops down, almost lying back before remembering that he should probably keep awake. That's what you're supposed to do with a concussion. He hasn't had one since he was a teen, but it's sort of like riding a bike. Right?

After taking a minute to catch their breath, John pulls Nick back to his feet, taking noticeable care not to force more strain than necessary on his bad leg. It's not a long walk of shame from here, but Nick's making it difficult to go at any speed other than a crawl. Even though he's taking forever, and he has to stop every few feet, John remains oddly patient. Well, it's not really odd - most decent people would cut a guy with a busted ankle and a concussion some slack. It's just - well, John isn't most decent people. He isn't even any decent people. But he waits for Nick to catch his breath when he seems winded and doesn't comment on how easy it would be to throw him to the wolves like this. Nick's made plenty of jokes and off-color comments about that kind of thing, but now with the tables turned, John isn't giving as good as he gets, and the guilt is starting to gnaw irritatingly in his gut. He probably should apologize.

He doesn't, but that's mostly due to his struggle to keep conscious. The longer they walk, the weirder the world around him feels — fuzzy and distant, sort of unreal. He's more watching the situation unfold than experiencing it. He needs to sit down and rest. He needs to take a goddamn nap and try not to use his brain any more than he usually does.

John waits until they reach the airstrip to reveal his fraying nerves. "Kim!" he shouts, repeating her name one more time for good measure before muttering mostly to himself, "She is going to kill me."

"Welcome to my life," Nick replies, because John just wasn't quiet enough.

Kim rushes from the house before they've cleared the hangar, catching herself a few feet from colliding with them. She looks ready to fight, or run, or both , but instead, she hovers there anxiously. "What the hell happened?" she exclaims, trying not to raise her voice as Carmina watches them from the porch.

"I'm fine," Nick groans, waving Kim's concern away before it starts freaking him out. "Slipped down the hill is all."

John doesn't sound so blase about it as he tells Kim grimly, "I think he may have a concussion."

"I definitely have a concussion," Nick agrees, having forgotten about that part. "Sprained my ankle, too. I don't think it's broken, anyway..."

Kim sighs, relieved and exasperated in equal measures. "Come on, let's get him inside," she says, and to Nick's never-ending surprise, she willingly lets John continue supporting him. She lets them go by as she stops by Carmina, who looks sniffly but otherwise healthy. "Everything's fine," she tells her as John helps Nick into the house. "Your dad just slipped."

"I thought John wasn't supposed to have guns?" Carmina asks.

"Let me worry about that. Go ahead and read without me, I'll be back down in a minute."

When Kim catches up, John shrugs out from under Nick's arm, letting her take over supporting him as he goes to disarm himself. Every movement he takes is slow and deliberate, leaving no surprises as he carefully pulls the rifle from his shoulder.

"Just put it over there," Kim tells him, and to Nick's surprise, she doesn't give him a backward glance as she helps Nick up the stairs. She doesn't even indicate where "over there" is, she's so unconcerned with John having a firearm!

He manages to share a bewildered look with John before craning his neck becomes too much, Kim dragging him upstairs to the comfort of their room. "What are you doing," he hisses at her as she shoulders their way through the door. "You left him alone with the gun and Carmina ?"

Kim sighs wearily in response. "What did you do?" she asks as she maneuvers him to the bed.

He sits with a groan, immediately thinking of how nice a nap sounds right now, but Kim's hand on his shoulder keeps him upright. He can take a nap once they make sure he didn't do more than ring his bell. "One of the traps was down a hill, and... I guess I followed it. Really, Kim, it's no big deal."

"You should have been more careful," Kim scolds, although her worry is keeping her from chewing him out properly. "What if John hadn't been there?"

Nick waves a hand, probably too dismissively. "C'mon, you would've found me eventually."

Kim scowls at him until he almost apologizes, distracted only when she hears John coming up the stairs. "Okay," she says, "You need to rest. Don't move. I'll get you some water and we'll clean you up."

She leaves the room before Nick can argue any of the points. He huffs at her retreat, but at least she doesn't lock him in like she would whenever he got the flu. Probably because the lock doesn't work so well anymore, but Nick can pretend it's her trusting him not to get out of bed.

Through the crack in the door, he can hear Kim as she meets John out on the landing. It's only then that Nick realizes how dangerous all of this could be — but the actual threat doesn't feel as present as it used to with John. He's gone rotten-soft, apparently, but at least John isn't likely to take advantage of it. Not without some convincing, anyway.

"I tried to stop him," John says. "He wouldn't listen."

"Welcome to the club," Kim replies, which might be true, but ow . "Thanks for bringing him back."

John doesn't say anything to that. Nick closes his eyes, only to be surprised when John continues the conversation. "I know where the trap is," he says, "It'll only take an hour or two for me to go get it."

Kim clicks her tongue. "No way."

"It can't just sit there. And there are still other traps to check." There's a beat before John continues in frustration, "What? You can't possibly think I'm trying to escape ."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Kim says. "It's a family rule. Nobody goes out by themselves if they can help it. Don't worry about the trap, okay? We can get it later."

Nick doesn't hear John's response. He's not even sure there is one. After a quiet moment, Kim speaks again. "You can go in, if you want. I'll be back up in a minute."

"Yeah," John replies. His voice sounds really rough, enough so that he clears his throat and repeats, "Yes."

Even then, Nick doesn't quite expect it when John eventually enters the room. "You can come in, I'm not dying ," Nick groans when John hesitates at the door. It's enough to earn him a nasty look, which is better than the weird sickbed sympathy, and John shuts the door behind him with a lot of false bravado to make up for his discomfort.

Nick opens his mouth to make a joke about John using this chance to kill him, but the words don't come. It must be the concussion making him feel guilty even thinking about it. His brain is addled and he's thinking more about how hard John's been working now rather than how about how awful John was before. Still — it would be a low blow, and Nick is trying to be better than that.

"You... uh..." Nick clears his throat, the words rattling around in his head out of order until he shakes them into place. "You... really came through for me back there."

"What?" John asks, startled.

Nick is startled, too, because as soon as the words come out of his mouth, the months-long ball of guilt that's grown in his stomach eases somewhat. "Yeah," he admits. "It's probably the concussion talking, but, uh. Thanks."

You'd think Nick had tried to punch him with how John reacts. "You're welcome," he rasps, looking like he needs to sit down.

"Don't think this lets you off the hook or anything," Nick adds. "You're still a miserable bastard, and I still really dislike you, but at least I know I can trust you not to leave me for dead."

The word trust seems somehow worse than Nick's thanks. "You don't mean that," he says, like he can demand Nick change his emotions.

But Nick does mean it, and being told otherwise is frankly sort of irritating. "Of course I do. You think I would have taken you with me today if I thought you were gonna betray me?"

"I... hadn't thought about it," John admits.

"And would I have let you carry a firearm into the house if I thought you would use it on us?"

"You didn't have a choice in the matter."

Nick groans. "Jesus, John."

"Sorry," John snaps, not apologetic in the least as he points out, "It's not like I'm used to this."

"What, people trusting you?"

John doesn't have the chance to respond; before he can do more than look moderately offended, the door opens. Kim comes in with Carmina in tow, checking their expressions for just a second before letting Carmina follow her into the room.

"Everything good in here?" she asks, just in case.

"I could use a nap," Nick tells her, as if he hasn't been having a heart-to-heart with John Seed just seconds ago. When Carmina comes forward, she's got a stiff upper lip and an extremely worried pair of eyes, so he makes sure to smile big for her. "What's the matter, sweetheart? I just rolled my ankle."

She reaches over to hold his hand on the bed, which just makes him feel like an old grandpa about to give away his farm. "I'm sorry I didn't want to go," she sniffs, heavy with self-guilt. "It's just allergies, and I'm good at climbing. I would have been able to help."

Nick wraps both hands over hers, pulling her until she climbs onto the mattress with a little laugh. "It's okay," he tells her. "John handled it alright."

From the way John is standing, leaning towards the door, he probably doesn't want to stick around much longer, but he tries not to look like he's trying to escape when Carmina turns her big eyes on him. She's expecting him to say something to reassure her, but when all he does is stand like a deer in headlights, she loses interest.

"Okay," Kim says, with a damp piece of fabric in hand. "Let me clean you up so you can get some rest."

Nick obliges, mostly because he can't resist, and lets Kim lean him forward so that she can get a clear shot at the gash behind his ear. Carmina lays beside him, fingers wound in his shirt as she watches her mom work. For his part, John lingers close to the door, not running yet even though he has a clear escape route. He watches Nick hiss through Kim's care, going through a lot of effort to keep himself removed. It makes sense. John isn't part of the family, and even if he were, family seems to be close to a four-letter word when it comes to the Seeds. Still — they're edging around the six-month mark and even Nick has to admit, John's pulled enough weight around here to warrant a little more opening up on his part. After all, the bastard did just drag him home.

"Hey," he calls out, drawing John's uncertain attention. "Tomorrow, you and me will go finish the run."

Kim tuts at him like he's a five-year-old. "You don't even know if you're going to be on your feet tomorrow."

"I'm gonna be fine ," he grouses.

"Why don't we wait until you're feeling up to it, and then we can all go together?" Kim asks, as diplomatic as ever. "It's been a while since we could go somewhere as a family."

"Really?" Carmina asks, perking up. "Can we go swimming? Should we bring the fishing poles?"

Kim laughs gently. "We'll make a day out of it, sure."

" Finally ," Carmina sighs, laying her head on Nick's chest.

Nick isn't sure if John knows he's being included in the plans Kim is making or not, but he doesn't try to question it or run from it. He stands there, willingly letting the Ryes make plans around him, and watches with a complicated expression. Even in the face of familial love, though, John doesn't bolt. Nick can give him credit for that.

"Alright, I think that's it," Kim declares at last, once she's cleaned up Nicks cuts and double-checked his ankle to make sure it's only been sprained. "There's nothing left but for you to get some rest." Nick begins to ask a question, but Kim cuts him off with a smile. "You're coherent enough that sleep isn't out of the question. I'll keep an eye on you."

"Thank God. I feel like I just got dragged a mile up-hill."

With a fond shake of her head, Kim pushes herself off the bed, moderately surprised to see John still standing near the door. "I'm sure we can find something for you to do," she tells him.

John nods in response, but he doesn't move until Kim approaches, ushering him out the door. She turns at the doorway and addresses Carmina, who seems to be pretending to be asleep for the moment. "Don't keep him up too long, sweetheart," she says. "He needs to rest."

"Okay, mom," Carmina mumbles, just like a sleeping girl might if she weren't lying. Kim rolls her eyes, leaving the door cracked as she heads out into the hall.

Nick and Carmina lie in bed for a few minutes without talking. Nick starts to drift almost immediately, although he suspects Carmina is about to start talking any time now. Sure enough, after the comfortable silence passes between them, Carmina tugs gently on his shirt to get his attention.

"Does this mean I can talk to John without you getting mad, now?" she asks.

Nick groans quietly, wrapping an arm around her. "He might not like that," he points out, because it's more diplomatic than saying "no" outright.

"Dad..."

He heaves a sigh. "It means... I don't know what it means." He runs his hand through her hair, closing his eyes. "I don't trust him with you, sweetheart," he admits at last. "But you're getting old enough to start trusting your own gut on this kind of thing. Just... listen to the voice that tells you if something's a bad idea. If John does something that raises that voice, you come tell me or your mom."

Carmina breathes quietly for a moment. "Mom said he hurt you," she mumbles.

"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, he definitely hurt me." He drops his free hand over his chest, right across the raised scar near his heart. "It was a long time ago, though. And I don't think he's gonna do it again."

"But you don't know?"

"Nope." Checking her expression, Nick can't help but chuckle when he sees her frustration plain as day. "Some things are unknowable, Carmina — especially the future. All you can do is trust your instincts. Your mom and I never knew how bad things were gonna get, but when my gut told me to stock the bunker, I listened to it. And when your mom's instincts told her it was time for us to go topside, we listened. So far, so good."

Carmina's irritated frown softens as he talks, but Nick still worries that he's gonna say the wrong thing. He's always worried about it with her. Carmina is smart, but kids see everything in black and white, and he doesn't want to accidentally turn his kid into someone like Hurk. Then again, Hurk is still alive and comfortably set up with weapons and alcohol, so maybe he isn't such a bad guy for Carmina to emulate.

Oh, he definitely needs to take a nap if he's starting to consider Hurk a decent role model. "Daddy's gonna close his eyes for a bit," he says, well after his eyes have already drifted shut.

"Me too," Carmina mumbles. Nick isn't about to push her away, and so thankfully, he gets to fall asleep to the sound of his daughter's gentle breathing, her small fingertips resting against the scar tissue that he's been trying to hide.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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bittysvalentines · 5 years

Text

The Gardener

From: @airplanesandcookies

To: @17piesinseptember

Note: It was my pleasure to write a ficlet for @17piesinseptember. I really hope you enjoy! Thank you for all that you do in the fandom.

If Jack had just realized that he had a crush on Bittle a year ago, then maybe he could have avoided this entire awkward situation.

“Wow.” It’s all that Bittle can say. And frankly, Bittle normally says a lot.

Jack waved his hand over towards meticulous backyard garden that he had built, planted and maintained over the summer.

“I can explain.”

He couldn’t explain.

***

Jack couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which his feeling for Bitty bloomed. Was it Bitty’s graduation? His own graduation? Maybe, when Bits took that hip check his freshman year? That didn’t seem quite right. Hell, who knows? Maybe it went all the way back to the first moment they met.

Bitty has always had a way of sparking a lot of emotions in Jack, all at once. It’s kind of overwhelming to be honest. But probably one of them was a seed for love.

Either way, Jack kicked himself for being oblivious to the fact that he was clearly infatuated with Bittle for far longer than he realized.

Obliviousness made it easy to reason away his utter delight when Bits announced that he had taken a job at Brown. It’s nice to have a close friend move into the neighborhood.

And when Bittle had trouble finding reasonable accommodations, then, it was easy to justify an earlier move into a bigger house in a quieter neighborhood. Once he earned his C, he figured he was going to stay in RI for at least five years anyway, and it’s nice to have someplace to stretch out in and call home.

The house was more than big enough for him and a roommate. It came with four bedrooms, a couple of bathrooms, an attached garage and a large backyard that was essentially a barren dust bowl with weeds and dead bushes.

“Oh wow! Jack, look at all this space back here!” Bitty had exclaimed as soon as he walked out the side door that previous fall. “You can build a deck for company and barbeques. I am picturing the most perfect garden! You could have fruit trees and vegetables. There’s room for a couple of rain barrels and even some flowers.”

“Big plans on my yard? I didn’t figure you as a gardener.”

Bitty batted his eyes, “I am a man of many talents. Though even I can admit, gardening is not one of them. I have a black thumb. But I always appreciate the fruits of labor.”

Jack could imagine that. Bits using fresh herbs in his garden, canning tomatoes and making salsa for friends, sharing his love of cooking with anyone who walked into his kitchen.

He tucked the thought away in the back of his mind.

***

The thought popped back up again sometime the following March, when the ground was still half frozen and nothing was growing yet.

Spare time was sparse, but he always found a few minutes to pop into the library, return the stack of Bittle’s books that sat by the front doorway past their return date, and pick up a few books for himself for the road.

The front display was a riot of colorful paper flowers with a sign, “It’s never too early to start thinking about your garden.” Underneath, a selected assortment of gardening how-to books beckoned.

Jack grabbed a copy of “Kitchen Gardening for Beginners”.

The next week, he grabbed “The Backyard Gardener” and bought a few heirloom seed packets from the internet.

Jack never could do anything half-assed.

***

“Jack? Why is there a pile of lumber in the backyard?” Bittle asked one morning, looking rumpled in Jack’s old Samwell t-shirt. The shirt had gotten mixed up in Bittle’s laundry when he first moved in, but Jack didn’t mind him keeping it. It looked better on him anyway.

“Thinking of building a few garden boxes. It’ll give me something to do over the summer. Got to do something with that yard, eh?”

Bitty smiled into his coffee mug. “Just let me know how I can help.”

Bittle wasn’t kidding when he said he had a black thumb. Only a few of the seedlings that Jack started in the cold start of spring had survived Bitty’s enthusiastic overwatering, but that wasn’t a bad thing, he joked. “No, you were weeding out the strongest seedlings.”

Bitty still looked skeptical, but Jack was amused. And he diligently planted before dawn to get them started in ground before hopping on the road for a playoff game.

***

Jack drove Bits to the airport late in May. “I don’t want to go to Madison.”

Jack also didn’t want Bits to go to Madison, but he couldn’t voice it as clearly.

“You’re doing a good thing. Your moomaw needs you.”

“She’s the only reason I’m going.” Bitty pouted as he sunk down into his carseat. “Broke her arm in Zumba. How in the world did she manage that?”

Jack shrugged, “I would have bet money that the jam feud came to blows.”

“That only happened once, and it was when someone outside the family insulted both the Phelps and Bittles.”

“I’m going to miss you, bud.” Jack mumbled to his steering wheel just as Bitty jumped out.

“Me too, Jack.”

***

Shitty had always said that Jack needed a hobby.

Gardening is a great hobby. And carpentry. And landscaping.

He had the time on his hands.

And he missed Bittle fiercely.

***

8 weeks without Bitty dancing in the kitchen, laying on his sofa, chirping him while they inhabited each other’s space went by as slow as Jack imagined, but it went by.

“Wow.” Bittle said again and Jack could feel his pulse quicken as he rushed to explain.

“I had some time on my hands. Dad was excited to help build the deck, so that was a fun project. Mom had some ideas about flowers. And you said how you liked cooking with fresh herbs and veggies. So I made sure to grow some stuff that I knew you would like. No more having to buy cherry tomatoes, huh.”

Jack knew he was rambling and forced himself to breathe.

“It’s just like I imagined it. Jack. Wow.” And suddenly Bitty’s face crumpled and he rushed to turn away, his voice false and bright.

“Well, I guess I’ll just go whip up something from this garden. How about a salad?”

Jack caught his arm before Bitty could run into the house. “You don’t like it?”

Bitty huffed a laugh and wiped at his eyes, “Jack, I love it. Whoever snatches you up is going to love it. You made a house for a family. It’s perfect.”

Jack knew that he was oblivious most of the time. He’s relieved to know that he isn’t the only one. It makes it easy to take the first step.

“Bud. I made this for you.”

Bitty hiccuped a bit and looked back over at the yard, wide eyed and wild. “No.”

Jack started to smile, “Yes. I missed you so much. And everytime I thought about it, I came out here and puttered around. This is for you.”

Bitty walked to the middle of the yard and slowly took in the backyard all over again, from the pair of apples trees in the far corner, the raised square foot garden bed of vegetables, the barrels for potatoes, the trellises for beans and vines, the flower beds filled with roses and lavender, the herb window boxes, and rain barrels. There were frames for beehives set up in the far back. Jack had even included tables and chairs for sitting on the deck with the beams raised for a pergola.

Bitty outstretched his hand and Jack rushed to take it. “This is for me.” he stated.

“Yes.”

“Good.” And Bitty pulled Jack in and kissed him gently on the lips.

When Jack gently pulled away, he rested his forehead against Bitty’s. “Good. Also, do you have recipes for tomatoes? I had no idea four plants could produce that much fruit.”

#bittyjack #fanfiction #bittysvalentines #bv2019 #omgcp

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ameryth74 · 5 years

Text

Louis **** Title Generator Tool

** **** it

LOL.... go!

Two letter words:

There are 107 acceptable 2-letter words listed in the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary, 6th Edition and the Official Tournament and Club Word List:

AA, AB, AD, AE, AG, AH, AI, AL, AM, AN, AR, AS, AT, AW, AX, AY, BA, BE, BI, BO, BY, DA, DE, DO, ED, EF, EH, EL, EM, EN, ER, ES, ET, EW, EX, FA, FE, GI, GO, HA, HE, HI, HO, ID, IF, IN, IS, IT, JO, JU, JY, JZ, KA, KI, KO, LA, LI, LO, MA, ME, MI, MM, MO, MU, MY, NA, NE, NO, NU, OD, OE, OF, OH, OI, OK, OM, ON, OP, OR, OS, OW, OX, PA, PE, PI, PO, QI, RE, SH, SI, SO, TA, TE, TI, TO, UH, UM, UN, UP, US, UT, WE, WO, XI, XU, YA, YE, YO, ZA

Two letter contractions: I’m, I’d

Four letter verbs:

abet, abut, abye/aby, ache, alit, ally, ante, arch, aver, avow (10).

baby, bach, back, bade, baff, bail, bait, bake, bald, bale, balk, ball, band, bang, bank, bant, barb, bard, bare, barf, bark, base, bash, bask, bate, bath, bauk, bawl, bead, beam, bean, bear, beat, beck, bede, beef, been, beep, bell, belt, bend, bent, bere, best, bias, bide(archaic usage), biff, bike, bilk, bill, bind, bird, birl, birr, bite, bitt, blab, blat, blaw, bled, blet, blew, blip, blob, blot, blow, blub, blue, blur, boak, boat, bode, body, boff(vulgar usage), boil, boke, bomb, bond, bone, bong, bonk, boob, book, boom, boot, bore, born, boss, boun, bowl, brad, brag, bray, bred, brew, brim, buck, buff, bulk, bull, bump, bung, bunk, bunt, buoy, burl, burn, burp, burr, bury, bush, busk, buss, bust, busy, butt, buzz (117).

ca-ca, cage, cake, calk, call, calm, came, camp, cane, cant, card, care, carp, cart, case, cash, cast, cave, cede, cere, chap, char, chat, chaw, chid, chin, chip, chop, chow, chug, chum, cite, clad, clam, clap, claw, clay, clew, clip, clog, clop, clot, cloy, club, clue, coal, coat, coax, cock, code, coif, coil, coin, coke, comb, come, comp, cone, conk, conn, cook, cool, coop, cope, copy, cord, core, cork, corn, cosh, cost, coup, cove, cowl, crab, cram, crap, crew, crib, crop, crow, cube, cuff, cull, curb, curd, cure, curl, curr, cuss (90).

dado, daff, damn, damp, dang, dare, dark, darn, dart, dash, date, daub, dawn, daze, deal, deck, deed, deem, defy, deke, dele, demo, dent, deny, dial, dice, died, diet, dike, dine, ding, ding, dint, dirk, disc, dish, disk, diss, dive, dock, doff, dole, dome, done, doom, dope, dose, doss, dote, dove, down, doze, drab, drag, draw, dray, dree, drew, drip, drop, drub, drug, drum, duck, duel, duet, dull, dumb, dump, dung, dunk, dupe, dusk, dust, dyke (75).

earn, ease, echo, eddy, edge, edit, emit, envy, espy, etch, even, exit (12).

face, fade, fail, fake, fall, fame, fard, fare, farm, fart, fash, fast, fate, fawn, faze, fear, feed, feel, fell, felt, fend, fess, fete, feud, file, fill, film, find, fine, fink, fire, firm, fish, fist, fizz, flag, flap, flat, flaw, flay, fled, flee, flew, flex, flip, flit, flog, flop, flow, flub, flux, foal, foam, foil, foin, fold, fond, fool, foot, ford, fork, form, foul, fowl, frag, frap, fray, free, fret, frig, frit, fuel, full, fume, fund, funk, furl, fuse, fuss, futz, fuze, fuzz (82).

gaff, gage, gain, gait, gall, game, gang, gaol, gape, garb, gash, gasp, gast(obsolete), gate, gaum(US), gave, gawk, gawp, gaze, gear, geld, gibe, gift, gild, gill, gimp, gird, girt, give, glad(archaic), glom, glow, glue, glug, glut, gnar, gnaw, go by, go on, goad, golf, gone, gong, goof, gore, gown, grab, gray, grew, grey, grid, grin, grip, grit, grow, grub, gulf, gull, gulp, gush, gust, gybe, gyre, gyve (64).

hack, haft, hail, hale, halo, halt, hand, hang, hare, hark, harm, harp, hash, hasp, hast, hate, hath(archaic), haul, have, hawk, haze, head, heal, heap, hear, heat, heed, heel, heft, held, helm, help, hent(obsolete), herd, hewn, hide, hike, hill, hint, hire, hiss, hive, hoax, hock, hoke(slang), hold, hole, home, hone, honk, hood, hoof, hook, hoop, hoot, hope, horn, hose, host, hove, howl, huff, hulk, hull, hump, hung, hunt, hurl, hurt, hush, husk, hymn, hype, hypo (74).

idle, inch, iris, iron, isle, itch (6).

jack, jade, jail, jape, jazz, jeep, jeer, jell, jerk, jest, jibe, jilt, jink, jinx, jive, join, joke, jolt, josh, juke, jump, junk (22).

kayo, keek(Scots), keel, keen, keep, kept, kern, kick, kill, kiln, kilt, kink, kiss, kite, knap, knew, knit, knot, know (19).

lace, lack, laid, lain, lair, lake, lamb, lame, land, lard, lark, lase, lash, last, lath, laud, lave, laze, lazy, lead, leaf, leak, lean, leap, lech, leer, left, lend, lens, lent, levy, lick, lift, like, lilt, limb, lime, limn, limp, line, link, lisp, list, live, load, loaf, loan, lock, loft, loll, long, look, loom, loop, loot, lope, lord, lose, lost, loup(Scots), lour, lout, love, lube, luck, luff, luge, lull, lump, lure, lurk, lust, lute, lyse (74).

mace, made, mail, maim, make, mall, malt, mark, marl, mart, mash, mask, mass, mast, mate, maul, maze, mean, meet, meld, mell, melt, mend, meow, mesh, mess, mete, mewl, miff, milk, mill, mime, mind, mine, mint, mire, miss, mist, moan, moat, mock, moil, mold, molt, moon, moor, moot, mope, moss, move, muck, muff, mull, mump, muse, mush, muss, must, mute (59).

nail, name, near, neck, need, nest, nick, nigh, nill(obsolete), nock, nose, nosh, note, nuke, null, numb (16).

obey, ogle, oink, okay, omen, omit, ooze, open, oust, over (10).

pace, pack, page, pain, pair, pale, pall, palm, pang, pant, pare, park, part, pash(Austral), pass, pave, pawn, peak, peal, peck, peek, peel, peen, peep, peer, pelt, pend, perk, perm, pick, pike, pile, pill, pimp, pine, ping, pink, pipe, piss(vulgar), pith, pity, plan, plat, play, plod, plop, plot, plow, plug, pock, poke, pole, poll, pond, pool, pore, port, pose, post, pour, pout, pray, pree, prep, prey, prim, prod, prog, prop, puff, puke, pule, pull, pulp, pump, punt, purl, purr, push, putt (80).

quad, quip, quit, quiz (4).

race, rack, raft, rage, raid, rail, rain, rake, ramp, rang, rank, rant, rape, rase, rasp, rate, rave, raze, razz, read, ream, reap, rear, reck, redd(dialect), rede(archaic), redo, reed, reef, reek, reel, rein, rely, rend, rent, rest, re-up, rice, rick, ride, riff, rift, rile, rill, rime(archaic)/rhyme, ring, riot, rise, risk, rive, roam, roar, robe, rock, rode, roil, rolf, roll, romp, roof, rook, room, root, rope, rose, rout, rove, ruck, ruff, ruin, rule, rush, rust (73).

sack, said, sail, sale, salt, sand, sass, sate, save, sawn, scab, scam, scan, scar, scat, scud, scum, seal, seam, sear, seat, seed, seek, seel, seem, seen, seep, sell, send, sent, sewn, shag, sham, shed, shim, shin, ship, shit, shoe, shog, shoo, shop, shot, show, shun, shut, sick, side, sift, sigh, sign, silk, silt, sing, sink, sire, site, size, skew, skid, skim, skin, skip, slab, slag, slam, slap, slat, slay, sled, slew, slid, slim, slip, slit, slog, slop, slot, slow, slub, slue, slug, slum, slur, smut, snag, snap, snip, snow, snub, snug, soak, soap, soar, sock, soil, sold, sole, solo, soot, sorb, sort, soup, sour, sown, spae(scottish), spam, span, spar, spat, spay, spec, sped, spew, spin, spit, spot, spud, spur, spurn, stab, stag, star, stay, stem, step, stet, stew, stir, stop, stow, stub, stud, stun, suck, suds, suit, sulk, sung, sunk, surf, swab, swag, swam, swan(brit), swap, swat, sway, swig, swim, swob, swop(brit)/swap, swot, swum, sync (155).

tabu, tack, tail, take, talc, talk, tame, tamp, tang, tank, tape, tare, task, taut, taxi, team, tear, teem, tell, tend, tent, term, test, text, thaw, thin, thud, tick, tide, tidy, tier, tiff, tile, till, tilt, time, tine, ting, tint, tire, toil, toke, told, tole, toll, tomb, tone, tong, took, tool, toot, tope, tore, torn, toss, tote, tour, tout, tram, trap, tree, trek, trim, trip, trod, trot, trow(archaic), true, tube, tuck, tuft, tune, turf, turn, tusk, twig(Brit), twin, twit, type (79).

undo, urge (2).

vade, vail(archaic), vamp, vary, veal, veer, veil, vein, vend, vent, vest, veto, vide, view, vine, visa, vise, void, vote (19).

wade, waft, wage, wail, wait, wake, wale, walk, wall, wane, want, ward, ware(archaic), warm, warn, warp, wash, waul, wave, wawl, wean, wear, weed, ween, weep, weet, weld, well, welt, wend, went, wept, were, wert(archaic), wham, whap, whet, whid(Scottish), whip, whir, whiz, whop, wick, wile, will, wilt, wind, wine, wing, wink, wipe, wire, wise, wish, wisp, wist, wite, wive, woke, wolf, wont, wood, woof, word, wore, work, worm, worn, wove, wrap, writ(archaic) (71).

x-ray (1).

yack, yank, yard, yarn, yaup, yawn, yawp, yean, yell, yelp, yerk, yeuk, yock, yoke, yowl, yo-yo(informal), yuck (17).

zero, zest, zinc, zing, zone, zonk, zoom (7).

IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT

(yes there are 28 ITs)

#louis tomlinson #song title #** **** it #lt1 #lol 😂#*** **

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zen-garden-gnome · 5 years

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Notes, references - Gardening in Central Florida, 05/12/2019

I dunno much about gardening, but as soon as I accepted it was time to start making and learning from mistakes, local resources and opportunities started popping out at me. I immediately came across tons of upcoming classes, seed giveaways, and opportunities to tour some small, local farms. I’m documenting everything I can in case I need to reference something later, and to make the content available for anyone else who might share my anxieties about starting something new. I’m learning really basic stuff, and I’m having a great time!

I’d learned about traveling activist and gardener Rob Greenfield a couple of weeks prior to participating in a hands-on introductory gardening class in his front yard. Among other projects, these days he’s dedicating a year to eating only what he can grow and forage while leaving a minimal footprint and documenting his processes and local resources, right here in Central Florida! Greenfield was new to my state when he started his garden here, so he’s learning as he goes, which makes his observations especially relevant to beginners like me. When I didn’t have my fingers in the dirt, I was able to take these notes:

Annuals are plants that flower/produce once in their season and never again. These include carrots, kale, lettuces, etc. While annuals typically require re-seeding, some annuals are self-seeding, like Amaranth.

Perennials are plants that continue growing and expanding, year after year. All fruit trees are perennials, for example.

Most seeds need to be dry (not green) before harvesting for seeding.

We harvested a ton of delicious but stubby little carrots. Failure to thin carrots as they grow may cause the taproots to grow abnormally or fail to grow much at all. The presence of larger/harder soil aggregates may also cause carrots to deform and grow around the obstruction, but I don’t know if that matters much.

An easy way to prepare a yard for planting is to apply a layer of cardboard topped with 6 inches of mulch. This promotes weed die-off and soil development by blocking the sun and trapping moisture during the mulch’s gradual decomposition process. Particularly bad soil benefits from keeping the mulch damp and waiting multiple seasons before sowing any seeds. Heavy mulch holds carbon, so avoid keeping bigger chunks on top. (Rob told us about a great resource for accessing cheap mulch!)

Pull back the mulch along ridges intended for planting, and top with a layer of mushroom compost instead of gardening soil (approx $25 per self-serve truck bed at the nearby Monterrey mushroom facility, and apparently there’s a local fella named Alex who offers to pick up and deliver a dump truck’s worth of mushroom compost for $225 per load). Mushroom compost is high in Nitrogen and acts as a great soil all on its own. In fact, this is more of a one-time soil application than a yearly practice. Plant directly into the compost, unless it’s still hot from the farm. If so, wait for up to a week before planting anything in the cooled compost.

Apparently Summer’s a bad season for Florida gardeners, and I’m not surprised. The heat is unbearable, there are long dry spells, and the humidity invites all kinds of destructive insects. It was Spring when I took this class, but not according to Florida! Some summer crop suggestions are for the southeast are:

Sweet potatoes - Survives the heat and spreads quickly with big leaves, so also good for weed-blocking ground cover. Up to a ⅓ of the leaf growth of a sweet potato vine can be harvested without affecting the overall crop, and these leaves are highly nutritious.

Moringa - Almost all parts of this tree are edible and nutritious, and it’s also good for monthly pollarding--chopping branches down close to the tree to encourage fuller growth. The more branches grow back quickly, leaving behind lots of nutritious edible greens and/or green compost.

Bananas - Great spot for all kinds of chunky compost, and tends to come back if it dies back.

Everglades tomatoes - While larger varieties of tomatoes will struggle in a Florida summer, Everglades tomatoes are too tiny to be as affected by dehydration or scalding. See below.

Eggplant - Sure, why not?

Okra - Ideal for the climate and for digestion.

Rosel/Jamaican Sorrel/Florida Cranberry/Hibiscus sabdariffa

Amaranth - Virtually every part is edible. Tiny grains. See below.

Some peppers - Visitors got to take a pepper off of an unnamed pepper plant in Rob’s garden. It was hot and sweet and fleshy, and I hope to grow some with the seeds I got from my sample. See below.

Mint - Grows like a weed, and seems to do fine in full Florida sun. See below.

Finally, I was reminded that there’s a local non-profit operating near the neighborhood Greenfield’s currently living in. For professional assistance designing, installing, and maintaining your own food garden in Central Florida (or if you’re looking for a learning opportunity or a great community project to support), check out Fleet Farming.

#gardening #permaculture #whollyhuman #notes #reference #rob greenfield #florida #summer #zgg

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ukulelecal · 6 years

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Baby Talk

In which Calum hears you talking to your baby.

Warnings: none just fluff

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Requested By: Anonymous

“Hiiii! Can I request a scenario with Calum and his pregnant wife. She is talking to the baby while tending to their garden and he finds it to be cute. Thanks“

A/N: i like burned out on the talking to the baby thing (its still there dw) so i added a little extra fluff at the end!

Requests are OPEN!

*Gif not mine*

Despite your pregnancy, you were still determined to stay active and not fall behind on your day to day activities. Of course, you didn’t want to push your limits and end up hurting yourself or the baby, but you weren’t going to sit around and do nothing all day. It just didn’t seem appealing to you, so you still tried to do most of the things you did every day.

Calum, being the protective husband he was, was always careful about making sure you didn’t exert yourself too much. He wanted to let you have the independence you wanted and not confine you to the couch, but he couldn’t help but worry sometimes. You and the baby were his everything, and he would hate to see anything bad happen to either of you.

You were now about six months pregnant, and some yard work needed to be done. The garden was growing nicely, as it was the perfect time in the summer, and it needed to be taken care of properly. Calum insisted he do it all himself; it was a hot day, and he didn’t want you getting overheated. But, you still decided that going out to at least water the plants in the garden couldn’t hurt. What was so difficult about waving a hose around? Calum eventually agreed, but made it clear that you had to go inside to cool down and take a break if you needed it.

You made your way outside after putting on some gardening gloves for safety purposes and grabbing a bowl to put any vegetables in that seemed ready to be picked, and turned the knob on the side of the house to turn on the hose. You then grabbed the tube of the hose and dragged it over to the garden.

With hose nozzle in hand, you started to spray the mix of flowers and vegetables in the garden, making sure to cover the entire area with just enough water. Calum was a little further down, trimming a hedge that was starting to overgrow. He glanced over at you every now and then, just to make sure you were doing okay.

After you finished watering, you raked your eyes over all the plants, searching for any vegetables that needed picking or any weeds that needed pulling. Finding a few, you carefully lowered yourself to your knees to get to work, although it was agreed upon that you would be watering the plants only.

Calum glanced over at you, eyebrows furrowing when he saw you on your knees. Seeing you were okay, he bit his lip and forced himself to just let you be. He knew you would stop if it was too much. With that, he continued on trimming the hedge.

You fell back onto your heels after a few minutes, stopping to catch your breath for a second.

“You’re making this real difficult, you know that?” You mumbled, glancing down at your protruding stomach. You gently rubbed your hand over the large bump, basically forgetting that your husband was just feet away from you. “That’s alright, though.” It was only a matter of time before you and Calum would welcome Baby Hood into the world, and you were ecstatic to soon have your first child with the love of your life.

You pushed yourself back up with a grunt, reaching for a cherry tomato.

“Daddy and I can’t wait to meet you,” you whispered, pulling the tomato from the vine and dropping it into the bowl. “We’ve got everything ready for you, little one. A nursery, clothes, toys, all of it. In a couple months after you’ve grown some more, you can come out and have it.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled a weed from the soil.

“I’m so excited to finally have you out of my tummy and in my arms, baby.”

You continued to utter sweet words to your child as, unbeknownst to you, Calum listened to the entire thing. A large grin was plastered on his face, and he eventually leaned the hedge trimmers against the fence and just listened. Listened to you talk to the baby, shower the child with the love and affection that was plentiful in your heart. It was a wonderful sight to him, seeing his wife speaking to his child, your child, in the most adorable manner. You hardly even noticed that you were talking; it had become second nature to talk to your baby, and he frequently did the same. Typically you were alone, but now, you happened to be just a few feet away from Calum.

You sat back onto your heels again, having finished picking veggies and weeding. Your hand returned to your stomach, gently rubbing your thumb over the fabric of your shirt.

“Mommy loves you very much,” you mumbled softly, grinning from ear to ear.

Calum quickly scurried over, getting on his knees beside you.

“And Daddy loves you too,” he quipped, placing his hand over yours.

You jumped, having completely forgotten that he was even outside with you. You placed your free hand over your chest, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Geez, you scared me!” You exclaimed with a smile. Your face then faltered, realizing he must have listened to everything you were saying. “Guess you heard all the corny baby talk, huh?”

Calum chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“It was cute,” he mused, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you leaned your head against his shoulder. Before you could say anything else, Calum spoke up.

“I love you, princess. And I love you, little one,” he said as he rubbed his hand over your bump. Suddenly, you felt a hit to your insides. Calum must have felt it too, because his face lit up like the sun.

“They kicked!” You exclaimed, meeting his eyes with a bright smile. It wasn’t the first time you felt the baby kicking, but it never ceased to amaze you. That was a living baby inside you, a living baby that you and Calum made yourselves with love, and some time soon, you could have the baby for real and actually be parents.

“She’s totally a daddy’s girl,” he mumbled with a smirk.

You giggled, giving him a quizzical look.

“Who says it’s a girl?” You questioned and tilted your head to the side. Calum shrugged in response, still looking smug.

“I’ve got a feeling.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got a feeling he’s a boy.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, pressing his lips against yours for a moment.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”

“Guess so.”

Calum pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out to help you up. You gladly took it, grunting as you carefully stood.

“Man, my baby boy really makes this tough,” you trailed off, just to tease him. He laughed and shook his head, keeping his hand on your arm to steady you.

“Nah, that’s my baby girl in there,” he teased right back, giving your bump a gentle poke with his slender finger. You playfully slapped his shoulder, and he kissed you again.

“You should go inside and cool off, Y/N. I can finish up out here,” he mumbled as he pulled away, face turning a little more serious than before.

“Cal, I’m fi-”

“Please? For the sake of my sanity?” He pleaded, jutting his bottom lip out dramatically. You sighed, unable to resist that puppy face of his.

“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, and Calum broke out into a grin. Tilting your head up, you gave him one last kiss before turning around to head back inside.

“I’ll be in there soon,” he called out as you walked, and you shot him a thumbs up over your head. He smiled in adoration, watching to make sure you got inside before picking up the hedge trimmers again.

He was beyond excited to have the baby, but he could settle for little talks through your stomach until then.

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lady-divine-writes · 6 years

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Kurtbastian fic - “Alone Where the Roads Don’t Travel - Chapter 1” (Rated M)

Kurt, a boy who doesn't believe in magic or fairy tales, will grow up to discover that he is full of magic. And as for fairy tales? His life practically is one.

Notes: I have been working on this story for a while now. Years, as a matter of fact, using the prompts from @kurtoberfest. I apologize that, even though this is a Halloween story, it won't be complete by Halloween. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Read on AO3.

“Can we go?” Kurt chants, kicking his feet as his father slips the last rain boot over his sneakered foot. “Can we go? Can we go yet? Can we go? Can we can we can we can we …?”

“Hold on, kiddo!” Burt laughs, wrangling his barely bundled seven-year-old son as the boy tries to scurry out of his parents’ grasp. “We’ve got all afternoon to pick our pumpkins. But there’s a few things we’ve gotta talk about first.”

“Aw, all right!” Kurt groans, surrendering to his mom’s fussing over his gloves while his father fastens the jute toggles on his grey wool coat. “Just don’t make it too wordy. We’re burning daylight.”

Elizabeth looks over at her husband and snickers. “Now who does that sound like?”

“Your father,” Burt answers quickly, and receives a smack on the thigh for his remark.

“Okay, love,” Elizabeth says, returning to her little boy. “The rules are look before you leap. There could be slick patches of mud and uneven ground. I don’t want you slipping and twisting an ankle.”

“I know,” Kurt grumbles, though he definitely did not know. This pumpkin patch isn’t the same roadside stand they usually go to. That stand closed down, completely out of the blue. Not a single member of the Hummel clan understood why since the place had an advertisement printed in The Lima News yesterday. But they pulled up to it – or to the spot where it had been – and the whole stand is gone.

Vanished without a trace.

And not just the stand, but the field beyond, which was usually filled to bursting with pumpkins, squash, corn, bell peppers, and every other vegetable that sprouts during the fall, lay fallow.

Unsown.

It was as if the stand - the same stand his parents had been going to since they were children, the same stand their local news station visited at the beginning of October the way they did every year - had never existed.

They were about to go home and regroup, look for another stand nearby, when they stumbled across this place. Admittedly, Kurt’s parents weren’t too thrilled to stop here. For one thing, this whole place seemed deserted, run by a single old man at the entrance - stooped in posture, haggard in appearance, with one clouded eye and a head of stringy white hairs starting midway past his crown and ending above the knob of his neck. When he looked at Kurt, Kurt felt it, like a hand grabbing his heart, and not from the man’s clear eye, but from the milky white one, moving through Kurt as if the man were taking a peek inside him.

Looking through him at his very soul.

And Kurt felt transparent. Like cellophane.

He had a voice like broken glass, and a laugh that sounded like cats being skinned alive.

Kurt was glad he only had to hear it once.

But as unsettling as that man was, even that didn’t dissuade Kurt.

Kurt’s parents shared many a significant look during the decision making process. But Kurt insisted. It was three days before Halloween. They were running out of time. He wanted a pumpkin, preferably not one bought at The Home Depot or the supermarket since where’s the fun in that? And this place, with its air of rustic mystique, seemed like the perfect place to find one.

They tried to talk Kurt out of it, but his little mind was made up, and his parents, the way most well-meaning parents are, didn’t want to disappoint him, even if a question of safety was involved.

“If you find a pumpkin you like, don’t pick it up,” his father adds. “These are going to be bigger than the ones we usually get. Call me over, and I’ll help you.”

“Yeah, yeah …”

“But most importantly, stay where you can see us,” Elizabeth stresses, wrapping her own too long red cashmere scarf around Kurt’s neck and tying it in front. “If you can’t see us, we probably can’t see you.”

“I know, Mommy,” Kurt says, burying his nose in the knot and breathing in to catch a whiff of his mother’s perfume.

“And don’t go near the trees,” she warns in a slightly lower voice, as if the trees, standing at the boundary of the field over a hundred yards away, might be listening.

Kurt turns to look at them – tall, dark sentries of greying bark standing guard before an even darker wood. There’s a silence about them. A steadfastness. A chill wind blows, fluttering the vines along the ground, but it doesn’t seem to budge the leaves on those trees. That does make them appear a tad bit ominous, but other than that, they’re just trees. It’s a forest. Outside of fairy tales, Kurt has never known a forest to be scary.

And even though he’s only all of seven-years-old, Kurt doesn’t believe in fairy tales.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because it’s getting dark,” his mother says, “and it’s getting cold. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

Kurt nods. That seems fair. That’s definitely a mom thing to say. But there’s something in the tone of her voice, in the hardness of her inflection that niggles at him. It’s not a cruel hardness. It’s more of a veil, hiding how she really feels.

As if her reason for him not going near the trees goes deeper than ‘it’s dark and it’s cold’.

“Okay,” he agrees. There isn’t any reason for him to go near the trees anyway. Today is about picking out pumpkins with his mom and dad. It’s not for exploring by himself. After this, they’re making cookies and candied apples and cider, then spending the whole night carving jack ‘o lanterns while watching scary(ish) movies. He doesn’t want to do a single thing that might derail their plans by a single minute.

Considering the way his folks have been talking – late at night after he’s in bed, when they think he can’t hear – he’s beginning to believe they might not be celebrating Halloween this way much longer. Like his parents think he’s getting too old or something.

Whatever their reason is, it seems to make them sad, so as soon as he can, he’s going to reassure them that there’s no reason at all to stop.

Kurt intends on celebrating Halloween forever and ever.

Once Elizabeth has her son properly shielded against the cold, the three set off into the pumpkin patch, weeding through the vines, meandering amongst the squash, on the search for the family of pumpkins that will adorn their doorstep, their dining room table, and the hearth in front of the fireplace.

“Do you see one you want yet, kiddo?” Kurt’s father asks, glancing periodically over his shoulder as they walk farther in. The ground begins to slope and it spurs Kurt ahead, but he does his best to stay within comfortable talking distance of his dad.

“I don’t know.” Kurt carefully examines one gourd, then the next. The ones in this particular section are misshapen, grotesque, knobby. Those are the kinds of pumpkins his father likes – the ones he can turn into goblins and trolls with a few masterful slices of his carving tools.

The ones he can decimate with his sledgehammer the second Halloween is over.

But Kurt likes the picturesque pumpkins – the ones without dents or growths; round and evenly segmented, almost unnaturally so, like he’s seen in Simply Living magazine.

The ones that match his mother’s decorating aesthetic.

His mother has already chosen her pumpkin and taken it back to their SUV. Kurt wishes she could have ventured with them longer, but she gets so tired nowadays – out of breath during the shortest of walks. They no longer go on treks to the park, or strolls to the market. She sleeps in later, goes to bed earlier, stares off into the distance for long periods, and cries with no explanation as to why.

There’s something going on. Something wrong. Like the forest.

And just like the forest, no one will tell him what it is that they really fear.

A rustle of leaves and a small whimper draw Kurt and Burt’s attentions away from the pumpkins and up to the top of the hill, beyond which they can’t see, but where their SUV is parked. Burt looks at his son, then past him at the forest, a wealth of thoughts scrolling behind his tired eyes.

“I … think I should go check on your mother,” he says, body turned halfway up the hill, quietly debating if he should make his son come with. Or waiting for Kurt to offer. But Kurt is only seven. He doesn’t know that’s what his father wants him to do.

He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Burt sees his own fear reflected in his son’s eyes as they begin to widen, and he smiles to soothe him. This is supposed to be a good day. That’s what he and Elizabeth had wanted. A fun afternoon filled with pleasant memories.

They’ll be needing more of these during the oncoming months. Best not to sabotage this one.

He doesn’t want to frighten his son over nothing.

“I’ll only be a minute,” Burt says. “You keep looking, but … stay here. Don’t go any farther without me.”

“I won’t,” Kurt says, relief curling into a smile that lifts his red cheeks. “I promise.”

“Good.” Another whimper and Burt’s steps quicken. “I’ll just be …” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s up and over the hill in the space of ten steps when Kurt could have sworn it took them twenty to get down there. No matter. Eyes on the prize, he tells himself as he returns to the pumpkins. He needs to find one so perfect that it’ll take his parents’ minds off of whatever it is they’re worried about. A pumpkin so perfect, it’ll make that forest seem less scary. A pumpkin so perfect, it could end hunger, bring about world peace, and win him a spot on the cover of next year’s Martha Stewart Living.

Kurt chuckles to himself. Alright. That might be overdoing it a little.

He’ll settle for … a pumpkin so perfect, it could cure cancer.

“Hello.”

Kurt’s gaze snaps up at the sound of a voice that’s not his father’s, not his mother’s, and definitely not the man from the entrance. Standing in front of him a little ways away is a boy about his age, bearing a wide smile of straight, white teeth. He has brown hair like Kurt’s, and green eyes that are not. That’s important for Kurt to note because sometimes he’ll see images of himself that he swears are other people, but they’re not. They’re just him.

But this boy is definitely not him.

For one thing, he’s not as wrapped up as Kurt. The coat he’s wearing looks much more elegant than Kurt’s for a plain old Tuesday afternoon. It looks like the kind of coat one would wear to the theater, or to church.

Or to a funeral.

How can he walk through this muddy field of pumpkins and not worry about getting that expensive coat filthy?

Kurt definitely has questions for this boy’s mother.

Kurt glances curiously side to side.

Where is this boy’s mother?

The boy with the green eyes smirks.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Uh … nothing,” Kurt says. “It’s just … I thought my parents and I were the only ones here.”

“It’s a big place,” the boy says, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s easy to miss people, even when they’re right in front of you.”

“I guess so.”

“My name’s Sebastian, by the way,” the boy says. “Not that you’re asking or anything.”

“Sorry,” Kurt apologizes since Sebastian sounds mildly offended. “Mine’s Kurt.”

Sebastian nods. “So … you lookin’ for a pumpkin?”

Kurt scans the field around him, rows of pumpkins stretching as far as the eye can see … and nothing else. “Yup. That’s what I’m doin’.”

“Well, these pumpkins here are nice and all,” Sebastian remarks, toeing a gourd at his feet, “but I think the best pumpkins are over there.” He gestures toward the far side of the patch, closer to the line of trees. Kurt’s eyes follow, momentarily forgetting his parents’ warning as the thought of a pumpkin more perfect than the ones he can already see occupies his brain.

The pumpkin that could solve his problems.

“Why do you think that?” Kurt asks.

“No one goes over there. Nobody’s stomped on them or smushed them. And the ground’s dry, so they’re not moldy and soft. Every single one is better than the next.”

“Really?” Kurt says. Martha Stewart Living, here I come.

“A-ha. If you come with me, I’ll show you.”

The boy reaches out a hand. On impulse, Kurt does the same. He extends his small arm, and a strange sensation overtakes his body – electricity crackling from his skin to Sebastian’s, arching between them in strings of thin blue light. Kurt can’t seem to make his legs move, but he feels himself being carried forward. There’s a power inside him, one he’s felt before but that he does his best not to recognize, but it’s never done anything like this before. This is bigger than him, stronger than him. Whatever this is, it’s both his and borrowed from this boy with the green eyes, whose heart, from five feet away, Kurt can hear in his ears, beating at the same rhythm as his own.

“Come with me,” Sebastian says, reaching but avoiding Kurt’s touch as if he can’t take Kurt’s hand alone.

He needs Kurt to take his instead.

And Kurt tries, but the more he reaches forward, the farther the boy moves away. Kurt’s feet, which could easily solve the problem by lifting off the ground, seem to have grown roots. They tug him backwards, his heels creating furrows in the dirt from the strength of his resistance.

“Come on, Kurt,” Sebastian pleads, sounding inexplicably desperate. “Only a few more inches …”

“I’m … grrr … trying,” Kurt says, but he can’t reach any farther. He can’t make his arm stretch those last few inches. A distant warning rings in his ears that sounds like his mother’s voice calling his name, but Kurt ignores it … only for a few more seconds, he thinks, so he can reach Sebastian and take his hand. He needs to take Sebastian’s hand. Looking for the perfect pumpkin is no longer his goal.

Touching Sebastian is.

And like everything else going on around him, every look he can’t decipher, every secret whispered in his presence but out of his earshot, he doesn’t know why.

But he’s certain he’ll understand when he finally takes Sebastian’s hand and this is over.

“Kurt!” his mother cries. “Don’t, Kurt! Don’t take another step! Please!”

Kurt hesitates, and with that hesitation, he and Sebastian slip farther apart. The distance between them widens until Kurt knows he won’t be able to reach Sebastian, not even if he manages to break free of whatever’s wound around his ankles and takes a flying leap. Sebastian flexes his fingers, and the electricity grows brighter. A single fork breaks free from the rest and spits forward, pricking Kurt’s finger. Heat spirals up his arm, leaving a trail of fire behind. It becomes too heavy to lift and drops back to his side, but before it does, before his fingers break the connection between himself and Sebastian, that electricity zips through Kurt’s chest … and pierces his heart.

A sad smile lifts Sebastian’s lips.

“Kurt!” Elizabeth wraps her arms around him, tries to scoop him up. She falters, falls forward, but Burt catches them. She makes do with his help, Kurt’s father hugging them both as if their lives depended on it. “What were you doing!?”

“I was … I was looking for pumpkins!” Kurt scrunches his nose, confused as to why his mom and dad look so frightened, why they’re hugging him so tightly. “I wasn’t going to go into the forest! Honest!”

“But you were!” Elizabeth cries, burying her head in Kurt’s neck. “You were nearly there!”

“No,” Kurt argues, not because he’s in the habit of disagreeing with his mother, but because she had to be mistaken. He would never disobey her. And even if he’d wanted to, there was no way. He’d inched forward a step or two, but after that, he couldn’t move. “I was just going to look for the good pumpkins, with Sebastian.”

“Who … who’s Sebastian, love?” Elizabeth sniffles, her tears drying in an instant at the mention of a name. “Where is he?”

“He’s right there …” Kurt turns to point and notices for the first time where they are. A foot in front of him stand the foreboding line of trees that guard the woods. Standing this close to them, Kurt can understand a little better his mother’s fears. It’s not even so much the trees, but the darkness beyond them that takes his breath away. Kurt isn’t a stranger to forests. Where they live in Lima, Ohio, there are many forests, lining the outskirts of every park, and almost every property. But they usually have a warm, welcoming feeling to them. A serenity that’s inviting and safe.

These woods are dark. That’s the only word Kurt can think of to describe them. Darker than dark. A darkness so overwhelming, it becomes a void. Not a single shadow can he see, not a silhouette. A wolf could be crouching out in the open a few feet within and he would never see the creature. Not until it opened its eyes and bared its teeth.

Not until it was ready to strike.

And that was another thing.

More mysterious than how Kurt might have made his way to the forest’s edge with no recollection of it, Sebastian, with his green eyes and white teeth, was nowhere to be seen.

“But … he was here. He was right here,” Kurt mutters in confusion. “I … I swear. I’m not lying.”

Burt and Elizabeth exchange a look.

“Don’t worry. We believe you, kiddo,” Burt says, mussing his son’s hair.

“You don’t think …?” Elizabeth starts, but Burt nods. It’s not what he thinks, it’s what he saw. He felt it in the ground beneath his feet, the way it shifted uncomfortably. The vines had begun to grow around them, climbing up the hillside to warn them. The sky itself had summoned them, grey clouds closing in overhead, sparking to get their attention. Then they saw their son, gliding across the ground as if floating, wrapped in a cloak of blue lightning.

The only thing they didn’t see was another boy. To their eyes, there was no one else in sight.

But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.

It means he wasn’t meant for them to see.

If what Kurt says is true, and Burt has no doubt it is, he has found them.

And he means to take their son.

Elizabeth hugs Kurt tighter as Burt turns her towards their SUV.

“I think we’d better go,” he says. “Now.”

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #frankie writes

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