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kpop---scenarios · 3 years

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Revenge Is A Bitch (1)

Pairing: Nichkhun x Reader | Jaehyun x Reader

Warning: Eventual smut, cheating, angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Surprise! It's now a series. Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

Summary: You're life with Nichkhun was amazing, until you went to visit him on a business trip, where you meet Jaehyun, a friend and coworker of your boyfriend. Things escalate quickly from a little flirting in a club, but things get even worse when Nichkhun finds out. "

Y/N." Nichkhun growls. "Give it back." He says, trying his best not to smile. You stand on the other side of the couch, his phone in your hand as you stick your tongue out at him.

"You want it back?" You ask.

He nods his head.

"Then come get it." You yell, laughing as he charges for you, bursting out into laughter as well. Sometimes you were needy, especially when you felt like he was paying more attention to his phone than you. You giggle and scream as you run around the couch, Wooyoung sitting on the couch watching the two of you in disgust. Nichkhun grabs you, pulling you into him, peppering your face in kisses. You stop fighting him and he sets you down as you both continue laughing. You give him back his phone and he slides it into his pocket before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I love you, beautiful." He whispers.

"And I love you." You grin, placing a kiss on his lips.

"And I'm gonna be sick." Wooyoung groans, leaving the living room as the two of you laugh at his annoyance and disgust of your love. It had been two years of just pure bliss and happiness with Nichkhun, something you never thought you'd ever find, until you found him.

A few hours later, you were sitting on the edge of the bed with your arms crossed as you watched Nichkhun pack a bag. As usual, a last minute business meeting came up, and he was taking off for a week.

"Babe, where's my blue suit? The one with the stripes.. yanno?" He yells from inside the closet. As much as you didn't want to help him, you begrudgingly stood up, shuffling towards the closet to help him find the suit he needed. You roll your eyes as you walk in, and Nichkhun is on one knee, holding a ring pop, making you laugh. "I'm sorry I have to leave my love, but with this ring, I hope you remember that I love you, and I can't wait to come back to you and marry you one day." He grins.

He always knew how to make you feel better and put a smile on your face. Some days you swore he knew you better than you knew yourself. You take the ring and stick it on your finger as he stands up.

"Now, I actually do need my suit." He laughs.

"You mean the one that's hanging right in front of you?" You giggle, taking it off the rack and handing it to him.

"My savior." He grins, putting it carefully in his bag.

"Toothbrush?" You ask him, beginning to list off the items he needs.

"Yes!" He exclaims.

"Underwear? Socks? Passport? Wallet? Casual clothes?" You ask.

"Check, check, check.. where's my passport?" He asks worriedly. Despite only going to a different city, he still needed it.

"Nightstand, left hand side." You sigh. He quickly leaves the closet, going to his nightstand as you zip up his bag, bringing it into the bedroom.

"Like I said, my savior." He grins.

"I'll call you when I land." He says before answering his ringing phone. "I'll be right down."

He gives you a quick peck before heading through your lavish apartment, with you following behind him, watching him walk out the front door, leaving you alone.

It had been a few days and you still hadn't heard from Nichkhun. This really wasn't unusual for him, considering he got very busy with work but he hadn't even sent you a goodnight text in the last 3 days, and that made you really sad. So you decided to do something about it. With a plan in your head you went to sleep, knowing you had an early morning ahead of you.

When you woke up, you booked your last minute ticket, and began packing your bags. You felt a frisson of excitement skate across your nerve endings as you zipped up your bags and waited for your ride to the airport. You very rarely, well actually never had surprised Nichkhun, but this time it felt right. It felt like it was going to be a wonderful surprise.

After a smooth flight, you caught a cab, and told him to go to the hotel Nichkhun was at. You felt like nothing could go wrong, this was the perfect plan, with a perfect execution. You paid the nice cab driver, who also took your bags from his car for you and you went into the lobby to wait for Nichkhun. You called his phone a few times, but he didn't pick up. You look around the fancy hotel and observe a couple who seemed to not be able to keep their hands off each other. You loved that for them. You smiled to yourself, imagining you and Nichkhun being that publicly annoying. You wished you could show your love and passion the way they were. The way they touched each other, it spoke of passion and need and familiarity.

You looked at your phone that has now gone to voicemail six times, you glance up once more and see the faces of the couple that enter the elevator with tears in your eyes.

“Welcome to Club Arriba! What can I get you to drink?”

"6 shots of your strongest liquor." You yell, slapping the credit card that Nichkhun had given you for emergencies. Clearly this was one, and so was the lavish hotel room, and the room service you had ordered before coming to the club.

"You got it." The bartender smiles, sliding the cars off the bar. You stand there waiting for your shots when three girls approach you.

"I love your dress." One giggles. You hold up your finger, asking for a moment before you quickly, and quite professionally down four of the six shots you had bought.

"Thank you." You grin. You turn to the bartender and wave him over. "Four more shots for me and my new friends." You yell, taking the last two shots on the counter.

And like that, you had made friends with some really nice girls, who bought you drinks too. The four of you were dancing, laughing and having a great time when you feel a pair of hands land on your hips. You look behind him and see an extremely handsome man smiling down at you. You don't mind, you enjoy the attention, besides it wasn't like you were getting much these days anyways. You move your body closer to his, swaying your hips to the beat of the music, while smiling at your new friends, who were also dancing with others. As you were getting more into it, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist. You look up and see a man that you absolutely recognize trying to pull you away from the other man that had begun groping you.

"What are you doing?" You ask. Glaring at the man. You know him.. from.. Nickhun's office. "Jaehyun?" You ask. He looks at you surprised that you remembered his name. He pulls you away from the man, through the crowd to a secluded hallway. He swings you around, pushing you against the wall as he crosses his arms.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asks. "You're in a relationship with my good friend and my boss." He hisses.

"Mhm, are you sure you're as good of a friend as you think you are?" You ask, tilting your head to the side.

"I don't understand what you mean." He sighs.

Of course he doesn't. No one knows, you didn't even know until this morning.

"What do you want, Jae? Should I blow you so you don't tell my precious Nichkhun?" You ask, pouting.

"I would never do that to Nichkhun." He deepens. "I'm going to have to tell him about this." He finishes.

You shrug your shoulders, pushing yourself off the wall. "Do what you gotta do." You say. “You know what I’ll help you tell him." You say, taking out your phone. Jaehyun stands there, watching you, unsure of what you're doing. You turn around with snapchat open, and kiss him on the cheek before snapping a picture before he moves away from you.

"What the fuck are you doing? Do you realize that this looks fucking bad?" He yells.

"I've seen the way you look at me when I come into the office. Do you want a taste Jae? Would you like to feel me gripping you while inside me? How about how wet and warm it would feel to cum inside me? So good." You whisper into his ear.

Jaehyun moves back from you, looking partially offended, and partially turned on from what you said. He doesn't say anything to you, he just walks away, and you watch him disappear into the crowd. You adjust your dress and throw your shoulders back and walk back to your new friends.

As you continue to dance, you can feel eyes on you, raking your body up and down. You look around and see Jaehyun leaning against the bar, his arms crossed as he watches you. The way your hands roam your body, the way you lick your lips as you watch him. You can feel his guard being let down as he begins to inch closer to you. The rush of victory flows through your body as he walks towards you.

"Let me take you home." He says, offering his hand to you. He slides Nichkhun's credit card back in your purse and he weaves the two of you out of the club.

"Are you trying to get in my panties, Jaehyun?" You ask, looking at the handsome man.

"I'm just taking you home." He says.

The two of you are standing outside your hotel room as you put your key in and open the door to your large suite.

"Don't tell Nichkhun I'm here." You say, walking inside, Jaehyun following you.

"Let's just get you to bed." He sighs.

You stand in front of him, pulling your dress off, dropping it on the floor. You're almost naked, in front of your boyfriend's good friend, feeling nothing but lust and attraction for this man.

Jaehyun takes a deep breath. "Fuck it." He whispers, crashing his lips onto yours, pushing you onto the bed. Your fun starts now, and soon Nichkhun will know that revenge is a bitch.

#jaehyun #nct jaehyun #nct smut #jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun #2pm #nichkhun #nichkhun smut #2pm smut #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop writing #kpop imagines #kpop icons #kpop smut #jaehyun x reader #nichkhun x reader

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giftofwonder · 3 years

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Cirque de Yuuie - MHA Various x f!Reader

A/N: Hey guys! So this is going to be a multi-part series of one shots. Each part will be a different character. There might be smut, we’ll see what happens. This is the introduction to the plot and characters. Some characters might have multiple parts as well. Let me know if you want anyone specific and also if you’d like to be added to their tag list! Also, let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated.

Intro

Your eyes cracked open, taking in the deep midnight hues that were cast over your room. Pale moonlight bathed everything in a faint glow.

You shifted, rolling to look at the clock on your bedside table. You groaned, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your bed and turned toward your open window. You could hear the boisterous chatter from the streets below. A cool breeze swept in and danced along your heated skin, and you welcomed it with closed eyes and a soft sigh.

Each night you found yourself waking up restless and antsy, unsettled. You’d sit in the confines of your room, and then dress and make your way to the tavern across the road. Tonight was no different.

Your tired limbs trudged across the cobblestone, pushing through drunken bodies that reeked of liquor and sweat.

You grunted as you pushed open the heavy oak door, finding it just as congested as outside. Bodies littered the room heavily, the music and laughter so loud it left your ears ringing. You weaved through the empty spaces and took a seat on a stool by the bar.

“The usual?” You heard a voice called out.

You glanced up, locking eyes with the bar tender as you gave a faint smile and nod.

A glass was slid in your direction a few seconds later, and you wondered if he’d already had it ready for you. You figured that must be the case, it was routine at this point.

“No luck sleeping again, huh?” He said, leaning across the counter as you nursed your drink.

“Afraid not, seems like this is becoming my normal.” You gave a dry laugh, trying to offer up something lighthearted.

“Seems like it. Something troubling you?” His head cocked to the side.

“Just the usual, nothing too bad.” You said, shifting your glass around in your hand.

“Come on now, you waltz in here every night and drink, people with problems that aren’t too bad don’t find themselves perched on one of my stools this often.” He whispered, his gaze intense as he inched across the counter toward you. His hushed voice was lost in the roars of the crowd around you, but you could hear him clear as day.

He wasn’t wrong. You had to give him that. The cluster of people surrounding you dispersed as groups made their way to exit back to the street.

Mummers still resounded around the room, but in the now much quieter atmosphere, you felt yourself relaxing. You leaned forward, propping your elbows against the chipped counter and braced your cheek in your palm.

��I just feel...I don’t know...an overwhelming amount of disinterest in my life. I wake up, I work hard and long days, I come home, eat and bathe and sleep. It’s a never-ending cycle that I’m doomed to repeat each and every day. It all just feels so lackluster.” You said, your voice soft as your eyes gazed at nothing.

“Well, that is quite the conundrum. Might I ask, why don’t you just do something else?” He quipped back with a grin.

“If only it were that easy.” You sighed, eyes slowly drifting back to him.

“Isn’t it, though?” He asked, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Is it?” You asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Hear me out, I’m no stranger to a hard days work by any means, but I like what I do.” He shrugged.

“Making drinks?” You pressed.

“No, I watch people. Get to know them, help them sometimes. You work in a pub and you meet a lot of people, hear a lot of stories. People get a bit of alcohol in them and suddenly their lips become uncontrollably loose.” He chuckled.

“So you’re nosy, then?” You spat back, a smile turning the corners of your lips.

“I prefer curious, it sounds much more pleasant.” He offered.

He turned and grabbed an envelope from behind him and slid it across the counter to you. It was unmarked, other than the intricate wax seal holding it closed.

“What’s this?” You asked, taking it and inspecting the “CdY” ingrained in the seal.

“A chance to escape.” He shrugged, and then leaned back abruptly, hands grasping glassware and a towel to polish the crystals surface.

“What do I owe you?” You asked, standing and grabbing your coin purse.

“Nothing. This ones on me.” He waved his hand.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. By the way, what is your name?” You asked, tucking the envelope into your pocket.

“Shinso, now get out of here and go off to do whatever it is you do when you stumble out of here each night.” He called, waving his rag at you. You smiled at the mirth lighting his eyes, offering a wave as you turned and made your exit.

______________________________________

You plopped onto your small wicker chair, it’s grooves lining up with your back perfectly, molded to your body after the countless hours you had spent hunched over in this seat.

Calloused fingertips reached to caress a fine silk that you’d never be able to afford. You pulled it to you, laying it across the table ahead and dug the patterns for a dress from the chest beside you at your feet.

You were a seamstress, and a fairly popular one. Women and men from both high and low society sought you out to tailor and craft their garments.

You had stitched an amazing collection of clothing, from simple gowns to the most intricate of pieces. Your customers had often boasted about your work, that you were able to create anything.

Until recently, you had been doing fairly well for yourself. You had purchased a home of your own, a massive feat for an unwed woman, especially one in her early twenties.

In the last six months, that had changed though. There had been civil unrest, looting and fighting at the capital. The local government had pushed back, increasing taxes heavily. With that blow came another, a new tailoring business on the other side of town. It offered cheap labor, using children from the orphanage as virtually free hands. The turn around was quick, much faster than the length of time it took you to produce a garment. But the quality was terrible. They used cheap labor and cheaper materials.

The first time you had seen their work, you had laughed till tears brimmed your eyes. However, the quick production and cheap cost had ended up hitting you hard. While the wealthy had no issue having you fashion something for them, most everyone else had flocked to them. It wasn’t terribly hard to do a simple stitch. To take in a gown or a suit. Suddenly, you found yourself praying for work as the jobs got fewer and fewer.

Meanwhile the heightened taxes left your coin purse extremely light. You hadn’t struggled like this in a very long time.

You finished the silken garment, folding it delicately over your arm as you took it over to the rack to hang.

Once hung, you patted off your apron and felt the crinkling of the forgotten envelope tucked in your pocket. You pulled it out, fingers dipping into the paper to tear it open. The red of the invitation was so bright, a high quality velvet lined in gold trim. You then wondered the status of your friendly barkeep, but chalked it up to his large amount of connections. Surely, a drunken man could be persuaded into giving an invitation in exchange for a free round.

Your eyes scanned along the paper, reading the fancy script that outlined the details of the event. You scoffed as you made your way back to your chair, shaking your head as the invitation was tossed onto your table.

A few moments passed before you picked it back up and read over the card again.

______________________________________

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the large gate before you. You were in a state of awe at the lights and music making the night feel alive.

You stopped at the ticket booth, met with a disgruntled employee who looked half asleep. His thick yellow quilt was pulled taunt around his body and his hollow eyes stared at you with something akin to annoyance.

“Welcome to “Cirque de Yuuie”, admission is ¥220.” His bored voice stated monotonously.

“Oh...I actually have an invitation.” You said, giving a weak smile.

He held your gaze for a moment before he quirked a brow, his eyes scanning over you before he gave a sigh and a shrug.

“Alright, give it here.” He held out his pale hand, and you gently placed the invite in his palm.

He quickly pressed a stamp to your hand and shooed you away, so you turned and entered in through the gate.

______________________________________

You had wandered around the grounds for a while, but saw no familiar faces. It was odd, not even children were present. The cost had been rather high to enter, perhaps it was an adults only event.

After you had completed your lap, you were not too far from the entrance to the large tent in the center of the area. Red and white fabrics were draped beautifully, tied off with an intricately woven gold banding.

As you went to step forward, a large wooden pole cut in front of you, you gasped, your head shooting up to find a cheerful looking clown above.

“Whoops! S’cues me miss! Almost stepped on ya there!” He laughed, his painted lips opening to reveal his bright smile.

“Oh, no I’m sorry! I was enthralled by everything and wasn’t paying attention.” You waved him off.

“Ah don’t worry about it, it’s a beautiful night, and the tent looks great! I’ve been distracted by it myself! The names Mirio, by the way.”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded and stepped to make his way off back into the crowd.

“HEY WAIT!” You heard a loud voice call out, and not a moment later, two more clowns turned the corner. One with green hair raced along side a blonde with large sunglasses and a lightening-shaped black streak in his hair. They were tailed by a very awkward and scared looking mime who ran behind them silently looking like he was going to be sick.

“Come on, Amajiki! Hurry up!” The blonde clown yelled behind him, causing the mime to flinch and pick up the pace. You laughed at their antics, they were definitely a good source of entertainment.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS YOUR ANNOUNCER: PRESENT MIC, PLEASE GATHER TO THE MAIN TENT AS THE FESTIVITIES ARE ABOUT TO BEGIN.....YEAAAHHH!!!!” A loud voice blared through the speakers overhead.

You pushed through the gathering crowd, entering through the fabric doorway. The ceilings were vaulted, and you were amazed by how large it seemed inside.

Chatter broke out amongst those around you as you passed a sign that read “Yuuie’s Spectacular Freak Show!”

You followed the corridor, peering in the labeled rooms as you passed by.

“Strongest Men Alive! All Might and Red Riot!” Inside the room were two muscular men. The blonde man was tall, looming over the crowd as he smiled and flex. The redhead was laying on a bed of nails, and a crazed looking woman with pink hair walked across him while he looked on unfazed.

“One Body- Two Men! Twice!” A man sat, arguing with himself, the crowd would call out questions and he’d answer two opposing ways, often breaking out into an argument. The crowd giggled and taunted as he yelled seemingly to himself.

“The Vampire: Toga!” Your stomach twisted as you watch the girl give a cat-like grin and chug a vial of blood. Shackles held her to her spot but she called out to the audience, telling them to come closer and let her have a drink.

“Invisible Girl: Toru!” You blinked at the empty room, rolling your eyes as you pushed past to the next stall.

“Frog Woman: Tsuyu!” A girl in a green dress crouched in a pool, her long tongue falling from her mouth as her large hand gave a wave. You couldn’t help but notice her webbed fingers and the faint croaks.

“Worlds Largest Woman: Mt Lady!” An insanely large woman sat on her knees, smiling and chatting with the audience. She was beautiful, but had to be at least 9’ tall.

“World’s Largest Man: Fatgum!” A very large man sat in the center of the room smiling and waving as he let children drift into his stall and eat from the various sweets lining the table beside him. Though the adults around you spoke insults quietly, you couldn’t help but think the man looked very kind. You smiled softly at the sight of a child hugging him in thanks before returning to their mothers side.

“Bird-Man: Hawks!” A young man laughed loudly, his beautiful red wings flapping as he gave a slight show to those who watched. Many looked on in awe and wonder, and women swooned at his charm. His feathers seemed to almost sparkle and while you noticed something mischievous in his gaze, you were mesmerized nonetheless.

“Dabi the Dragon and the Indestructible Bakugou!” This room was larger, and smoke poured out. You were curious about this one, as there was no crowd gathered out front. You only saw one person, a rather attractive but angry looking man, growling as he noticed you. He rolled his eyes as he lit off explosives in his hands.

Your hands shot up to cover your eyes, before peering out to see the man looked fine, bored even.

“That was amazing!” You exclaimed.

“Course it was!” He sneered.

Suddenly, the curtain behind him rustled and another man emerged from the darkness. He was shirtless, his body scared in burns that wrapped around his torso, arms and face. His black hair spiked wildly, just like the blonde beside him. He smirked at you, sauntering toward you before lifting your chin with his index finger.

“Want me to put on a show for you, doll face?” He whispered. You nodded mutely, feeling much like the mime you had saw earlier that night. He chucked and stepped back. His hand grasped a bottle and he turned his back toward you, taking a large swig from the drink.

He abruptly turned back, and blue flames shot from his mouth and filled the room. You could immediately feel the immense heat and no longer wondered how his scars came to be.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm, giving a small cough before grinning at you.

“Well, what’d ya think, princess?”

“It was amazing! Does it hurt?” You asked.

“Hmm? Nah, not really. Just burns a little.” He snickered at his joke while Bakugou rolled his eyes in the background.

“I also do a bit of sword swallowing.” He added, stepping in close to you.

“Oh, yeah? That’s a neat talent to have.” You spat back awkwardly.

“I could teach you, after the show that is. I’ve got a good one for you to practice on.” His deep voice said in a hushed tone, hot breath hitting you as his hand gripped the crotch of his pants.

You stumbled back quickly, mumbling about needing to find a seat, and then ran off to the main room of the tent.

Your heart was pounding as you took an empty seat in the front row that had your invitation number on it.

The lights around you dimmed and the seats behind began filling quickly. People chatted amongst themselves until the music changed and the curtains at the far side of the tent were drawn.

A pale looking man with light blue hair and red eyes slowly walked out, taking center stage.

“Welcome. I’m so glad all of you came to join us for the show.” His hoarse voice spoke out loudly. His eyes dragged along the audience, taking in those around him.

“My name is Shigaraki and I’ll be your host tonight. You’ll see things that you never imagined, acts of wonder put on display before you. Prepare to be in awe and amazed.” He cheered, giving and eerie grin.

______________________________________

Halfway through the show, they called for an intermission. The lights brightened as people stood and flocked outside to grab drinks and food.

You stayed put, reflecting on the show so far. There had been an amazing act with tightrope walking, acrobats and aerial silks. They had been called “Children of the Sky” by those sat around you. Aoyama, Mina, Uraraka and Nejire were their names.

Then there had been the father and son act of fire performance. Enji and Shouto Todoroki. They danced with fire and spun batons and hoops that were blazing. Their act would have been more enjoyable if the father had been quiet, but instead every few moments he’d call out to his son correcting his posture and moves. Mid performance, Dabi had joined them on stage. His blue flames shining brightly in contrast. He had quickly noticed you and his eyes lit up as your stomach filled with dread.

He marched over, pulling you from your seat as gasps and whispers of his damaged skin rang through the crowd. He didn’t seem to notice. Or didn’t care. He had spun you around, dancing as his azure fire lit his arms. You were worried you’d be burned, but the fire never touched your skin. He brushed his arms with his hands, extinguishing the flame, as the music had haunted. You watched the smoke rise from his skin as you frowned, but he simply took your hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it before walking away.

You heard a voice rasp out “fucking show off” before seeing the angry blonde, Bakugou, take off after him.

Now you sat, watching a small man with balls on his head. He wore a jesters outfit and juggled before those left seated in the crowd. Slowly he made his way to you.

“Hey, how do you know Dabi?” He asked bluntly, wonder in his eyes.

“Oh, I don’t. Not really. I saw him in the freak show. That’s all.” You said, uncomfortable with the small mans leering.

“You actually watched him?” He asked dumbfounded. “No wonder he’s all over you.”

“What do you mean?” You asked perplexed.

“Uh hello, he’s gross looking. Definitely not as attractive as someone like me.” He beamed at you. You stayed quiet, unsure of how to respond and afraid to break the poor guys dilution.

“Hey I also do puppet stuff, you wanna see?” He asked, tone chipper.

“Oh, no that’s okay-“

“Okay cool, watch this!” He cut you off, pulling a small puppet from his suit. He dropped it and it limply hit the ground, the string much too long for him. The puppet dragged around weirdly as the jester spoke in a high pitch, giving the wooden body a voice.

You blinked, watching the train wreck as the doll slid through the dirt, getting jerked around by the man before you. He picked up the puppet and threw it at you, it landing in your lap. Then he pulled the string and yanked it back to the ground. You abruptly stood and walked away, hearing him call after you, but you only quickened your pace.

Once outside in the fresh air, a loud bellowing laugh burst from your lips. That was the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to deal with and you had been holding in laughing in the strange boys face.

“Seems like you’re enjoying the show.” A voice cut in.

Your head quickly spun, meeting the red eyes of the ring leader.

“Yeah! It’s nice, you guys are doing an amazing job!” You scratched your neck, feeling the hairs on your arms standing at the sudden tension as the mans smile fell.

“You weren’t invited here.” He stated.

“I...well I was given an invitation.” You replied.

“It wasn’t yours though. It wasn’t meant for you.” He said, eyes blank as his head cocked to the side.

“No, it wasn’t. I don’t know who it belonged to. A bartender gave it to me.” You explained.

“Hmm, is that so? Well, do enjoy the show then. But do me a favor, sit in a different seat when you go back in.” He sneered, and then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

You headed back inside, choosing a different seat in the front row that had been unclaimed earlier.

The music roared again as the clowns, Midoriya, Kaminari and Mirio, put on a show. Kaminari was being shocked while Midoriya rode around on a unicycle. Mirio stayed on his stilts and walked around the stage dancing and doing tricks. The trio was truly fun to watch, and then the mime, Amajiki, was shoved forward. A spotlight hit him as he stood frozen in fear.

“Come on buddy, you can do it!” Mirio whispered loudly in support.

Amajiki took in a big breath and lifted his arms, hands shaking as he formed an invisible wall in front of himself when a box hit him in the head and a drunken man “booed”. Amajiki immediately rushed to the shadows, pressing his face into the wall of the tent as an air of dread surrounded him.

“Uhhh...look over here!” Midoriya yelled out, pulling the attention of the crowd as he gave a large shock to Kaminari. Kaminari then “beeped” and “booped” and drooled as he wobbled around. The audience cheered and laughed.

Finally it was time for the final act of the night, the mysterious and powerful Mr. Compress.

A spotlight roamed the stage, and in a cloud of smoke he appeared. He wore a mask, top hat and yellow overcoat. His cane tapped against the floor with each step he took.

“Tonight, I will make you question everything you know about the world. Everything you believe to be real!” He called, and the crowd went wild, hooting and hollering.

He started with a few jokes, one about how he wasn’t the type to pull a rabbit from his hat, but then his hat shifted and he took it off. He pulled out the first rabbit, and then another, and then two more. You laughed at his seeming confusion. Finally, he plopped his hat back on his head and called out Bakugou to the stage. Bakugou marched to him, stomping his feet and crossing his arms as he came to a stop beside the magician.

Mr. Compress draped a large piece of fabric over the man, and then quickly pulled the cloth back to reveal a confused looking Shouto.

“I was just over there.” Shouto said, pointing to the other side of the tent.

“Yes! And now you’re over here!” Compress smiled, giving a grand wave of his arm.

“Aren’t I the one doing the magic then?” Shouto said blandly while Compress laughed.

“Alright then, do another trick for us.” Mr. Compress said, his tone amused. Shouto stood there silently, expression blank.

“I’m-“

“YOUR FIRE! USE YOUR FIRE SHOUTO!” His father yelled from off stage. Shouto glanced behind him, annoyance radiating from him.

“No. Nevermind. Just put me back where i was.” He said to Compress. Not a second later, the cloth was thrown over him and pulled off to reveal what looked like 100 butterflies.

The crowed oohed and awed in response, and you felt your eyes widen in amazement as well. It was so quick, you were trying to understand the trick, but could hardly wrap your head around it. This guy was good.

He went through a few more tricks, each a little better than the last. Finally he called for a volunteer from the audience.

Many hands shot into the air, while yours meekly raised. You weren’t one who gravitated to the spotlight, in fact, you had no desire to go onto the stage and have everyone’s eyes on you. But, you had promised yourself you’d let go for tonight and do as the bartender recommended. Escape.

Perhaps he could sense your distress, or maybe it was just because you were the closest to him, but he slowly walked toward you and extended his hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if you could assist me madam.”

You smiled, cursing inwardly at yourself, as you took his hand and let him pull you to your feet and lead you to the stage.

Red Riot ran over holding a heavy wooden chair, one you might find used as a throne.

Compress lifted the bottom of his mask and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, much like Dabi did, before directing you to take a seat. You did as you were asked, feeling the heat of the light on you, thankful that it’s blinding light prevented you from being able to see the crowd.

Mr. Compress started his speech about defying nature, and the use of powerful magic.

“Do not look away for a second, it is imperative you see your reality bent before you. With the help of my beautiful assistant, I will show you that the limitations we set for ourselves are often just an illusion. Anything you can think of is possible!”

He turned toward you, pulling the yellow coat from his body and leaving himself in his black vest and pants, the orange shirt beneath now visible. He pushed up his sleeves and held his hands outstretched toward you. You felt the chair jerk and sucked in a breath. It lurched again, and soon you were floating above the ground. You kicked your feet and smiled, trying your hardest not to shift in the chair.

Then the lights flickered, and a spotlight fell from the ceiling, crashing into the empty seat that had been assigned to your invitation.

In the moment of chaos, the chair dropped harshly, cracking against the ground as the impact tossed you to the side. You grunted, the wind knocked from your lungs and your eyes unfocused after smacking your head in the fall.

Screams were heard as the crowd panicked and scattered, the roars of animals following after them.

A harsh tug lifted you back onto your feet, and in the darkness you could see nothing, but allowed the person to drag you from the tent as your head spun.

Your mind was trying to process as you were pulled into a trailer, and as your body met the cot inside, you fell unconscious.

#dabi x reader #bakugou x reader #mr compress x reader #shigaraki x reader #mirio x reader #amajiki x reader #midoriya x reader #todoroki x reader #fatgum x reader #aizawa x reader #shinsou x reader #hawks x reader #kirishima x reader #all might x reader #endeavour x reader #kaminari x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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blu-joons · 3 years

Text

The Proudest Dad ~ Jung Hoseok

The moment you held onto Hobi’s hand and walked into the dance hall; you could feel in his grip how excited he was. His eyes darted around the place, although it was much smaller than the venues he was used to, it was nowhere near as special.

“I’m so excited,” he whispered across to you as you glanced down at your ticket to make sure that you guided the two of you to the right seats.

“I think we’re near the front,” you mumbled to yourself.

The two of you smiled across at a few parents you were familiar with before taking your seats in the third row from the front. “I can’t believe my little girl is going to be up on that stage.”

“Well, she always did say that she wanted to be just like her daddy on a stage,” you reminded him, stripping your jacket off and placing it on the back of your chair.

Hobi’s head nodded, he’d listened to plenty of her dreams over the past few years. “My own little performer, maybe this could be the start of the next BTS.”

“It’s a dance recital Hobi,” you reminded him, “she’s not auditioning for Big Hit.”

His shoulders shrugged, rolling his eyes at your pessimistic attitude. “Everyone starts somewhere Y/N, how do you think I ended up getting to where I am today?”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you knew he was right. “Let’s not fill her up too big just yet though, she’s only seven, let’s take some small steps for now please.”

His head shook, jabbing against your hip gently, “my little girl is going to be a superstar, this tonight, is going to be the launchpad for the rest of her career, you wait and see.”

It didn’t take long for the lights to go down and your daughter’s dance teacher to walk onto the stage and thank everyone for attending the dance recital. Beside you, Hobi could barely keep himself still with excitement to his little girl.

As soon as she stepped out on stage for the first time, a small squeal came from him. You nudged his side as you felt a couple of parents staring across at you. He quickly dismissed you, refusing to care about what anyone had to say, he was just proud of his little girl.

You continued to glance between Hobi and your daughter as he pulled out his phone, holding out his phone to begin to snap a few photographs of her too.

“Watch your flash,” you whispered across to him, knowing just how clumsy he usually was when it came to incidents like this.

“I know, don’t you worry about a thing.”

You watched with bated breath as Hobi tried to angle his phone to get a good couple of photos of her dancing. As his thumb pressed over the shutter, your body flinched, relieved when no bright lights went off as he took the photos.

A few more tuts came from around the dance hall as people watched the two of you, but as Hobi constantly reminded you, there was always that one keen parent.

“Can’t you just watch your child?” A voice asked from behind you.

“I am.”

The interval could not come soon enough for you, noticing how innocently Hobi smiled across at you. Your head shook, feeling his hand rest down on your shoulder.

His eyes refused to look at any of the parents around the room, “I’m not going to have anyone make me feel bad for being proud of my daughter. They’re all just jealous that she’s the best dancer on the stage right now.”

“They’re children,” you reminded him, “it’s not the MAMAs Hobi, there’s no competition here, let’s just try and not make any more enemies tonight.”

“I’m doing nothing wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being proud of your child,” he frowned.

Your head nodded, knowing just how much this meant to him. “Just be proud without causing a fight,” you chuckled, leaning across to press a kiss against his cheek. “I’m sure she’ll love to look back over all the photos you take tonight in years to come.”

His smile slowly grew as the lights went down again, “I was thinking of using them for her audition tapes,” he teased, watching as your eyes quickly widened back at him. “I’m only messing, don’t worry, they’re just going to be for all of us.”

“I might just be the one beating you by the end of the night,” you muttered under your breath.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the music began to play again as several excitable children skipped onto the stage in order to continue with their recital.

Thankfully for you, and several other parents around you, Hobi remained relatively quiet for the rest of the recital. He still couldn’t help but bounce in his chair every time his daughter appeared, but his phone remained safely in his pocket.

As the curtain fell and the dancers all walked to the front of the stage to take their final bow, Hobi was the first one on his feet offering a huge round of applause in congratulations to them all.

You could see your daughter’s eyes scanning the room, waving across to her and pointing to her father who wore the proudest smile. As she soon as she spotted you both she began to bounce on her heels, just like how Hobi had done throughout most of the evening.

“Alright kids, go and see your parents,” the teacher smiled once the bow was complete.

She couldn’t get off the stage quick enough, sprinting over to you both.

“Did you see me?” She questioned, throwing herself into Hobi’s arms.

His head nodded instantly, pressing several kisses against the side of her cheek, “you were incredible, who knew you could dance so good.”

“That’s because I take after you,” she grinned, unable to take her eyes away from the two of you. “That’s what everyone always says at the classes.”

Hobi’s head nodded, “that’s because they’re all so jealous that you get to be the one with the superstar dad and all their dads are rubbish.”

“Hobi,” you sighed, nudging his shoulder, “that’s not the reason at all sweetie, you just work hard and that’s why you’re the best dancer.”

His eyes rolled at how diplomatic you were, even if you were happy to keep your daughter’s feet firmly on the ground, he wasn’t afraid to boost her ego every now and then, even if she was only six.

He glanced back across at your daughter who stared between you both, “mummy seems to think that having a super cool dancer for a dad has made no difference to making you into the superstar dancer that you are.”

Her head shook at you, “it’s only because mummy is a terrible dancer,” she teased, “and you’re a legend of dance daddy.”

“Did you pay her to say that?” You quizzed, “sometimes it terrifies me how similar to you she is becoming.”

“I guess she just knows talent when she sees it,” he mused, “and quite clearly she definitely doesn’t see a talented dancer in you.”

“She’s not wrong,” you laughed.

Hobi chuckled loudly, “and that’s why mummy never got the invite to perform at dance recitals like you did sweetie.”

“That’s because I take just after you, daddy.”

---

Masterlist

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twh-news · 3 years

Text

Deadline’s Tony Award Picks & Predictions 2021: ‘Jagged Little Pill’ Or ‘Moulin Rouge’? Hiddleston Or Gyllenhaal? Choices For A Most Unusual Year

[Speculations on the 74th Tony Awards. Remember to take with a pinch of salt]

I'm glad I took notes. Looking at the roster of nominees for this year’s too-long-delayed Tony Awards is all the reminder anyone could need of just how interminable Broadway’s Covid pandemic shutdown has seemed. Productions and performances from the 2019-20 season, many reviewed nearly two years ago, are calling out – some more forcefully than others – to be remembered and honored. As I said, I’m glad I took notes.

This Sunday, the Tony Awards ceremony will be livestreamed on Paramount+, then immediately followed by the two-hour CBS concert special Broadway’s Back!, a celebration of Broadway’s recent reopening after the shutdown of 16-months (or 17 or 18 depending on which shows you decide were the official comebacks). Pre-pandemic, the Tonys originally were scheduled for June 2020, but March of that year brought the sickness and an abrupt shutdown of the industry that would leave a mere 18 productions eligible for the awards, down from 34 the previous year. The awards were postponed twice, most recently – thought it certainly doesn’t feel recent – a year ago when the nominations were announced.

As many as 16 shows scheduled for spring 2020 fell out of the Broadway schedule (and Tony competition). Some – including Six, which was supposed to open the very night of the shutdown, and Girl From The North Country, which like the revival of West Side Story had opened but had not yet fulfilled its Tony voter requirements – would certainly have made at least the Best Musical race a healthier contest.

So the Tony organizers – the Broadway League, the American Theatre Wing, CBS – had some big decisions to make, even after the year-long postponement that seems, in retrospect and at least to me, wrong-headed. First up was how to get the network to continue its broadcast tradition for an annually low-rated event that this year would, quite literally, be a mere fraction of its former self.

The answer – and we’ll know Sunday whether it was a good one or not – was to essentially split the difference. A few big awards – Best Play, Best Musical and Best Revival of a Musical – will be announced live during the CBS special (and also streamed on Paramount+) but the bulk of awards are set for livestream only, a move that seems at odds with Broadway’s recent endeavors to position itself as something not just for wealthy New Yorkers and spend-happy tourists. Paramount+ does, in fact, offer a free trial period, so Broadway fans who don’t want to pay for a streaming service can watch the show without spending a penny – just make sure to cancel before the trial ends – but still. The visuals, as they say, aren’t great.

Certainly in some ways, this split decision – the livestream-broadcast hybrid – makes sense. The abbreviated roster of nominees and the year-long delay was always going to be a tough sell to CBS, and just as certainly Broadway fans want to see how even some of the less ballyhooed competitions play out. What will Moulin Rouge‘s Aaron Tveit – the sole nominee in the Lead Actor/Musical category – say when he takes the stage? And which of the nominees for Best Original Score will prove literally memorable? That category includes no musicals – repeat, no musicals – since each of the Best Musical nominees were of the golden-oldie jukebox variety. That left the plays to handle the Original Score burden – and left Tony voters trying very, very hard to mentally summon just what, exactly, the incidental music of The Rose Tattoo actually sounded like.

As a commercial move to promote the reopening of Broadway (and boost much-needed ticket sales for Broadway’s current line-up, even if it includes only a few of this year’s Tony nominees), both the postponement of the ceremony and the expansive concert special seems justifiable. The Tonys have always been as much an advertisement for sales as a recognition of achievement. But as a way to celebrate the productions and performers who hit the stages prior to the March 2020 shutdown, the decision feels less defendable. Even without CBS, a livestream or digital Tonys last fall would certainly have felt more immediate (and, in a way, hopeful), with nominees still fresh in minds and everyone – including, I suspect, more than a few in competition – still feeling fully invested.

So. After racking my brain, checking my gut and deciphering scribbles in old notebooks, my picks and predictions in selected Tony categories are as follows. Of course, the only sure bet is Tveit – though even that one-nominee category could, theoretically, see an upset: Tony voters could choose not to give that award at all. Won’t happen, but after the last year and a half, is anyone still capable of being surprised?

BEST REVIVAL OF A PLAY

Betrayal, Harold Pinter; Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune, Terrence McNally; A Soldier’s Play, Charles Fuller

Will Win: A Soldier’s Play | Should Win: Betrayal

The beautifully performed and directed Betrayal was a revelation – a Pinter play as downright entertaining as it was thought-provoking, but Fuller’s long-in-coming arrival on Broadway with his modern classic A Soldier’s Play all but demands a win. Of course, Broadway could choose to honor McNally, the beloved stage icon who passed away from Covid last year, and whose Frankie and Johnny remains an essential part of the American canon. Still, for me, Betrayal is the production that stands out.

BEST PERFORMANCE, LEAD ACTOR/PLAY

Ian Barford, Linda Vista; Andrew Burnap, The Inheritance; Jake Gyllenhaal, Sea Wall/A Life; Tom Hiddleston, Betrayal; Tom Sturridge, Sea Wall/A Life; Blair Underwood, A Soldier’s Play

Will Win: Hiddleston | Should Win: Sturridge

Hiddleston was terrific in Betrayal, and has every right to the trophy, but for me Sturridge in A Life gave the most powerful performance in the category as the grieving father whose family was destroyed by a single instance of atrocious happenstance. Other devotees of Sea Wall/A Life might choose first-time nominee Gyllenhaal (and I’d have no serious complaint there), and Underwood is certainly a popular and enjoyable actor (though saddled with the least interesting plot-device character in A Soldier’s Play). Barford and Burnap are extreme long-shots, leaving a four-man race with Hiddleston the likely winner if only by a slight edge.

#Betrayal #Tom Hiddleston #Tony Awards #Deadline #Article #Speculations #long post

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rookie-ramsey · 4 years

Text

Curveball, Chapter 5 (Ethan X MC)

Description: Two months after the ski lodge, life throws them a big surprise.

Preview: She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

Ethan held still. A few moments later, he could feel a little flutter against his palm. Unable to resist, his lips twisted into a smile. His eyes softened, more affectionate than she had ever seen before. Olivia grinned and rested her hand on top of his.

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

Previous Chapter

At the halfway mark of her second trimester, Olivia was quite certain she doubled in size overnight.

Over time, Ethan’s spare bedroom turned into a storage space for nursery items. Once all of the furniture had been delivered, they picked out the paint for the walls. Ethan probably would have insisted on doing everything himself, but Olivia recruited help.

When there was a knock on the door, she opened it to let Bryce, Baz, and Zaid into the apartment. “Did you three carpool?”

Zaid sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Certain occupants of the car felt the need to sing during the entire ride.”

Feigning offense, Bryce frowned. “What’s the point of driving anywhere if you’re not going to put on a concert?”

“You got a speeding ticket.”

“Which I’ll pay!” Bryce turned to Olivia. “Nursery Assistance Crew is here to help.”

“Good.” Olivia grinned and led the way to the spare room, where Ethan was opening the cans of light gray paint for the walls. Curious to see how things would play out, she leaned in the doorway to observe.

Bryce and Ethan carefully poured the paint into trays while Baz and Zaid spread drop cloths to protect the floor from spills. Once the floor was sufficiently protected, Ethan passed out paint brushes and rollers.

“If we each paint one wall, we’ll have the room painted quickly. We can paint the first layer and assemble the furniture while we wait for it to dry. It only takes a couple of hours.”

“Good delegation. Aye aye, Captain.” Bryce saluted with the paint roller, earning an eye roll in response. They each dipped their rollers in paint and started working on the walls. The first minute passed in silence before Bryce started a whistling. A moment later, Baz joined in.

Zaid let out a groan. “First the concert in the car and now this?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, focusing on painting. “If the two of you are going to whistle, could you not whistle Christmas music in August?”

“I could always whistle WAP,” Bryce suggested.

It only took a second for Ethan to shake his head. “No. Absolutely under no circumstances will you do that.”

Just as Ethan predicted, it didn’t take long for the four of them to place the first layer of paint. He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded in approval at their handiwork. “Not bad. We can put the furniture together while we wait.”

They opened the box that contained the first crib. Ethan spread the parts across the floor and eyed them, comparing them to the picture on the front of the box.

“Alright. I can handle this.”

Olivia pointed at the booklet lying on the floor. “There’s an instruction manual right there.”

“I don’t need it.”

Baz arched a brow. “Famous last words, boss.”

“You’ve read more books than the rest of us combined and you won’t read a manual? That’s a new level of stubborn.” Bryce smirked.

“The picture is guidance enough.” Ethan knelt down and sorted through the parts until he found the pieces that he presumed would compose the bottom frame. He linked them together, forming a crib-sized rectangle.

He then found the legs and attached them. So far, everything seemed to resemble the picture, so he reached for the screwdriver to tighten everything.

“And… crash.” Bryce laughed when his words timed almost perfectly with the collapse of the crib parts.

Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t have the parts tight enough. Everything was correct.”

“I think this is why manuals are included in these things.”

“Those are always badly written with poor excuses of diagrams. They’re a waste of paper and time.” Ethan shook his head, picking up the fallen pieces.

“I bet you ten dollars I can build the other crib faster than you without looking at the instructions,” Bryce proposed.

“It’s a bet.”

Zaid rolled his eyes. “What are we supposed to do while you two participate in this competition? Just stand here and look pretty?”

Bryce nodded. “Got it in one, Dr. M! We need an audience.”

Ethan turned his head toward the door when the smell of warm butter permeated his senses. “When did you get popcorn?”

Olivia shrugged, scooping up a handful of the fluffy white kernels. “A few seconds after you decided not to look at the manual. I knew I was in for some entertainment.”

“It has been rather amusing.” Baz grinned, accepting a handful of popcorn when she offered him the bowl.

She sat on one of the furniture boxes and nestled the bowl on her lap. “I’m curious to see who actually builds a crib first without it collapsing.”

Bryce cracked his knuckles. “Ready?”

Olivia and Baz set timers on their phones. “Alright. The race is on in three… two… one… go!”

Rolling his eyes, Ethan started rummaging through the parts to determine which ones actually went together. After some careful matching, he successfully formed the base of the crib.

Working a little faster, Bryce fastened one of the crib legs. “I’m one move ahead of you, Ramsey. You’ll be eating my dust.”

Laughing, Olivia started dictating in her best impression of a sports announcer's voice. “Lahela is just ahead of Ramsey, but will the fast results hold up?”

Ethan glanced up. “When did we become an Olympic sport?”

“Just now,” Olivia confirmed. “Extreme Crib Assembly is officially my favorite part of the Olympics.”

A few minutes later, Bryce stepped back from the crib and threw his hands up. “Done!”

Baz hit the button on his timer. “Thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” he confirmed just as Ethan finished.

“Thirteen minutes and twenty seconds.” Olivia rubbed her hands together. “The true test is to make sure both cribs are put together correctly. Bryce may have finished first, but if his crib has a problem, he still loses.”

“Never.” Bryce shook his head and handed her one of the instruction manuals so she could check over their finished cribs.

Olivia glanced from the booklet to the cribs, nodding as she confirmed that the parts on both cribs were in their proper places. She tried to give each one a firm shake, pleased when they remained steady.

“And it looks like both cribs are a success! This means Lahela wins by a narrow six seconds!”

“What do I win?”

“Ethan’s ten dollars and… the rest of this popcorn, because I want pizza.”

“I’ll take it.” Bryce accepted the bowl and grinned. “Looks like all those hours in the OR do help with putting furniture together.”

Sighing in defeat, Ethan reached into his wallet and surrendered a ten dollar bill to him. Once they had the cribs settled into their places, they worked on the changing table. Olivia left the room to order some pizzas, but quickly returned so she wouldn’t miss out on the banter occurring in the soon-to-be nursery.

It didn’t take the four of them long to assemble the changing table and rocking chairs. When the pizzas arrived, they took a break and sat down at the kitchen table. Olivia bypassed the chair, opting instead to sit on Ethan’s lap. Instinctively, Ethan slipped his arm around her waist.

“How cute.” Baz grinned.

Bryce smiled mischievously. “Whipped.”

Zaid shrugged when Bryce and Baz turned to him as if they expected him to join in on the teasing. “No comment.”

“Oh, come on. Watching them is as fun as watching you and Ines.” Baz’s grin widened as his twin’s cheeks flushed.

Olivia chuckled, biting into a piece of pizza. “We are cute. I’ll accept your compliments.”

After lunch, she curled up on the couch to watch TV while everyone else finished the nursery. She dozed off, waking up when Ethan joined her on the couch.

“Hi. Did everyone go home?”

Ethan nodded and looped his arm around her. “We finished. I suppose that went faster than it would have if I’d tried to do it by myself.”

She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

He let out a low chuckle. “And give you a chance to put ridiculous filters on my face for the world to see? I don’t think so.”

“The world loves your face, ridiculous filters or not.”

Ethan’s hand rubbed gently against her stomach, earning another tiny motion in response. His brow knitted in thought. “It’s a little strange, how…. different this makes me feel.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Good different,” Ethan assured her, smoothing his free hand over her hair. “It almost makes me wonder why I had worries about anything.”

“That’s good, because we’re halfway there.”

XXXXXX

Presents of every shape and size occupied their living room.

Between the balloons, streamers, and the huge banner, Olivia felt almost certain that an entire aisle of baby shower decorations had exploded in their apartment. She grinned and snagged a cookie from a platter.

“Sienna, everything looks delicious. It’s a good thing I’m eating for three, because I plan on eating at least one of everything,” she declared, licking icing from her fingers as Ethan joined them in the kitchen.

Sienna smiled as she put the finishing touches on a tower of cupcakes. “These were so much fun to make!”

“They look so cute. Every time I try to bake or cook, things go horribly wrong.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Ethan agreed, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes.

“It’s like the time she burnt Christmas cookies the day after Halloween.” Sienna grinned.

Ethan shook his head. “She beat that this year. She set off the smoke alarm making gingerbread men last week.”

Olivia feigned offense, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you two ganging up on me? Because I will get Naveen to help me taunt you, Ethan.”

“Don’t you already do that?”

“Well, yes. But I won’t hesitate.” Shaking her head, Olivia finished her cookie and watched as their guests finished piling presents on the table. “What kind of shenanigans are we getting into today?”

“You’ll see,” Sienna promised.

Note: The rest of the baby shower takes place in the next chapter! Stay tuned!

Next Chapter

#open heart #choices #choices: open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc

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andawaywego · 4 years

Note

🥺 bartender Jamie hitting on customer Dani and random guy hitting on Dani but failing

this got away from me, but as requested! i hope you like it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Dani winces at the words, at the gravelly touch the man’s voice has. Like metal scraping against concrete. It makes her shiver. “That’s a good one,” she tells him and he looks pleased with himself for exactly two more seconds before she adds, “Definitely never heard it before.”

He blinks, but then pushes on, undeterred by her response. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Not a question. Dani resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says, “but I’ve got one.” She shakes the straw of her daiquiri for emphasis.

“The next one then,” he offers.

He’s got a stupid, handsome face. Dani wonders how easily he’s been able to slide through life with a face like that—how many girls he’s been able to talk into his bed with those dimples. She’s not drunk—even if she desperately wants to be—but she kind of wants to ask him what his success rate with this kind of thing normally is.

The plan had been to just get in, get a drink, and get out. Another round of disappointing and humiliating job interviews has left her with a dull pounding in the back of her head, and she’d only wanted to add a nice numbness to it before going back to her room at the hostel to lick her wounds.

But then her new acquaintance had come over less than a minute after the pretty bartender gave Dani her drink and now he won’t leave.

Apparently, the man takes her silence as agreement and he looks over at the bartender and lifts his hand—almost like he’s talking to a dog or something, which—

More points added to his general douchery.

“Can I get one more for—” He trails off, throwing a look back at Dani.

“Priscilla,” she says, rattling off the first fake name that comes to mind.

Fortunately, he buys it.

“For Priscilla,” he finishes.

The woman at the bar—whose name tag reads JAMIE—quirks an eyebrow at him, then glances at Dani. She’s a slight thing; curly brown hair and pale skin. Pink lips that Dani sort of wants to tug at with her teeth.

But that’s the alcohol talking.

When she first sat down, Jamie had given her a once-over. Not quite like she was sizing Dani up, but more like she was...appreciating the view. It was...interesting, to say the least, and she’d been planning on striking up a conversation before they were interrupted.

“Priscilla, yeah?” Jamie asks, and she gives Dani an amused look.

Dani’s stomach twists a little in excitement. “That’s my name,” she says.

“Pretty. You sure you’d like another?” Her eyes dart over to the man and Dani has the distinct impression that she’s being asked something else entirely.

Whether or not she’s actually interested in this guy.

She shrugs. “Only if he’s paying.”

Jamie almost looks impressed at this. “Coming right up, then.”

As she flits around the bar, making Dani’s drink and slapping another beer in front of her companion, the man turns his interest back to Dani.

“What brings you to London, Priscilla?” he asks, voice oozing arrogance. He must think he’s already won her over.

Dani thinks for a moment. “I’m in a band,” she decides. “We’re doing a tour.”

The man flicks his eyebrows up in surprise. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

She pops the ‘p’ a little too loud and takes a long pull from her drink, nearly giving herself a brain freeze.

“What kind of music do you play?”

“Polka.”

“Polka?”

“That’s what I said.”

He frowns. “Anything of yours I might know?”

Dani’s busy trying to come up with the most ridiculous thing yet when another voice chimes in.

“You’ve never heard of The Polka Dots?”

It’s Jamie, frowning like the man’s ignorance is an affront to God.

The man looks between the two of them in surprise. “The...The Polka Dots?” he asks.

Dani smiles. “That’s us,” she says.

Jamie nods. She finishes the final touches of Dani’s drink and sets it in front of her. “Her and about three beefy types.” She mimes some kind of “tough guy” attitude and Dani has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“All of whom I’m dating,” she adds.

It’s kind of surprising that the man hasn’t just high-tailed it out of the bar yet. The game they’re playing isn’t subtle, and Dani would like to think that—were she in the same unfortunate position he is—she would know when to take a hint.

“Is that so?” he asks, and it takes Dani a moment to realize the reason why he hasn’t left:

He actually believes her.

Which is just—

Wow.

“They’re actually supposed to be meeting me here soon,” she says, fingers crossed a little on her lap.

And, there it is. That’s the ticket.

In an awkward rush, the man tosses a few bills on the bar top and says something along the lines of, “There’s a...meeting I forgot I had,” before rushing out of the bar. Dani watches him go and then turns to Jamie triumphantly.

“I can’t believe he bought that,” she says.

Jamie whistles through her teeth. “Well, it takes all sorts.” She throws a smile at Dani and then starts cleaning up after the guy.

Dani watches her in silence, tracing the lines of her face with her eyes. “Thanks,” she says once Jamie is near enough again. “For your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves Dani’s appreciation off. “Can’t say it wasn’t fun to watch him scurry out of here with his tail between his legs like that.”

Some of her hair has fallen into her face, a few brown curls bobbing in front of her eyes as she moves. Dani has the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, curl it around her finger as she leans in to—

There’s a buzz in her veins that’s making her chest feel less tight by the moment, and, later, she’ll blame what she says next on that feeling.

“Hey, are you…” Her broken sentence catches Jamie’s attention and then Dani feels trapped beneath the heat of her gaze. She flounders for a moment, but then manages to say, “Would you wanna get a drink sometime?”

She doesn’t realize how that sounds until Jamie is making a face.

“Not here,” she clarifies hurriedly. “Somewhere else.” Still no response, so she keeps going. “Not even a drink, if you don’t want. We could get...dinner...or something.”

In the quiet that follows, she sort of feels like an idiot, but then she notices that Jamie’s eyes are looking her up and down again. Checking her out, maybe. Dani flushes and forces herself to maintain eye contact.

“Priscilla,” Jamie says in this shocked tone and Dani laughs. “Are you asking me out?”

“Dani,” she corrects, thrusting out a hand for Jamie to shake. “And, yes.”

Her hand is really soft, her grip loose and easy as she squeezes Dani’s fingers before pulling away. “You flirt,” she admonishes, her tone nothing but flattered amusement.

“Is that a yes?”

Two men sitting at the far end of the bar call for her, and Jamie acknowledges them, holding up a finger for them to wait a moment. She turns back to Dani.

“I get off at six,” she says, and then she leans down close enough that Dani can see the flecks of light brown in her irises. Her hands tremble at the proximity and Jamie must know the effect she’s having because she looks all-too-pleased with herself. “Maybe we can have that drink at my flat.”

Jesus.

Dani blinks a few times, rapidly. “Do you often ask girls back to your apartment before the first date?” she asks, a little amazed at her luck.

Pulling back a little, Jamie shrugs. “Only the girls that are going to fall in love with me.”

“Are you always this confident?” Her heart sort of feels like it’s going to burst. It’s strange that the exact quality that annoyed her so much in the man from before is the exact thing that’s no making her feel like a teenager all over again.

Jamie laughs, a sound just as stunning as the rest of her. “Never,” she admits and Dani knows she’s telling the truth.

Just as she’s about to saunter off to help other customers, Dani reaches out and wraps her fingers loosely around Jamie’s wrist, holding her still. “Six o’clock?” she asks and Jamie grins.

“Looking forward to it,” she says and the wink she gives Dani is almost enough to have her falling already.

#god this got cheesy #damie #hobm #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie fanfic #andawaywego fanfic #prompt #damie prompt

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buckybarnesdollface · 3 years

Text

Traditions: Chapter 1

Summary: Bucky has nowhere to go for the holidays, so reader invites him to come home to spend Christmas with her family. Christmas cuteness ensues.

Warnings: None, just fluff in this chapter, female reader

“So, what are everyone’s plans for Christmas?” Pepper asked everyone as soon as the debriefing meeting had ended. The team had just gotten back from a mission in South Africa, and were in desperate need of a distraction.

As expected, Tony and Pepper were spending Christmas with Morgan at their cabin. Clint and Scott were also spending Christmas with their kids, and Peter was spending it with May and MJ. Sam was going back to Harlem to spend the holidays with his parents, and Thor would be in New Asgard with his people. Rhodey was also spending it with his parents, and Bruce was going to Germany to be a key speaker at a science seminar for nuclear physicists. Wanda and Vision were spending their Christmas in London, and Steve and Natasha – still in the honeymoon phase of their new relationship – were headed to Hawaii until the new year.

“I’ll be heading to Maine to spend Christmas with my family,” I said when everyone looked to me. “My mom would kill me if I didn’t come home for the holidays.”

“What about you, Buck?” Sam asked, drawing everyone’s attention to the supersoldier at Steve’s side who, up until now, had been very quiet and subdued. He shrugged, his face unreadable.

“I dunno, I don’t really have plans,” he mumbled. “I’ll probably just hang out here, or maybe head into the city. I always loved Christmas in New York.”

Tony stood and clapped his hands together. “Excellent, now that everyone’s had a chance to share, why don’t we all get some rest?” he said. “It’s been a long week and I’m sure we’re all exhausted.” He grinned. “Enjoy your holidays, everyone, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Pepper set a hand on my arm as I was gathering up the paperwork from the meeting. “You did good, kid,” she told me, and I beamed shyly. As Pepper’s assistant I was often in the loop of what was going on with the team, but this was the first mission that she’d given me the reins and I had been so nervous. Hearing her praise had my chest swelling.

“Thank you, Pepper,” I breathed. “Really, it means so much.”

She gave me a warm smile. “You’re officially part of the team, kiddo,” she murmured. “Have a good Christmas. I’ll see you in the new year.”

“Merry Christmas, Pepper.”

As Pepper caught up with Tony, I found my eyes scanning the conference room for a certain dark-haired supersoldier. He was just ducking out the door when I spotted him, and I quickly tucked the papers under my arm before following him.

“Bucky!” I called, and he turned and stopped, waiting for me to catch up. He gave me a small smile when I did.

“What’s up, doll?” he asked. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his face drawn. Though his lips were still curved in a friendly smile his eyes were sad, and I frowned, fighting the urge to pull him tight to me and hug him. Instead, I shook my head.

“Are you really gonna stay here over Christmas?” I asked him, and he shrugged.

“Why not?”

I pursed my lips. “Because you’ll be alone,” I protested, and Bucky’s friendly expression faltered. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

“What choice do I have, (Y/N)?” he said. “I have no family to spend it with, and all my friends have plans with their own families and loved ones. That leaves just me.” Again, he shrugged. “I’m used to being alone, I’ll be fine.”

Bucky was trying hard to seem carefree about it, and to most people it probably would have worked. But since becoming Pepper’s assistant eight months ago, I had developed friendships with everyone on the team, especially Steve and Bucky. So I could see the pain in the set of Bucky’s shoulders and in the depths of his eyes even if his expression and voice didn’t show it. Hesitantly, I reached out to set a hand on Bucky’s arm. He hadn’t yet changed out of his tactical gear and the fabric of his jacket was stiff under my palm.

“No one should be alone on Christmas,” I said softly. “You have plenty of friends who wouldn’t mind you joining them for the holiday.”

Bucky snorted. “Steve offered for me to go to Hawaii with him and Nat,” he said, “but I declined. I didn’t think being a third wheel would be a great way to spend Christmas.”

“I didn’t mean Steve.”

“What?” I watched as realization dawned across Bucky’s features. “(Y/N), I couldn’t… This is your time with your family, I can’t intrude on that. Besides, I can’t imagine they’d be okay with having me there…”

But I was shaking my head, having already made up my mind. “Don’t be ridiculous, they’ll be happy to have you. I’ll call my mom tonight to let her know to get one more bedroom ready.” I grinned. “Now go get some rest and pack your things, we leave tomorrow at noon.”

Before Bucky had time to argue, I headed towards mine and Pepper’s offices to dispense of the paperwork under my arm. This was certainly going to be an interesting Christmas, to say the least.

As I had expected, my mom was happy to have Bucky there for Christmas once I explained the situation to her. So, that was how him and I found ourselves in first class seats on a flight to Bangor, courtesy of Tony and Pepper. Tony had offered to let us take a quinjet, but when we both declined, he insisted to at least pay for our tickets.

Bucky was silent most of the flight, and I could tell he was nervous. Biting my lip, I nudged my knee with his.

“You keep shaking your leg like that and you’re gonna have the whole plane shaking,” I teased. A flush crept up his neck to his face and his leg stopped abruptly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…People are staring.”

I had been well-aware of the looks we’d gotten as soon as we boarded the plane. Bucky tended to draw attention wherever he went – Even if he weren’t Bucky Barnes, his towering six-foot-two frame of thick muscle and his strikingly handsome face were hard to ignore. He had hidden his vibranium arm underneath a black bomber jacket and leather gloves, and he had recently cut his long hair short, but it seemed everyone still knew who he was.

“You’re an Avenger,” I said with a shrug. “Of course they’re staring.”

“I’m the Winter Soldier,” he corrected sullenly. “They all know what I’ve done. They’re afraid of me.”

Pursing my lips, I reached over to take his flesh hand into mine. “Don’t focus on everyone else,” I told him, ignoring the surprise in his eyes when my fingers laced through his. “Focus on the amazing Christmas vacation we’re going to have. Focus on Christmas lights and building snowmen and cheesy Christmas music on the radio.”

Bucky let out a short huff of a laugh, but some of the tension had evaporated from his features. “Sounds like the plot for one of those silly Christmas movies that every channel on television plays all through December,” he said, and I flashed him a grin.

“You haven’t met my family. When it comes to Christmas, we’re as cheesy as they get.”

As I explained to Bucky what to expect when we got to my parents’ place, the stress visibly dissipated from his body, until he was laughing at the prospect of witnessing my father wearing a Santa hat and distributing presents from under the tree on Christmas morning.

Bucky’s laugh drew the attention of a few people around us, and before he could realize that people were once again staring, I shot them a glare that could have frozen hell. They shrank back in their seats and Bucky and I continued our conversation, him none the wiser to what had just happened.

My parents were waiting for us when we got off the plane in Bangor. As soon as my mother caught sight of me, she threw her arms around me and pulled me into a tight hug.

“(Y/N), I’m so glad you’re home,” she exclaimed. “Your brother and sister are already at the house; they’ll be so glad to see you.”

“I missed you too, Mom,” I chuckled, and then I turned to embrace my dad.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “How was your flight?”

“Good.” I shrugged. “Tony upgraded us to first class, so that was nice.” I turned to find that Bucky had retrieved our luggage from the baggage claim and was now standing awkwardly off to one side. Shaking my head, I went over and grabbed him by the arm to pull him into the group. “Mom, Dad, this is Bucky Barnes,” I introduced. “Bucky, these are my parents.”

Bucky shook each of their hands, making sure to use his flesh hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N),” he murmured. “And thank you so much for having me. I know it was very last-minute, and I really appreciate it.”

“It’s our pleasure, really. The more the merrier,” my mom said cheerfully. “And please, call us John and Karey.”

Bucky nodded shyly, and then once again grabbed our luggage. I reached for my suitcase, but Bucky shook his head as he pulled it out of my reach. “I’ve got it,” he insisted, and I frowned.

“But it’s heavy –”

“Maybe for you.” Bucky winked and then lifted my suitcase above his waist as if it weighed no more than a purse. I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as the Bucky I knew peeked through his anxious exterior.

“Show-off,” I muttered.

“Don’t be sour, doll,” Bucky said over his shoulder as he followed my parents out to the parking lot. “Jealousy isn’t becoming.”

I wanted to respond to his comment with something sarcastic or witty, but was too happy seeing him at ease that I decided against it and instead followed him and my parents to their truck.

The drive home was spent catching up with my parents; I hadn’t seen them since June, and my mom had so much to fill me in on. Bucky sat next to me in the backseat, and although he was politely listening to my mother ramble on about my uncle’s new puppy, I could tell he felt out of place. He spent a lot of time looking out the window in silence, and although I wanted to reach across the seat to take his hand, I knew that would likely only make him more uncomfortable and invite awkward questions from my parents.

“So, Bucky,” my dad said suddenly, and Bucky’s head snapped up, shocked to have been addressed directly. “How do you usually spend the holidays?”

Bucky’s face fell for only a split second before he composed himself again and his lips quirked up the tiniest bit at one corner. “Well, sir, if I’m being honest it’s been awhile since I’ve celebrated Christmas,” he admitted ruefully, and I could see my dad’s brow furrow in the rearview mirror. Before he could open his mouth and make this situation any more uncomfortable, I spoke.

“We’ll make sure this is one to remember, then,” I said to Bucky with a warm smile, in which he returned with his own small smile.

As we turned down the lane and drove up to the house, I couldn’t help but feel excited. As much as I loved New York and loved my job at the Avengers compound, I was a small-town girl at heart and I had missed the farm that I’d grown up on.

It hadn’t changed at all in my twenty-six years of life; the same big white farmhouse with the green shutters and the oak tree out front, the large yard, and the old red barn that at one time held horses but was now just used to store tractor parts. It had just snowed the night before, and everything was covered in a thin blanket of sparkling white. My parents had already put up most of the outdoor lights, but I saw that they had saved the big red pine. A smile lit up my face.

“Are we decorating the pine today?” I asked excitedly, and my mom grinned.

“You didn’t think we’d do it without you, did you?” she asked as we got out of the truck. Bucky gave me a questioning look and I grinned.

“We’ve decorated this tree as a family since we were little kids,” I explained. “Our ceilings were never high enough to have an enormous tree so we’d always decorate this one to be as stunning as the one inside.”

“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard,” Bucky chuckled, and I couldn’t help the blush that warmed my cheeks. Ducking my head, I motioned towards the house.

“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to my brother and sister and give you a tour.”

I could tell as soon as my brother saw Bucky walk through the door that he was about to burst with excitement and a million questions – He had been obsessed with the Avengers long before I had become Pepper’s assistant. Remembering how uncomfortable Bucky had been at my dad’s unintentionally invasive questions, I shot Jeremy a look that told him to keep his mouth shut and give Bucky space.

To my relief, both Jeremy and Katie were polite and friendly when I introduced Bucky to them. I could see some of the tension ease out of his shoulders now that he had met my family and they’d accepted him, and I set a hand briefly on his arm.

“I’ll give you a tour of the house and then show you the room you’ll be staying in,” I told him, and he nodded before following me out of the foyer.

“This is my room,” I told him after we’d gone through the first floor and climbed the stairs. I pushed open the door and gestured for him to come in after he hesitated. The room hadn’t changed since I moved out at eighteen to go to college; originally my parents had planned to turn it into an office but they’d never gotten around to it, and so the Zac Efron posters and constellation-patterned bedsheets still remained.

Bucky picked up a stuffed Garfield off my desk and his lips tugged up into a smirk. “Cute,” he said, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Alright, out of here before you start picking apart everything in here,” I said, ushering Bucky to the door. He laughed, turning to grin at me.

“I wasn’t making fun of you, doll,” he chuckled. “I really did think it was cute. I think I would have liked to know the (Y/N) that liked stuffed animals and had posters of half-naked men on her walls.”

I snorted and shoved him playfully away from my room. “Yeah, well, you stick around here long enough and you’ll probably get to see her,” I told him wryly. “I tend to revert back to her when I’m home for any amount of time.”

Bucky’s answering smile was warm, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’m looking forward to it,” he murmured, no hint of teasing left in his voice, and for some reason it had my cheeks hot and my stomach fluttering. After an awkward silence, I opened the door to the bedroom next to mine.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” I said, clearing my throat. “That way if you need anything during the night…” I trailed off, but the look on Bucky’s face told me that he knew I was referring to his nightmares. He offered me a small smile.

“It’s great, (Y/N), really.” He gave me a shy look. “Thank you for all of this. I would have been at the compound by myself watching Christmas movies on TV if it weren’t for you.”

“Well we couldn’t have that, now, could we?” I teased half-heartedly, but the atmosphere in the room had changed. The air between us was heavy with a feeling I couldn’t quite place my finger on; it was certainly not something I had felt around him before. I had always felt comfortable around Bucky, from the moment we met – I could be myself around him, and he himself around me. But now I felt myself struggling to find words to say and my stomach was in a constant flutter.

Luckily, the awkwardness was shattered by Katie calling up the stairs that they were going to decorate the pine tree whether Bucky and I were ready or not. Shooting each other sheepish grins, we both made to head to the staircase at the same time and bumped into each other in the door frame. Bucky stepped back.

“Ladies first,” he said graciously, and I blushed as I ducked past him.

“A little higher,” my mom said as my dad and Jeremy were on ladders stringing lights around the top of the pine tree. Katie and I were at the bottom, each trying to keep one of the ladders steady, as my mom directed the guys on where to hang the lights. Bucky was off to one side, watching us with a slightly amused expression.

“(Y/N), hold the ladder still, would ya?” my dad grumbled and I rolled my eyes dramatically. I could hear Katie snickering from the other side of the tree.

“It looks good enough, Mom,” Jeremy groaned, after my mom had told him to hang the lights from a different branch. “You won’t be able to tell in the dark which branch they’re hanging from anyway.”

Another argument about light placement ensued, and I couldn’t help but smile; it wasn’t tradition if at least four arguments didn’t take place while we were putting up the lights. After a bit more arguing and my dad and Jeremy doing some rearranging among heavy sighs, the lights were finally strung to my mother’s satisfaction.

“What about the star?” my mom asked as the men climbed down the ladders. I pulled the big silver star out of the tote we stored the lights in and turned to Bucky with a grin.

“I think we should let Bucky do it,” I said, and a smile brightened my mom’s face.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

I carried the star over and handed it to Bucky. He looked uncertain, like he wanted to argue against it, but I was already nudging him towards the tree. His cheeks pink, he climbed the ladder after a nod of encouragement from me, and gracefully set the star atop the highest bough of the tree.

After Bucky had climbed down the ladder and taken position at my side, my dad pulled the remote for the timer from his pocket, pressing a button and turning the lights on. I had seen it over a dozen times now, but it still filled me with warmth and happiness every time and I couldn’t help but smile like a little kid.

“Alright, it’s done and I’m cold,” Jeremy said. “Let’s go inside and get some food.”

“Can’t you just enjoy it for a minute?” my mom replied.

“It’s snowing!” Katie suddenly exclaimed, and we all looked up to the sky. It was indeed snowing, snowflakes falling from the sky softly and catching in the light from the tree. I turned to look at Bucky, who had his own childlike grin on his face.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, stretching out his left arm to catch a few snowflakes on his leather-gloved hand. The vibranium underneath the leather was cool, preserving the snowflakes long enough to inspect their intricate designs.

“We might get a white Christmas for the first time in years,” I said in excitement, and Bucky grinned.

“Y’know, there was a time when we always had a white Christmas,” he chuckled, and I scrunched my nose at him.

“Yeah, yeah; c’mon, old man,” I teased, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the house where the others were already headed. “It’s getting cold and dark; let’s go in where it’s warm and make some hot cocoa.”

My mom had already turned the kettle on by the time we’d gotten inside and stripped off our jackets and boots, and it wasn’t long before we’d all settled down in the living room with steaming mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows. Bucky and I had settled onto the loveseat as my dad turned on a hockey game.

“You a hockey fan, Bucky?” my dad asked, and Bucky shrugged.

“I like it,” he replied. “Haven’t really had much time to follow sports for years now, but baseball was always more my sport; that and boxing.” He grinned. “Steve and I did go see the Rangers play the Maple Leafs at Madison Square Garden for one of the Stanley Cup Final games, though.”

My dad’s eyebrows shot up. “The Rangers haven’t played the Leafs in the finals since…”

“Since 1940,” Bucky finished, a rueful smile on his face. “I definitely dated myself with that one, didn’t I? Sometimes I forget that people don’t realize I’m actually almost one hundred and four years old.”

“(Y/N) told us how old you and Steve were,” my dad explained. “It’s just hard to remember, considering you look barely over thirty.”

Bucky’s lips twitched. “Spending most of your life in a cryo chamber does wonders for your complexion,” he said wryly, and although his tone was teasing his eyes told a different story. I sat up straighter, tucking my legs under myself, and cleared my throat.

“Has anyone heard if Uncle Joe is coming up for Christmas this year?” I asked, changing the subject and successfully diverting everyone’s focus away from Bucky. He shot me a grateful look to which I returned with a warm smile, hoping that I wouldn’t have to keep jumping in to stop my family from making Bucky uncomfortable all through Christmas.

“(Y/N), you’re twenty-six years old; I shouldn’t have to tell you not to eat raw cookie dough!” my mom scolded as I dipped my finger into the bowl of dough she had whipped up for molasses cookies and licked it clean, savouring the spicy-sweet flavour of it. I grinned sheepishly at my glaring mother.

“If I get salmonella then it’s totally worth it; this tastes amazing, Mom,” I told her, and she rolled her eyes as she mixed together the pumpkin pie filling.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

I shrugged. “Well, I tried.” Digging a spoon out of the drawer, I dipped it into the bowl and then held the spoonful of dough out to Bucky. “You have to try this, Buck, it’s so good.”

“(Y/N)!” my mom hissed. “It’s bad enough if you make yourself sick, but I’m not going to let you make our guest sick as well.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Bucky said, eyes sparkling as he took the spoon from me. “One good thing about being superhuman is that I don’t get sick.” He stuck the spoon in his mouth and his lips curved into a grin. “That’s gotta be the best damn cookie dough I’ve ever tasted.”

“See?” I exclaimed. “I told you so.”

My mom muttered something about the two of us being “peas in a pod,” and Bucky and I laughed as we began to spoon the dough onto a cookie sheet. In the past twelve hours Bucky had relaxed considerably, bonding over hockey with my dad and brother, helping my sister wrap the gifts she got me so I wouldn’t see what they were, and helping my mom with the Christmas baking. It warmed my heart to see him fitting in with my family, and reinforced my belief that inviting him to come home with me had been the right decision.

After an afternoon baking and an evening of Christmas movies – specifically Elf, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Christmas Vacation – everyone agreed that we were going to retire early for the night. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and as I had already warned Bucky, the next two days were going to be very busy and there wouldn’t be much time for rest.

Sometime in the middle of the night, though, I woke with my throat parched and cursed to myself when a glance at the nightstand told me I had forgotten to bring up a glass of water with me when I’d gone to bed. My body had grown used to the self-adjusting climatizer at the compound, and so the dry air caused by the wood furnace in the basement had my throat aching.

With a sigh, I pushed off my blankets and slid out of bed, making my way down the creaky old staircase as quietly as possible so as to not wake up anyone else in the house.

In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of water, and the cold liquid instantly soothed my parched throat as I swallowed. The clock on the stove said 2:19; I should have been in bed, but I was awake now and instead chose to sit in the living room in the comforting lights of the tree and the fireplace until I felt tired again.

I was surprised to find that Bucky was already doing just that. He glanced up as I walked in, and although he looked sheepish at having been caught, he didn’t look surprised to see me; his supersoldier hearing would have alerted him I was awake as soon as I’d stepped out of bed.

“Bucky,” I breathed. “I came down to get some water; I didn’t expect anyone else to be up right now.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied with a half-shrug, and I frowned. I came over to sit on the opposite end of the couch, tucking my legs underneath me and nursing my glass of water. I bit my lip.

“Nightmares?” I asked hesitantly, and he gave me a sad smile and shook his head.

“Not this time.” He paused before continuing, his gaze drifting to the fireplace. A cozy little fire was burning brightly, making me wonder how long he had been awake – The fire should have been dying embers by now. “I’ve just…got a lot on my mind,” he finally said, eyes still fixed on the flickering flames. I shifted, fingers twitching to reach out to him but deciding against it.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

I watched Bucky’s jaw tighten, and then he reached up his flesh hand to run it through his hair before meeting my eyes with what almost seemed like embarrassment.

“Your family has been so kind,” he started, “and I am incredibly grateful that you asked me to come and spend Christmas here. But…” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Being around your family and seeing how happy you all are and how much you love each other…I can’t help but miss my own family.”

I had never once in the time I’ve known Bucky hear him speak about his family. He would talk about his early days with Steve, but had never mentioned his parents or siblings, at least not around me. I knew his parents’ names were George and Winnifred, and that he had two sisters named Rebecca and Alice and two brothers named Thomas and David, but only because Steve had told me about them once.

And seeing the look on Bucky’s face, and hearing the waver in his voice, I now knew why he hadn’t ever spoken of them before. It hurt him to speak of them, even all these decades later. His eyes were dry, but the pain and sadness they held was enough to have a lump forming in the back of my own throat.

“Christmas was always a big deal to us,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We didn’t have a lot of money – It was especially hard in the thirties, during the Depression. But Ma and Pa always made it special for us anyway. We’d get a tree and decorate it with homemade ornaments, and on Christmas Eve every year Pa would read us A Christmas Carol; it was tradition. Then we’d wake up Christmas morning and open presents – Ma made us each a new sweater every year – and we’d always get an orange and some chocolate in our stockings, every year.” Bucky grinned ruefully. “It seems silly now ‘cause we eat oranges and chocolate all year ‘round, but back when money was scarce finding those things in your stocking was like finding gold.”

Bucky was wrapped up in his nostalgia, but his eyes were still sad. I gave him a small smile. “It sounds nice,” I murmured, and he nodded.

“It was. We may not have had a lot of money, but we had each other.” His eyes fell back to his lap. “Our last real Christmas was in 1940. Christmas in ’41 was a write-off because the U.S. had just joined the war, and I know it broke my ma’s heart when I enlisted but she understood why I did it.”

“So…1940 was the last time you celebrated Christmas?” My eyes were wide as I regarded Bucky.

“Guess so,” he chuckled humourlessly. “No one really felt like celebrating in ’41, and it’s hard to celebrate when you’re deep in enemy territory during a world war. After that I spent the next seventy Christmases in cryo, one in Bucharest by myself when I was a war criminal, one in cryo in Wakanda, another in Wakanda that I didn’t bother celebrating, and then after the snap, well…” He trailed off and shrugged. “This is the first Christmas since 1940 that I really have the chance to properly celebrate.”

It broke my heart that so many of Bucky’s Christmases were taken from him. He’d been through more in his lifetime than likely anyone else on this planet, and yet he managed to stay so strong. Even now, as sad as he was, his eyes remained dry. His jaw was still tight, though, and I bit my lip before setting my glass of water on the coffee table and reaching out a rest a hand on his arm.

“If I could give you even one more Christmas with your family, Buck, I would,” I murmured softly. Hell, I would give him anything right now if it would take away his sadness. “What I can give you, though,” I continued, “is a Christmas with a family that will do their best to make you feel like you’re one of their own.” I gave him a small smile. “My family adores you, Buck; I know you miss your family and no one will ever replace them, but you can have more than one family. You of course have the team, but you also have my family, and…and me, if you need it.”

The atmosphere in the room had changed; sadness no longer lingered in the air, replaced with something unfamiliar that felt charged with electricity. I was suddenly very aware of how hot Bucky’s skin was under my hand, and in the light of the fireplace and the Christmas lights his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline were even more prominent. I tried to divert my gaze, my cheeks hot, but Bucky had my eyes locked in his.

“(Y/N)…” he murmured, and my heart started to race.

“Yes?” I squeaked.

“I…” He swallowed hard, and then shook his head, a small smile curving his lips. “Thank you. For all of this. You have no idea how much it means to me to be here.”

The electric feeling in the air disappeared and I could focus again. I smiled and squeezed his arm before retracting my hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” I told him, and his face softened.

“Sit with me for a bit?” he asked. “That is, if you aren’t too tired –”

“I’d love to,” I assured him, and Bucky’s smile was dazzling. I may not be able to give him a Christmas with his family, but I would be damned sure to do everything I could to give him the best Christmas possible.

#bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes #smut #james buchanan barnes #christmas #fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky reader #cute #angst

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: when life (or Thire) gets him traffic duty, Hound makes the most of it.

Warnings: None

A/N: I shouldn’t be starting a new work. I really shouldn’t. I also shouldn’t have decided to write a oneshot, talked to @skdubbs and have four chapters plotted out.

This does take place in the Fox and Mouse verse (around chapter 6 if I remeber correctly).

————

“From Kessel to Kijimi, this is Nuna Skii flying you through the dark hours of the night. I’d like to give a shout to-.”

Hound hunches forward over the handle bars to the GAR issued speeder. Traffic Ops. Kriff.

It would teach him to make a bet with Thire. Then again, how was he to know that the Commander actually had it in him to bag the cute little secretary that took up guard duty outside of his office door.

Obviously not Hound.

The ARF Sargent sighs before turning the radio up. He’d rather be back in his barracks with his massiff at his feet than clocking for speeders and traffic violations. It wasn’t that it was below him it was just… well it was below him. He didn’t go through recon school to be looking for our of date tags.

At least he got to listen to his favorite radio show.

“-and more of that sweet jizz music coming from Dantooine as a special favor to my boys in the 332nd”

Nuna Skii’s show on Independent Republic Radio was a favorite of many a trooper. Overnights were osik but the sweet smoky sound of her voice and the frequent shoutouts - often laced with innuendo - were definitely one way to pass the time. And if her voice was stored in the spank banks of half the troopers in the GAR? Well, that was just an added bonus to her show.

“Just you, me and an empty sky lane tonight, eh Nuna?” He asks the radio.

“How about we take another deep dive into an absolutely delicious track, yeah?”

“You could sell me some ocean front property on Tatooine and I'd pay top dollar. Hit me with it, babygirl.”

He only does a handful of stops and doesn’t write a single ticket for the next six hours.

———

She was so karking tired. Like, tired was an understatement. Half-dead might be more correct. She needed atomic grade caf or a bed to pass out in immediately. Glancing at the near stalled traffic in front of her, Nuna can’t help but think she wasn’t going to get either anytime soon.

The joys of working nights.

She really did love her job. To be a young holoradio jockey and have a spot on any station on Coruscant was pretty damn amazing but to have it on IRR? probably the single coolest station in the core worlds? It was a dream come true. Most of the time.

A yawn escapes her lips and her speeder rattles ominously underneath her.

“Oh- no, no, no.” She mutters looking down at her gauges. Warning lights flash brightly. She’d just gotten the kriffing thing out of the shop last week. They were supposed to have fixed the thrusters. The bike leans to the right and Nuna feels the tell tale swoop in her stomach from a sudden drop in altitude. It wasn’t much more than a few feet but if it was anything like it was the week before she needed a landing platform. And fast.

The early morning light bounces off the transparisteel buildings around her as she tries to find the nearest safe bet. Her speeder bike coughs once and jerks again, jostling her helmeted head. She sucks in a sharp breath as it pulls hard, dragging her from the skylane and into open air. It’s a struggle to keep the thing upright as she tries to guide it in for a landing on the nearest platform. Lights flash in her rear view.

“Really? Really?!” She hisses to herself as her muscles strain to keep the bike on course.

She manages to land the malfunctioning speeder, the ungainly pile of scrap plopping down with all the grace of a pregnant nerf.

The Coruscant Guard bike, all sleek lines, gunmetal grey and cherry red accents lands feet behind her.

Hers makes one last wheeze and cuts off. The good thing is, she’s wide awake now. No caf needed.

“Ma’am?”

Nuna turns to see the visage of snarling maw cocking it’s head in her direction.

“You ok?”

She swallows hard. It was a known fact within her small circle of friends that Nuna Skii - the real Nuna Skii not the sex kitten holojockey- was absolute mush for a guys in uniform and the one stepping closer was definitely one that would make her heart pump harder if it weren’t already for the adrenaline of a near death experience. If there was a name for kink involving men in helmets Nuna had it.

“I- uh- yeah” she takes a deep breath because now was not the place and certainly not the time, “I’m good”

The trooper's head cocks the opposite direction as he points toward her handlebars. “You know you're ok to let those go now, right?”

A nervous laugh escapes her lips. Her hands feel stiff from the exertion of the landing and she wiggles her fingers, forcing the blood back into them as she pulls them back toward her. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. Can I see your identichip and registration?”

Nuna gives him a blank stare for half a second, eyes moving almost comically from his outstretched hand and back up to his helmet. His free hand rests at his kama, index finger tapping idly. He’s got to be kidding, she nearly died and he was going to-

“You're going to give me a ticket?” She pulls her helmet off with little fanfare and hangs it from the handle bars. “Really? I nearly died and now I’m getting a ticket?!”

The trooper holds both hands up, “Easy there. No one said anything about a ticket. Just because you broke about three different traffic codes and at least two vehicular safety ones...” he lets the implication of what he’s said hang in the air.”

Nuna pulls the requested items out of her bag and hands them to the trooper with more aggression than needed but, damn it all, she was so tired she could cry and now she had to deal with a broke down speeder. Again.

She watches as the trooper looks down at the identichip and then back to her. Once, twice, three times.

“Is there a problem?”

“You’re Nuna Skii- I mean like the real Nuna Skii?” The tone of his voice has changed and he almost seems… excited?

“Uh yeah, guilty as charged. Listen, is this going to-“

“Say, ‘flying you through the night on IRR.’”

“Is this part of your usual traffic stops?” Nuna raises a brow at the trooper. Really? Did it ever get strange enough. She swings a leg over the seat and moves to stand. Her legs shake underneath her and tall, excitable and toothy holds out a gloved hand.

“Here, let me help you.”

She takes it because falling flat on her face really doesn’t seem like something she wanted to add to her laundry list of problems this morning. When she’s standing at her full height, which was substantially shorter than the solid wall of clone trooper in front her, she looks up.

His hand moves to the back of his helmet and rubs gently, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound demanding.” He says almost bashful. “It’s just that if-“

She takes pity on him. “From Corellia to Canto Bight, flying you through the night on Independent Republic Radio”

He stands frozen for a moment. Nuna squirms under the unflinching state of his visor until finally-

“Holy Fett! It’s really you! Listen! I- I mean we- the Guard- we’re like your biggest fans.”

The wind whips up through the levels ruffling the hair on her head, deep lilac colored wisps work their way into her mouth and she spits uselessly before reaching up and using her fingers to remove them. “That’s great really-“

Her hands go to her hips. Was this guy for real?

“Hey, I know a guy that does towing. He’s kind of a di’kut but he owes me a favor. I could get your ride towed where you need it. I mean, if you want?”

“Like, for free?” She clarifies.

The trooper looks down at her as if that was a given, “well, yeah.”

“And you want what in return?” Nuna fidgets. This is where the guy becomes a dirtbag and asks for something. He hands back her identichip and registration before reaching up and popping the seal on his bucket. He gives her a lopsided grin as he slips the helmet up his arm. Kriff. He was cute. His dark hair is cut into a floppy Mohawk. A stray curl of it dips down across his forehead and he offers her a lopsided grin. He is about as intimidating as a puppy.

“Can I get a shout out on your show tonight? I mean, the boys are NEVER going to believe this unless you do.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it” he seems to think for a moment and his smile becomes toothy, “unless you’d like to give me your number too?”

She can feel the hot rush of embarrassment to her cheeks and hopes he mistakes it for wind burn. She ignores his comment about her number because, this fine specimen was so far out of her league it was crazy.

“So What’s to stop me from saying yes and not doing it”

“Aww come on, please? You wouldn’t do one of your biggest fans like that would you?”

“What’s your name?” She can’t handle the soft puppy dog eyes he’s giving her. It should be illegal for any dude with shoulders that broad to look so cute.

“Sargent Hound of the Coruscant Guard at your service.”

She nearly chokes. Well, that explained the puppy dog eyes. “You drive a hard bargain, Sargent.” She says regaining her composure. She looks behind him to the GAR issued speeder. “If you can drop me at my building I’ll call it a deal.”

His smile makes her tummy flutter, “I think that can be arranged.”

——-

“You’re full of it” Rule barks “Osik up to your visor!”

Hound is lounging back on a couch that is not nearly large enough for both him and the massiff sprawled out on it. Grizzer lifts his head, licks his lips lazily and lays back down. Hound scratches around the creature's dorsal spikes and the massiff kicks his back foot happily.

“I told you man. It was her. Identichip verified and everything.

“El-Tee? You hear this?”

Lieutenant Thire looks up from his holopad and the boloball game he was watching, “what?”

Rule is grinning from ear to ear, “Hound here says he helped Nuna Skii out of a bind this morning.”

“I’m not just saying it. I did it.”

Hound explains lazily. He doesn’t tell them about giving her a ride home, pretty sure he broke about half a dozen regs just having her pressed up against his back and her arms around his waist and that was before he dropped her at her building. It was early enough in the day that he doubts anyone really noticed. If they did it was worth it to have her hands clutching at his armor.

Hound had pictured Nuna Skii so many times that the fact that she wasn’t a leggy blonde had come as a shock. What she was wasn’t a bad thing, just different. Short and soft with curves in places he wished he could run his hands all over.

“Prove it!” Ryk laughs as he ambles in, freshly showered and pulling his blacks over his head.

“Should we tell ‘Em Grizz, old man? Or should we just let them eat their buckets when it happens?”

Ryk rolls his eyes as the ARF Trooper chats with his massiff. “You know he’s never going to answer back, right?”

Grizzer looks over his shoulder at Ryk.

“Aww come on man” Hound fusses. One mearty hand moves to scratch under the massiff’s intimidating jaw. Grizzer turns into the touch, nearly purring with contentment. “Just because he can’t speak basic doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand it. Isn’t that right boy. We got our own language, Grizz and I. Smartest mas’ in the whole GAR, aren’t you?”

The creatures leathery tail thumps happily in agreement.

“Don’t know about that but he certainly smells a lot better than the bunch of you.” Thire mutters turning his attention back to boloball and cursing quietly. Ryk lifts an arm smelling.

“Not me! I’m squeaky clean!”

“We’re getting off track here” Rule announces in an attempt to refocus the gathered troopers. “What we need to know is how you're going to prove you met Nuna Skii.”

“Did she sign a ticket?” Thire asks, not looking up. When Hound doesn’t answer Thire looks up.

“She was having a really bad morning-“

“You do know when you work traffic you have to ticket people at least once in a while.”

“Apparently, not the pretty ones.” Ryk cackles.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, vod.”

Ryk rolls his eyes as Hound moves to turn the radio on. Nuna’s show was starting any minute. He hoped she’d come through.

———-

Around and around Nuna spins. The wheels on her roller chair are in desperate need of oil and squeak in protest. Nuna is undeterred as she waits for the next commercial to end. Her producer glances at her through the transparisteel divider and rolls her eyes. Yes, she was a child. No, she would not be apologizing. She grabs a cold protato from a greasy Dex’s bag as she makes another loop. If her fans could see her now. She’s got on an oversized tunic and a pair of dark pants that were probably a little too tight but were way too comfortable for her to care. When she woke her hair wasn’t about to do anything for her so now it sits piled high in a sloppy bun atop her head. She was about as far away from the character she portrayed as she could get.

“On in fifteen Nunz” Tully her producer says. Nuna hurries to swallow her food and takes a big gulp of water.

“And that was the Twi’Three with their latest and I’m Nuna Skii keeping you up all night.” She purrs into the mic. “I think we’re going to go to the comms and take a few calls. Whatcha wanna let the galaxy know?”

“Hi Nuna. Long time listener. I just wanted to say that I love the show but I’m getting really tired of your pandering to clones-“

Nuna mashes the end button with gusto before sighing deeply into the mic.

“Babies and Gentlemen. My lovelies. From 2100 til 0500 five nights a week this is a trooper positive show. If you don’t like it I’d suggest you find something else to listen too. Those yummy boys in white are giving the Republic their all. I don’t see a problem with a few minutes here and there dedicated to them, do you?” She asks sweetly. “It makes me happy making them happy. You know what else makes me happy? New stuff from that Mon Cal band, Ach’tu. Coming at you after this commercial break”

———-

“Maker, I love when she does that.” Ryk groans quietly. “She could put me in my place any day.”

Rule nods, “she could read me the repair manual to my deece and I would die a happy man.”

Thire snorts, “What about you Hound. Got something to say?”

“Yeah man” Ryk lifts his head from where he was resting it against the back of his chair. “What does she look like.”

Hound offers a sly grin, “like a million credits.”

“Long legs? Big tits? You're killing us man” Rule says raising a brow, “unless you don’t really know.”

Hound laughs, “I know vod, but I’m not telling.” His brothers roll their eyes.

“For all my blaster babes and bucket bunnies happily messing with republic property. I salute you.” Nuna’s voice grabs the gathered troopers attention. Thire snorts softly, pretending as if he wasn’t listening. “Along those lines I want to send a special thanks to my new favorite Hound dog out there patrolling the sky lanes of Coruscant. Keep being a good boy and next time we meet I’ll give you a scratch behind the ears.”

The room falls silent except for the low snore of a sleeping massiff. All eyes fall on Hound. His smile says I told you so.

A good boy. Yeah, he could be very happy with that.

#clone sargent hound #tcw #sargent hound/oc #am i the official author of the coruscant guard #coruscant guard

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

Text

Listed: Linda Smith

A pioneer of the home recording movement, Linda Smith has released music on labels such as Harriet, Shrimper, Slumberland, and her own Preference Recordings. Captured Tracks issued Till Another Time: 1988-1996 in March, which collects highlights from the period. Chris Liberato reviewed the compilation for Dusted, calling it “an enchanting introduction to Smith’s world of primitive and expansive indie pop songwriting.” This year also saw the arrival of Untitled 1-10 Plus 1, Smith’s first collection of new music since turning her focus to painting almost two decades ago. Here she shares a list of Ten Firsts (in no order).

First Job, 1973

youtube

Ticket and concessions seller at a General Cinema in the local mall. Just out of high school and without any idea of my next move, I thought it would be great to see movies for free whenever I wanted. The job only lasted 4 months, due to the somewhat sleazy management and low pay.

First Punk Idol — Patti Smith

youtube

Sitting around watching tv late one night in 1976, I came across a musical revelation unlike anything I’d experienced since I saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan in 1964. Saturday Night Live’s featured guest was Patti Smith, and though I hadn’t tuned in to see her (in fact, I don't think I’d ever heard of her), my six year disinterest in rock music came to an end. Her performance was at once amusing, inspiring, and brought back memories of the 1960s while moving rock music into “another dimension.”

First Trip Overseas — Italy, 2004

(Linda Smith, 2004) I’d dreamed of going to Italy for quite some time when an opportunity to study art there and earn credits towards my late in life degree presented itself. The country did not disappoint but I wish I'd been able to do less artwork and more exploring.

First 4 Track — Fostex X15, 1986

youtube

On my lunch break from the advertising dept at J&R Music World in lower Manhattan, I spied this magic machine in the window of an electronics store on Church St. It was small, easy to use, and offered me a way to arrange and play everything on my songs without having to leave my apartment. At first I imagined I’d make demos for the band I was in but the act of recording quickly became an end in itself.

First Favorite Movie — The Wizard of Oz

youtube

Judy Garland was the first big film star I knew of, through yearly broadcasts of the film in black and white. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was the first song I’d heard that conveyed a sense of yearning for places beyond what you grow up knowing and living in.

First Apartment, 1981

youtube

Located on Maryland Ave. near 25th Street in Baltimore, MD and shared with one of my sisters, it provided freedom and a place to hang out with new city friends, playing records (“Juju” by Siouxsie and the Banshees being a favorite at the time) and eating carryout after having lived a bit too long in the suburbs.

First 45 I Bought — "Ticket to Ride" by The Beatles

youtube

I bought this in 1966 from a little variety store near where my grandparents lived. The opening guitar riff, along with the first line, “I think I'm gonna be sad…,” seemed to sum up everything I loved about the possibilities contained within a 3 minute pop song.

First Song I Wrote — “Pretty Part of Town”

youtube

The song is based on looking out of bus windows while riding through West Baltimore in the early 1980s. Here is a recording of my first band, The Symptoms, practicing it. With Nancy Sexton on bass and Peggy Bitzer on drums.

First Art Museum Visit — Baltimore Museum of Art, 3rd grade field trip

(Photo by Stephen Spartanasm) I had never seen paintings before except in books. The other kids giggled at Matisse’s Blue Nude while I felt as if a new world had been discovered. For the past 15 years I have worked there in the security dept, an art education in itself.

First Big City — NYC, on yet another school field trip, in high school

youtube

We must have come into town across the George Washington Bridge because I will never forget the awe I felt upon seeing skyscrapers for the first time. Much later I would jump at the chance to sublet a friend's apartment in order to live and play music there in a band called The Woods, with Peggy Bitzer, Brian Bendlin, and Steven Cheslik-De Myer.

#dusted magazine #listed #linda smith #patti smith #the wizard of oz #siouxsie and the banshees #the beatles #the symptoms #the woods

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nagdabbit · 3 years

Note

You've been asked about your favorite matches before, but what's your ~least favorite~ match?

HEY, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING THIS

muhammad ali vs antonio inoki. the match fuckin' sucked, and i say that with great respect for both men. you can find it pretty easily on youtube if you care to, but i wouldn't recommend it. it was an unmitigated disaster. but the everything else around it is great! it's basically the first mma match.

okay, strap in, cuz this is one of my favorite wrestling stories. if you already know the story, just agree with me and skip, but its so fuckin' funny.

basically, in the way back of 1975 (? i think?), ali was like 33. right on the edge of retirement, not goin quite so hard as he used to. he's lookin for a challenge, somethin a little new, some kind of crossover fight. at a benefit of some kind, ali met the president of the japanese amateur wrestling association and did the extremely ali thing of running his mouth. he was like, "i'll give a million dollars to whoever of your boys can beat me." obviously, this made huge headlines in japan and antonio inoki was like ok bet, and his backers offered six million dollars

(if you are unfamiliar with inoki, he's a professional wrestling l e g e n d, politician and the founder of new japan pro-wrestling. please look him up and strap in for another wild fuckin ride. or ask, i guess. fuckin legend. and watch new japan.)

ali has some of the best trash talk there ever was, making quips about inoki's incredible jawline, but inoki had one of the hardest, calmest comebacks, like "when your fist connects with my chin, take care your hand isn't damaged." great. media ate it the fuck up, everyone ate it the fuck up.

so like, this was a fuckin huge deal. like vince wwe jr's dad bought out an entire theatre and showed the match on closed circuit tv and made bank. like, from the price of live tickets being insane to the absolute bat shit number of pay per view buys, this was fuckin HUGE.

NOW. both these guys always, always, always held onto the story that the fight was legit. always. there's no fuckin' way, but you gotta respect the grift. whether it might have started with ali thinking it was legit before the six million agreement was made? maybe. but somewhere along the way, someone had to be the one to tell muhammad ali that getting six mil meant he was booked to fuckin' lose.

obviously, that didn't fly. even with the plan being that ali would throw a stray punch, knock out the ref, and inoki would knock him out with a cheap kick to the head, he'd get counted out, and ali would get to save face. story for the ages, never fails, always works.

naw. ali wouldn't fuck with that. a fixed fight that neither man was willing to lose.

but on the other end--at least according to inoki--was the story of ali showing up to watch him train, going "when do we rehearse?" and inoki going, "naw. this is gonna be a real fight."

whatever was the truth, what resulted was the stupidest stipulations fuckin' imaginable. inoki would not be allowed to tackle, grapple or throw ali, and he wouldn't be allowed to kick unless he had one knee on the mat. fucking stupid, right? (it's possible that ali's backers [behind ali's back] threatened inoki's life, according to bret hart, who worked for inoki at the time, but all wrestlers are carnies so it is equally possible either fuckin way. who knows.)

so anyway. inoki was accompanied to the ring by karl fuckin' gotch, who helped form a lot of the grappling style of wrestling in japan--which is a detail for me, mostly, because that era of japanese wrestling, in particular, is really interesting. ali wore smaller 4 oz gloves, a lot closer to what we think of mma fighters wearing nowadays. it would be 15 three minute rounds.

so like, the bell goes off, and inoki goes for a kick, misses, goes for another, misses, lands on his back and just--stayed there. because ali can't punch him if he's on the mat. so he stayed on his back, aiming kick after kick at ali's legs. in the sixth round, inoki got him to the canvas and squatted on his face. ali didn't even throw his first punch until like the seventh round, and his second in round ten. inoki was on the mat until like the 13th round. he got ali with a kick to the balls. muhammad ali threw six punches in the entire fuckin' thing.

it was scored as a tie, so no one lost and literally everyone who watched was fuckin pissed. there were chants for money back, garbage all over the fuckin place, it was a mess, everyone involved was humiliated.

and to add insult to literal injury, ali took so many hard kicks to the legs that he developed two blood clots. when he went through with his next fight, instead of going to the hospital first, his injuries got worse. the infection and injuries meant that he never got his full mobility back.

but ali and inoki became friends? like, really fucking good friends? inoki began to use ali's music to walk out to, ali flew out to watch inoki's final match in 1998, they worked together while inoki was in politics. that's how ali got involved with the collision in korea debacle.

my least favorite match of all time. it's terrible and embarrassing to watch, and i will never watch it again, but the story of it is so fucking great that i also love it so much.

#asks!

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watchtheworldargue · 4 years

Photo

egg magazine, april 1990. interview with Michael Hutchence

transcription below :)

Michael Hutchence on Lower Broadway

By Hal Rubenstein \ Photography by Steven Meisel

Globe-hopping is hell on a wardrobe and hard on the feet. Sometimes you have to get out of the limo to spend your money.

Michael Hutchence rarely comes to New York without luggage monogrammed INXS or Max Q, so one would think that on a visit without portfolio, the last thing he'd want to do is add on more baggage. But given a free day, a book of tickets, and our offer to go anywhere to do anything, Hutchence got into the limo with an agenda we could hardly call a new sensation. What kept us from sulking was that he hadn't left the devil outside.

Michael: You think we can load this car up with Yamamoto, Comme des Garcons, and Armani by 6?

Hal: Driver, step on it. Down to Grand and make a left.

[The car turns onto Union Square West.]

Isn't there a club on the corner here?

The Underground.

That's the one that keeps surviving regardless of how many people get shot there. How many are they up to?

No one's quite sure.

Where are we now? I don't recognise this.

This strip of lower Broadway didn't exist last time you were here. Now it's like a mall-less town's Main Street.

And Tower Records is City Hall. Not bad. It's wild to see this much activity because people around the world now talk about New York in terms of decay, how New York is such a rude place, and we keep telling them, No, New Yorkers are quite friendly, we like it there. New Yorkers are just very honest. They don't have time to bullshit. I like New York because people are linked to each other. L.A. Is fun, but segregated. Here there is a metro, and a different philosophy of getting around so there's rich upon poor upon rich. The only thing I don't remember is how many homeless are asleep on Park Avenue and everywhere else. Or is it my imagination?

No, it's real. How come you choose to live in Hong Kong instead of Australia?

For about three years, I thought it didn't matter where I lived. But I kept passing through it again. I grew up there, from when I was four until twelve. My dad still lives there. It has great energy, like New York. And it's ten hours closer to the world than Australia is. If you travel a lot, it adds up.

[We enter the Yohji Yamamoto store.]

So austere. Do they go wild if you hand back anything wrinkled? Those clothes over there are good acid-house colors. Has acid house caught on here?

Not like in England.

That's 'cause New York has bad radio. Are these dogs always here? They must sleep in the shoes. Ooh, look at these here. Not very me, but very Star Trek. $500 for a T-shirt. I see. I'll buy six. No, twelve. Now, here is something very stagy. Ultraflouncy. I like that, but the general consensus might kill my career.

Is what you wear onstage the same as you wear off?

I sort of smush them all together. My favorite piece of clothing is a leather jacket I had made for me that says “Hutch” in chain mail on the back.

Did Michael Schmidt make it for you?

Yeah – how'd you know? He's great. He sort of looks like a beautiful snake. He loves all the Hollywood stuff, but he's so sincere when he talks about it. Almost makes me like it. Is there somewhere funkier we can go, like Yankel's House of Pile? I saw that on the way down.

If you want old clothes, we should go to Cheap Jack's.

[We head back up to Broadway and 13th Street. Several young ladies on the corner stare at Hutchence as he enters Cheap Jack's.]

Do you enjoy recognition?

Depends on where I am.

Like when you're out on your own. Shopping, for instance.

Shopping, yeah, 'cause I get discounts. And there is a definite bonus to recognition when I'm onstage.

It makes the night go faster. But I'm not an institution yet. Sometimes I think about how hard it must be for someone like Bob Hope to go for a stroll. I don't really get hassled. I can stand in the middle of a street in London, or even New York, and usually nothing happens. I don't think I have that distinctive of a face. I got recognized in Tangier once, going by in a taxi, very fast … from a distance … in a fog … during monsoon season. Just kidding. It's odd how once you are conscious of being watched, you stop being so self-conscious because you realize there's nothing you can do about it. Of course, nobody in Hong Kong gives a shit who I am.

Aren't people there freaking about the city's eventual realignment with China?

Thousands are leaving a year, but they're the ones who can afford to leave, to give Australia half a million to let them in, though a lot more are going to Vancouver or New Zealand instead because they've heard, and it's fairly true, about Australia's racism.

It's actually more like unconscious racism. There's a naivete to it that you might call charming if it wasn't so sick. See, most foreigners don't realize – because we refuse to believe it ourselves – that Australia is southern Asia. Australia is linked to England in everyone's minds.

Yet most Australians don't have the faintest idea why the Japanese tried to invade us during the Second World War, and can't understand why they might not have wanted any foreigners on the biggest island in the Asian paradise. If we had lost, my home would be covered in rice paddies by now. Australia would have been Japan's Great Plains, their grain barrel.

I've never met one Australian who knows that. We have it so easy in Australia. It's very easy to live there. Tougher than it was before, but that's because five years ago it was ridiculous. I used to live in a three-story, five-bedroom house. It cost me $20 a week.

Did you make that much playing music?

Nah, but so what, we were all on the dole. Everyone went on it. That's one of the reasons you have so many bands in Australia. It's cheap to live and collect, so all the bands go on it. You wouldn't even have to go pick up your employment check; they'd mail it to you or transfer it to your account. Ready cash. I guess because there is such an anti-authoritarian vibe in Australia that people are quite happy to accept government checks. “Aw, screw 'em” - that's the attitude. Lots of people accept four and five checks or even have jobs. It's very lax. That's why we're stuck with the tall-poppy syndrome.

Translation?

Don't be successful, don't rise above your mates, or you'll get chopped. It's weird. It's the don't-leave-the-pub way of life. I think people in America are generally happy for someone's good fortune; they know how to let themselves go. In Australia, they go, “Good, mate,” and don't ask a single question. There are no celebrations for a job well done. I'm still shocked at how Americans cheer you on when they like you. I know you don't fancy it anymore, but I like phrases like “dress for success.”

And that's why you're shopping here?

I love hideous ties. Girls love 'em. Dunno why. Its like red socks. Are the playing Richard Hell? I haven't heard this song in 20 years. God, you must hear better music in clothing stores than you do anywhere else in New York. All these baseball jackets are so cheap. You know what they pay for these in Australia? I should buy the whole lot, take them back. I'd never have to tour again. I could get 150 to 200 bucks just for the ratty ones. I think this is the first clothing store I've been in that wasn't playing videos.

Are videos big in Australia?

We've actually been involved in music video a whole lot longer than in America. Because we are so far away, the only way we've had to understand all this music flying around the world is through video. Since the '50s, even when it was only 10 minutes a week, Aussie tv has been showing music videos.

And we don't censor the way you guys do. The “Way of the World” single is a very serious song, but MTV is quite shy of the video, you should note – I say this diplomatically. They censor here for all the wrong reasons. Like it's okay to stare at Cher's crotch for four minutes, but it's hard to say something truthful about the state of the world.

Could it be because with a group that's become as wildly successful as INXS has, it's inevitable that favorable reaction always turns?

I don't think INXS has reached that point yet. Give us four more years. We've only recently become hip in England. At the beginning, they hated our guts.

Why?

'Cause we are Australians writing pop music, why else? They don't make much in England, apart from nice jumpers and Jaguars, and one of the few things they can claim some turf on is pop music. So, they're not happy when someone else does it. It's a standard trait of island people; they're very territorial.

But you guys are island people too.

Yeah, but we got a bigger island. Now, if we can just get rid of some competition from the expatriate colonies.

Isn't it enough already with this rivalry between Australia and England? L.A. And New York have settled their feud.

England still treats Australia like we're descendants of convicts. Well, I guess we are, aren't we? We're trying to get rid of them, but unfortunately, they're coming back with money and buying up half the country. Don't you resent the Japanese buying Rockefeller Center?

I resent the Rockefellers more.

[Having tried on everything and bought nothing, Hutchence decides against old clothes. We head down to If boutique.]

Armand Basi. Nice stuff. That Claude Montana is fabulous, but God, this stuff is expensive. We don't know anyone here for a discount, do we? My father used to design clothes for a shop in Hong Kong called Dynasty. Glitzy evening wear for too much money. One year, when we did our first tour, we bough ta lot of Sprouse, real colorful stuff, and we spent a fortune, especially when you consider it's disposable fashion. All it had to do was last a month. All the buttons fell off, it shrunk, seams opened up. We would have been more upset, but it made us homesick for the mother country. Disposable fashion is very English. The nice thing about it when it comes from there, however, is that even though the stuff falls apart, it's cheap.

Ah, I like this. Very sexy, very smart. Basi, right? I found the best underwear. I think it's called Nikos. Someone gave it to me last night. Well, that's a plug. No names, please. These pants might go with the Basi shirt. [Like Navy pants, they have over a dozen buttons instead of a fly.] Not good clubwear. Certainly not quick enough to please me.

Your choice of underwear would have to be very discreet.

And always clean. Maybe these pants come with a catheter. Should I ask the shopgirl? [He raises his arm to call her and, wincing, puts it down.]

Just realized a colostomy bag wouldn't hurt?

No. I think I have a cracked rib, from too much fun the other night at Inflation, this super club in Melbourne. Melbourne has some of the best clubs in the world. Great people. Amazing clubs. Sydney has nothing. Boring as hell. Nice place if you're a surfer. Really pretty, like L.A. But very corrupt, Sydney. Everyone is always paying everyone off. That's why you can't afford to do a club there. It's like, in order to get a club license, all the other nightclub owners have to agree to your having a license. And four people control the voting on that. Melbourne now has a club called Razor that is so exciting. It used to an automobile club, especially popular during the '50s, where people used to talk about their cars, you know, with photos of Mini-Minors making hairpin turns around corners. Like a racing club, I guess, except for slower cars. Razor gets the best people.

[He picks up a pair of huge, get-lost-in-the-rain-forest-and-survive black shoes and delights.]

Many people have shoe fetishes. I guess it's around the world actually, not just with Imelda. I think people are probably just jealous of her because they secretly wanted so many pair. But these are big, like size big. Are Americans getting larger feet, or do they just want more room? I always notice shoes when I'm here.

There's almost like a $100 tax on shoes in Australia. Like a pair that will cost you $50 here will cost you almost $200 in Australia. A pair of Levi's cost $100. I never buy furniture in Australia, either, and I have an obsession with furniture the way Americans love shoes. It's a shame I don't have an obsession with homes, too, since I have no place to put all the furniture. I have it stored all over the world.

Let me get the Basi shirt, and then I want to buy records. I would get them later, but I just remembered I have a friend coming in tonight for only one night. He and his father are trying to get down to Nicaragua. They're helping Ortega keep the Contras back. Good luck. What's so weird about their going is that these guys are publishing magnates in England. Entrepreneurs. They should be serious Thatcherites, but they just hate Thatcher. Real lefties.

If everyone is so vocal of their dislike of her, how come she's so strong?

The British love her because they love to be miserable; they love to complain. Thatcher's become irrepressible. She's finally showing signs of faltering, except she's winning by default, because no one wants to put Kinnock in, either. It's like your Dan Quayle. What an alternative.

Are Australians political?

It's compulsory to vote, if you want to call that political. Frankly, nobody particularly gives a fuck. That doesn't mean Australians are not aware people. I think they know more about what's going on in the rest of the world than the average American, but that's because they have to compensate for being in the middle of nowhere. They're more concerned about international politics, about the environment. Every time the Americans come into Sydney harbor with their nuclear ships and submarines, there's always 5,000 people telling them to fuck off.

But the hell with domestic politics?

Do you know anything about our system? It's built on a bickering sort of war. The front page is always about politicos throwing shit at each other, spending more time insulting each other than governing.

Mind you, they are really very good at it. It's a fine Australian tradition of political insult. Listening to parliament is hilarious - “Shut up, you bastard!” - and that's our prime minister, Bob Hawke. He's in the Guinness Book of World Records for having drunk a yard of beer in record time. He is actually a brilliant leader, a Rhodes scholar at Oxford, and he has done a bloody good job, considering the apathy he's up against. What he should be real pleased about its restoring pride in being Australian, particularly after all that nonsense when the governor general dismissed Prime Minister Whitlam in 1975.

How was that possible without the consent of the Australian parliament?

We're still a colony. I think a lot of us were cynical after that. They felt like puppets. Probably had something to do with the CIA. The good old CIA. I'm in their files, I found out. That they should waste their time on me. I'm listed as subversive, for my lyrics to “Guns in the Sky” and because I once threw condoms out to the audience in Northern Australia.

How is that subversive?

The more north you get in Australia, the more it is like the South in America. The man who ran Queensland, one of the biggest states in Australia, was this guy, Joh Peterson, who was in power for over 20 years. Peterson was this sort of South African leftover who arrived in Australia, and he made things illegal, like sex education, abortion, condoms to minors – you couldn't have the vending machines in clubs. [You can now.] Well, I slandered him, and so I got taken to court, where he was thrown out of office from the corruption uncovered during the proceedings.

Did that make you a hero down there?

Say what, mate? This is Australia, remember. Our heroes are bushrangers, outlaws, and sporting stars. If you're an athlete, you can get away with anything.

[Hutchence purchases the Basi shirts, and then we head to Tower Records at the corner. A street person approaches us.]

is this the official mugging committee?

Street person: “Ooh, ooh, here they come in their limo, straight from Saks Fifth Avenue. Board of directors, how you doing, moneys, you big-time decision makers. Uh-oh, who's you? You must be a rock man. Stand aside for the rock man.”

They always pick on me.

“I want to give you something, man. Some humility. But there's only enough for one.”

I don't care for some, but humility is something we can spread around.

“Hey man, this is for seriously. You will love this humility. No side effects, no speed. Say yes, and I can be back in an hour.”

[We go through the revolving door and right to the rock section; within three minutes, Max Q is playing on the system.]

That's good, somebody knows it's out.

[Hutchence buys albums by Ciccone Youth, Camper Van Beethoven, Soul II Soul, Grace Jones, Shakespear's Sister, Jesus and Mary Chain, and Suicidal Tendencies. As he is paying for them, he spots a postcard stand that features a picture of him.]

Holy shit. When did they take this thing? What a bizarre likeness. I hardly know this guy. This is not an approved photo. [He gets the attention of a young lady behind the counter.] Excuse me, please, this is not an approved photo. It's a pirate. Do you know where you get these from?

Salesgirl: “No idea.”

Can you find out?

“Why, do you want to buy a lot of them?”

See, I told you no one recognizes me.

[We walk outside and the street person comes up to him again.]

Street person: “I know who you are.”

Who am I?

“You are someone who's gonna give me a lot of money.”

How much you want?

“Just give me one of those bills, thank you. Now I'm officially your biggest fan. Just tell me what you want to buy.”

I must be dressed for success.

#inxs #michael hutchence #egg magazine #salesgirl's answers are perfect lol why would she know that hutch #maybe these pants come with a catheter #what kinda pants......#long post #tagging that in case read more doesn't work on mobile idk #collection

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obibabykenobi · 4 years

Note

Can I have one for Anakin Skywalker? She’s one of his Padawans and she is a bit rebellious. She sneaks out while everyone was asleep and takes off with some strangers. She was offered tickets to go see her favorite band, “The Offspring” in concert. But she was on probation and was forbidden to go. So she makes up an excuse that she wanted to sleepover at her friends. But really, they sneak off to the concert. Anakin and the Jedi council found out anyway because she posted it to her story on

that is funnyyy!! i love this idea. ive never seen or read an AU like this so I’ll try to the best of my abilities! i kind of changed a few things.

✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎✍︎︎

————rebel

𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚙𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: reader sneaks out but gets caught

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜: profanity, characters in this oneshot are still jedi’s and stay in the temple, but it’s in modern times and instead of robes they wear modern clothing. (ex: master’s wear suits and button ups, padawans wear what looks similar to a school uniform) however Anakin is gonna keep his long hair ;)

You were out in the city, sent out by your Master to pick up groceries. You were sporting your Temple uniform, a navy blue blazer with a crest of two lightsabers in an x, one being blue and one being green. Your shorts were also navy blue with blue and green plaid decorated on it, and you always voiced your thoughts on how ugly they were whenever you had the chance. You wore a white button up underneath your blazer and had knee high navy blue socks on, your black shiny shoes were reflecting in the light. You strolled down the many aisles of the local farmers market, picking up fruits and vegetables and placing them in your basket as you went. You actually liked this task, cause you were out without your master and this was the only time you could go outside, being on “temple arrest” after your most recent shenanigan. Once you were done shopping, you paid in credits and slowly walked back to the temple, trying to make this walk leisurely and remember your moments not cooped up.

You felt multiple people near you, looking at you. You knew they wouldn’t do anything, everyone knows the uniform you’re wearing means you’re from the Jedi Temple and shouldn’t be messed with. However, these people were ballsy enough to call you over. You sighed, you usually didn’t give people the time of day in the city, but you really wanted to be in the fresh air as long as possible, so you turned around and walked to the strangers.

“What can I do for you...” you trailed off, looking the strangers up and down. They were definitely on the rough side, probably trying to pick a fight with you. “Fine people.”

They smirked and looked at each other, and oh how you loved the thought of getting in a fight with them. “Do Jedi listen to music?”

Well that shocked you. Why were they interested in that? Unless it was a new tactic to distract you. You raised a brow at the stranger and folded your arms. “Yes, we’re not closed off creatures who live under rocks.”

The one in the middle of all the strangers, you’re assuming him being the leader, reached his hand into his jacket. You thought he was about to pull out a blaster, but you were faster than them and immediately whipped out your saber, bright blue whizzing in the still air.

“Woah! Chill, doll. I was just gonna see if you wanted one.”

You watched cautiously as what seemed to be a ticket, with the words “The Offspring” printed on them, were held in between his fingers. You knew they were having a concert tonight, however your Master didn’t allow you to go and you didn’t have your own credits to pay for a ticket, you only get some from the Temple when they send you out on tasks.

“And why are you offering me a ticket? What do you want in return?”

Still having your lightsaber up, the leader raised his hands in defense at your statement. “We,” he refers to the strangers around him. “Had an extra, we couldn’t let it go to waste. We figured you looked like you listened to them. Do you not? If not, we’ll just give it-”

“No!...I’ll take it. Do you want anything in return? I-I don’t have much...but I’d really like to go.”

He took that into consideration and nodded. “Well, first, please put your saber away.” And you slowly lowered it, turning it off but still holding it tight in your hand. “Second, just come with us. You don’t gotta pay us. Meet us here at six P.M., Yea?” You nodded slowly and watched as he cautiously handed it over you to you. You snatched it out of his hand and quickly walked away. You could still feel their eyes boring into you.

——————————————

“No! No way. You are not going.” Your master told you sternly.

“And why not?” You countered back.

“You got this ticket from strangers! It could be fake for all you know. People just don’t go around handing out free tickets.”

You groaned and collapsed on the couch that was in his quarters. “I didn’t sense that they were lying, they’re legitimate!”

“You’re still a Padawan, if I’m not correct your senses aren’t as heightened as mine.”

You rolled your eyes and kicked your legs up on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Yea well my fighting skills are more heightened then theirs, so if they DID lie to me I’ll kick their ass.”

He walked over towards you and removed your legs from the coffee table. “Not everything leads into a fight, young one.”

He was wearing a white button up with his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, and his shirt was tucked into his black clean ironed slacks. You had to admit, he looked really good when he was irritated or angry. Right now, he was just a tad bit irritated. He sat down beside you and you noticed a few tiny grey hairs. You gasped playfully and he looked over at you with his eyes brows furrowed.

“Master, you’re greying! Oh my, did I do that?” You snickered while he touched his hair.

“Would you quit that?” He asked irritatingly.

As much as you irritated him, he loved having you around because you made him feel young again, and he loved getting into little fights with you.

“You’re not going to the concert, understand?”

He gave you a very stern look which created a swirl in your stomach.

“Yes, Master.” You reluctantly replied. Oh, but if only he could see the crossed fingers behind your back. You were definitely going to that concert.

——————————————

Somehow, you successfully snuck out of the temple without raising suspicion from others. It was easier than you thought. Your master was in a briefing, so you quickly changed into your civilian clothes and made a run for it. If a Jedi asked you where you were going in civilian clothes, you replied you were going to take some younglings to the park. Even if they could sense you were lying, they didn’t even bother to try to change your mind because your famous for rebelling against the rules.

So, here you are now, at the concert with the group of strangers. It was a blast, the music ringing through your ears and the bass thumping throughout your body. Your throat was scratchy and coarse from screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. You whipped out your phone and recorded you and one of the strangers, who quickly turned into your best friend, singing to the current song playing. You uploaded it to your Snapchat story without even thinking about who could see it. All you could focus on was how happy you are.

——————————————

As soon as you got back to the temple, you could feel your masters anger seething throughout the large building. Your heart rate quickened and you stopped in your tracks. Immediately taking out your phone, you looked at the people who viewed your story and sure enough, you were in deep shit. In white lettering, you saw the name “Master Gaywalker”. The name you gave him on this app still makes you laugh.

“Come to the briefing room now.”

Anakin’s voice rippled through the force with anger dripping with it. You didn’t even try to run, not wanting to feel his wrath. You obediently walked your shaky legs to the briefing room.

——————————————

Your ass? Chewed. Chewed out by the whole council. And now Anakin was walking you back to your quarters while still chewing you out.

“I told you to not go, and what did you do? You completely disobeyed me!” You were walking farther ahead of him to try to get away from his nagging, but to no avail. You saw your quarters in view and made headway.

“Seriously, what does a Master have to do to keep his Padawan in check! Do I have to put baby monitors in your room?”

You finally reached your door and quickly stepped in. He quickly followed you inside and still wouldn’t shut his mouth.

“Okay, I get it. I’m sorry! I have no excuse, just please for the love of maker stop nagging and DON’T put baby monitors in my room.” You folded your arms and kept his stare across the room.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. You lied to me, disobeyed me and embarrassed me in front of the council-“

As he kept rambling on and on about how much he’s disappointed in you, you couldn’t help but stare at his peachy lips. He kept licking them, making you hungrier for them to be on yours. Finally, not even thinking, you walked right up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him.

You broke the kiss, and took a step back. His eyes were wide, cheeks red and he couldn’t even form a sentence now. You smirked, and took seat on your bed.

“Who knew that kissing you would make you shut up?”

#anakin x reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker #anakin ask

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #1: The Chicken Story

Every part of this story is true. Even the lies. In fact, especially the lies.

***

Yes, I live in the city and I have chickens, no thanks to city legislature. You’d think that cities would be more supportive of having chickens; they kill rats and they produce eggs, what’s not to like? Well, okay, chicken poop isn’t all that pleasant and they destroy all the plants in their run, but unlike, say, cat or dog poop, chicken poop is useful as fertilizer. The city’s somewhat tolerant of hens, but they’re appallingly sexist toward roosters; I mean, yes, the poor guys are loud, but so are dogs and I don’t see anyone banning dog ownership within city limits. Roosters protect their flock from predators and they can serve as watch animals. They don’t actually crow to tell you it’s dawn, though, that’s a myth. Mostly they crow to tell you “Goddamn, yo, check me out, I’m a rooster.” Or something like that. If roosters could talk they would absolutely perform hip-hop.

Anyway, I have a funny story about those chickens, and roosters, and my son, who’s a ninja. No, I’m not making this up, it’s his superpower. He could be standing right there and I could be looking for him and I wouldn’t see him. He’s not invisible, he’s just… very good at going unnoticed. That was really helpful when we were trying to get our second house.

Oh, yeah, so this place is actually two halves of a duplex, and originally, we owned just one. Then the neighbor overextended himself bricking up all the yards back there. You see the street back there? All the yards behind my house are made of concrete now. Rudest thing you ever saw, because they didn’t put in drainage, so all those yards that used to be soil and dirt ended up flooding, directly into my garage. I had my car floating in it, out to the street. I mean, it was raining pretty heavy and all the cars down at the bottom of the hill were also floating, but I’m halfway up the hill so you wouldn’t expect my car to float, but no, I open my garage, and there it is, bobbing up and down. I loved that car. It floated down the street and ended up in the river – yeah, there’s a river down there, you can’t tell most of the time because it’s so shallow it’s barely a creek, but that day it was overflowing and my car floated right into it and sailed off. Never got it back. Pretty sure it’s in the bay someplace. Now all we have is my wife’s minivan, because she was at her parents’ house with the younger kids that weekend, and I’m really not a fan. Who builds a car large enough to transport drywall but too small to stretch your legs if you’re an adult man? Honda, that’s who. She doesn’t care because she’s short, but I miss my car. It was a Chevy Impala, we called it Vlad because you have to call an Impala Vlad, right? Vlad the Impala? Come on, it’s a Dracula joke.

Right, so anyway, the reason they’re all bricked up is that my neighbor was trying to buy up all the properties there, so he had a business offering people that he’d brick up their yard – no more tickets from the city about high grass and weeds, no more kids sneaking into the back to grow illicit tomatoes, no rats – and a lot of people took him up on it, because they didn’t realize about the flooding. Sure, most of it ended up in my garage, but a lot of it ended up in people’s basements, and no one around here has flood insurance, we’re halfway up a hill. And that dislodged the ghosts. See, most of this city’s built on an ancient burial ground of some kind or other… I don’t think Native American, I think it was one of those colonial cemeteries or something, so when you flood basements, you’re gonna get ghosts. And that meant people trying to sell their properties because they’re haunted. So he figured he’d buy up all the houses on the block cheap, right? Except some investigators came in from a government agency and they figured out that he’d known about the ghosts and that’s why he talked people into letting him pour concrete all over their yards, so there were lawsuits – I considered joining in myself, but at the time, he lived on the other half of my house so I didn’t want to stir things up. And at the end of the lawsuits, he was the one who had to sell his house for cheap in a big hurry or face foreclosure, because he’d had to mortgage his house like three times to pay the lawsuits.

Well, we tried to get it legitimately. My wife’s name isn’t on the title to my house, so she was eligible for an FHA loan. But they absolutely refused to believe that she wanted to buy the house next door to the one she was living in just to live in it. They were convinced she wanted to rent it out. She pointed out that the mortgage payments were like twice what anyone would pay to rent a place around here – yay for gentrification, I guess – but they weren’t convinced. So we rented her an apartment and she was going to live in it for six months so that she could go back and get the FHA loan – I mean, she wasn’t really living in it, she was just storing her books in it, but no one was going to be able to tell she wasn’t living in it because if an auditor came to the house, she had it rigged with cameras and speakers and whatnot so she could talk to people remotely and tell them not to come in because of the books, and if you looked through the windows you could see that you couldn’t see a damn thing because of the piles of books everywhere, like seven-foot-tall stacks of books all over the place. But before she could go back to get the loan, the bank finished foreclosing on the guy and then the house wasn’t available for sale.

Now, see, we knew that sooner or later, the bank was going to sell that house, so we went into action. Here’s where my son being a ninja came in; we had him go over there and steal all the doors inside the house and hide them in the attic. The embarrassing thing is that he forgot where he put them so the entire house still doesn’t have doors. We have to have a curtain up in front of the bathroom, since it’s an old house and the width of the doorjamb doesn’t match the sizes they make doors anymore. The cops came and searched for the doors – I think they were suspicious that we took them, since how many houses have a ninja? But after they went up into the attic and two of them fell through the ceiling and broke their ribs, they decided it wasn’t worth their time. Also, I kept pointing out to them about the lawsuit, and the ghosts, like my family was the only one who’d have motivation to steal the doors? Really?

Then we filled the bathroom with dead rats. I guess this requires a little bit of explanation. We didn’t have the chickens yet, or the assassin cat – did I tell you about my assassin cat? No? Well, let me finish telling you about the house first. So we had a lot of rats, and we were poisoning them, as you do when you’ve got that many rats, and we also had traps, and a giant dollhouse with murder dolls in it. You’ve never used a murder doll on a rat? It’s a doll that’s got a knife in its hand, and when the sensors in its eyes detect that there’s a rat walking by, it starts slashing at it like Jason at camp. My wife dressed them up nice so the rats would be fooled, and changed their clothes every day so they wouldn’t smell like rat blood. They had these frilly Victorian white outfits that she just drowned in bleach to get the dead rat smells out.

So anyway, when you’ve got four dozen dead rats, what do you do with them? If you put them all out in trash bags, the city might condemn your house for having that many rats. Never mind that most of them were swarming over from the other house anyway because it was abandoned. So we piled up the dead rat bodies in the bathroom. Then my son stole their refrigerator and rolled it out in the late evening, strolling along with it, mostly because at the time he wasn’t 18 yet but also because ninja, and we loaded it into my wife’s minivan and drove it to a friend’s house because his wife had gotten drunk on cheap wine and stabbed their refrigerator to death with a knife. Apparently it was a really big knife. Then we took the oven, which was good, because there were rats living in it, and we hid it in our garage, which we didn’t keep cars in anymore because of the risk of the garage flooding and the cars floating away. Since we were cognizant of the cops potentially looking for the oven, I let my wife take all the books back out of the apartment she’d been renting because we couldn’t really use it for what we’d intended anyway, and she stacked them all around the oven, and after she was done not only could you not tell there was an oven in there, but you didn’t want to go anywhere near it because you were afraid of a seven-foot-tall stack of books toppling over on you, and I’ve never met a cop who’s seven feet tall. They never did come by, though. Which was good, because the first time it rained, my wife went out there to retrieve all her books to save them from flooding, and of course then you could see the oven again.

We tried to steal the hot tub, but someone else got to it first, along with my lawnmower and backup generator. I felt really bad about the backup generator because we had some really beefy squirrels in there running the dynamo wheel and I don’t know where I’m going to get squirrels that big and strong again.

Then the bank started showing the house, so we stepped up our game. We played death metal at ridiculous volume when people would come to see the house, until we found out from my youngest son’s friend’s mom that she’d actually come to look at the house and thought the death metal was encouraging, as it suggested neighbors she could get along with. So after that it was endless repetitions of music from Sesame Street and The Song That Doesn’t End and Dora the Explorer. During that time period we all wore headphones; it was kind of unbearable, except for the youngest kids, of course. They didn’t mind.

We put cat food and sardines in the air conditioning vents, and potatoes in the closet so they could rot and turn to mush in the dark, and my oldest daughter, whose room was absolutely full of ghosts, did a séance and an exorcism to get the ghosts to move to the other house, and of course it was full of flies because of all the dead rats, and then we randomly placed mannequin parts in strategic locations. It must have worked, because in the end, no one bought the place and the bank put it up for auction, and my wife’s parents bought it for her. And then, of course, we had to clean up the potatoes, and the flies, and the ghosts, and the cat food – someone had gotten to the dead rats already – and deal with the power company being too scared of the ghosts to come hook us up, and the insurance agency rejecting my wife’s parents’ insurance application because someone came by while my daughter was doing her séance/exorcism and apparently black magic is one of those things they don’t tell you you can’t do in an insured house, but they won’t insure your house if they know you’re doing it.

So after all this, after my son the ninja has busted his butt trying to make this place unliveable so we could get it at auction for cheap enough that my wife’s parents could afford it – they’ve got that kind of professional man and housewife money that only boomers get to have anymore, not rich but sure as heck not as poor as I’d be if my wife didn’t work – he says, he wants chickens. He’s found his spirit animal, or something, and it’s a bird. It doesn’t hurt that I have a new boyfriend – yes, I said it, I have a wife and a boyfriend and they know about each other and we all live in the same house, and if you don’t like it, you know what you can sit and spin on. Anyway, my boyfriend is a wild animal dude from Canada, who, like, communes with animals and has conversations with them and is very possibly actually delusional, but he has all these ideas about how we can convert the two yards into an urban farm. It’s his original idea about the chickens, but my son is thrilled with the idea and I’m not gonna say no to the guy after he helped us get our second house, and I like the idea myself, so we go and get chickens.

First snag. My wife’s parents hate chickens. They hate birds in general. Apparently when my wife was a kid, they had a dog who didn’t believe in birds, and the birds pecked his eyes out, so they’ve got a grudge. I… gotta say, much as I love dogs, any dog who told a bird to its face that he didn’t believe in birds had it coming. You just don’t tell people that they don’t exist while you’re looking straight at them. That’s rude.

Second snag. The city won’t let us have more than 4 chickens per yard, but my boyfriend has acquired eight because he thought we’d be able to use the second yard, and because my wife’s parents hate birds, that isn’t happening. And no one wants to give any of the birds up. We’ve got some amazing chickens. We’ve got a white Silkie who I like to keep on my lap and pet when I’m being a supervillain, because any villain can have a long-furred white cat but it takes a really original guy to have a long-furred white chicken. (Obviously, Silkies don’t really have fur, but their feathers have a consistency like silky fur, hence the name.) We’ve got a Silkie crossbreed who sings dubstep. She’s a tiny little bantam chicken, but because she was raised by my son, who has been taking care of all the chickens since we got them, and they think he’s the alpha hen, she gets to boss all the rest of the chickens around because she’s the daughter of the alpha hen, which I guess makes her Princess Hen or something. We’ve got a big black Cochin with feathers on her feet, and a Naked Neck chicken who wants all the rest of her feathers off too, and a bunch of others. Really exotic chickens. So we’re not giving up any of these chickens for anything. We hide the two bantams – the Silkie and the princess – in the house, which necessitates chicken diapers, about which the less said the better – and we just kind of pretend that we have four outdoor chickens instead of six.

And our chickens are heroes. The cops come by one day looking for an armed robber who’s hiding somewhere. The chickens are all riled up. We think they’re worried about the cops, until eventually, they start pecking at something under their coop, and here comes the robber, crawling out from under the coop shrieking because he’s being pecked by half a dozen birds. The cops give the chickens a medal – one for all of them, they don’t have that many medals lying around, and we have to take it away from them and hang it in the house because they’re fighting over it all the time. And the news decides to do a human interest piece on our hero chickens, and we think the world should know how awesome our chickens are, so we let them.

This turns out to be a mistake. Because we’re not legally allowed to have six chickens. So one cold winter afternoon, while we’re getting ready to spend a weekend in another dimension, Animal Control comes and steals all our chickens, and trumps up charges against us such as “no water” (which is what happens after you tip a waterer over on its side), and “inadequate shelter” because they tore the door off the chicken coop to get at our birds, since naturally we had the coop door locked, and “immoral consecration of chicken souls to Satan” which is just a flat out lie. We’re atheists, not Satanists, and even Satanists don’t actually consecrate chicken souls to Satan. That’s mostly edgy teenagers who were raised Catholic.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever gone through a dimensional portal, but the thing is, they are only open for a short period of time, and it can be years before they open again. We couldn’t change our plans; the tickets for the boat were very expensive, since only so many boats were going to be allowed to sail through the portal so it was a really limited thing, and this close to sail time there was no way we could sell our tickets or exchange them. So we had to go on our trip for the weekend, which was great. Really fun. Not as much fun as the time when I was a kid and my family went to the moon and had a barbeque, but do you ever really have as much fun on a vacation when you’re an adult as you did when you were a kid? I keep meaning to take my kids there one of these days – among other things, my family’s barbeque grill is still stuck up there and I want it back – but I’m a little bit afraid that I won’t be able to get the magic back and it’ll be really depressing. While we were sailing out there, we actually got to see the Kraken, at a safe distance away, breaching out in the bay some ways away. My oldest daughter wants to be a marine biologist, so she was telling us all kinds of Kraken facts, and disputing my statement that the fire that burned down the city a century ago was actually caused by the Kraken.

It was carrying a car in its tentacles. I couldn’t be sure – my vision’s not the best even with a telescope – but I could swear the car looked just like Vlad the Impala.

Anyway, when we came back, we found out that the chickens had already been shipped out to a zoo in a different city.

My wife piled us all into the minivan and we drove five hours to go see the chickens at the zoo, and they were doing fine – they were apparently now a traveling exhibit at a petting zoo – but it turns out chickens can see ninjas, particularly ninjas who raised and cared for them. They got so excited when my son snuck into their enclosure to steal them back that they raised a huge ruckus, and even the most talented ninja can’t stay invisible when he’s surrounded by clucking chickens. Then my wife started trying to tell a sob story about stolen chickens, but I’m afraid I got a little angry at the injustice of it all, and it is possible that a zoo employee ended up in a pond, and as a result we were thrown out of the zoo. And then they went to the other side of the country, and we just couldn’t figure out how to smuggle six chickens onto an airplane, and we couldn’t take off enough time from work to go out there with the car… so we basically gave up. The chickens were having a good life at the zoo, and getting them back was going to take way too much effort.

We hardened our premises, securing the run with a locked gate so an animal control officer would have to climb over a six foot fence to get at our chickens, and then protected the fence by getting clematis to grow all over it so it turned into essentially a six foot tall flowering bush, and got a set of eight chicks that we were assured would grow up into hens. Spoiler alert: you can’t tell what sex a chick is. Half of them grew up into roosters. So we ended up with four hens, plus the two bantam hens in the house, to live outside again, but we also ended up with four roosters, and we had to keep the poor guys in the basement. My boyfriend lived in terror of Animal Control, fearing that every time he heard a cop car, it was the cops coming to break into our basement and take our chickens. I’d say he was a little paranoid if not for what happened later; turns out it’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

Well, some of our new chickens had a case of wanderlust. We had Raspberry, who really liked to sleep in the bush, and Henry the Eggth, who was something of an escape artist; we kept finding her running down the street, sometimes with my son’s ninja headgear on her body, like she thought that if she just dressed like her ninja Queen Chicken Dad, she could borrow his powers and sneak out unseen. It didn’t work like that; no matter how hard a chicken trains to be a ninja, she just can’t do it. Not if her goal is to go unseen by humans, anyway. I have no idea whether Henry was able to hide from other chickens or not. The other two, Marie Curie (she got that name because she was a Polish, and Marie Curie was from Poland) and Hen Solo, would sometimes fly up to join Raspberry in the clematis bush. Chickens can’t technically fly, most of the time, because they’re too big for their own wingspan, but Solo was a bantam and Polish are a pretty tiny chicken breed too, so they were both light enough to fly as far as the bush.

Down in the basement, we had Eggy Pop, the sweetest little bantam chick size of an egg you ever saw, who grew up to be an asshole bantam roo, the kind who have a real chip on their shoulders about being bantams, and will try to kick everyone’s ass, including humans; MeToo, a beautiful Silkie who got his name when we thought he was a hen and figured that if anyone was gonna harass a chicken it would be that one; Dr. Tran, whose name I really can’t explain if there are young kids around; and Lyndon LaRoo, who kept trying, and failing, to improve his own position in the pecking order. (Dr. Tran and Lyndon got name changes when we figured out they were roos, as previously they had been named Nightmare Moon and Twilight Chicklet.) We had to keep them boxed in with baby gates, otherwise they’d have escaped through the secret tunnels we’d dug in the basement. (And what a pain those were. Ever try to dig secret tunnels in an area full of ghosts without disturbing anyone’s bones and getting a poltergeist infestation in your house? We had to use the stud finder to find the bones and then avoid them. Must have made the whole project take four times as long.) Upstairs in my son’s room, we have the two bantams, Scootaloo the Silkie crossbreed princess, and Ms. Bigglesworth, the white Silkie.

One day, all the outdoor chickens disappear. Gone, without a trace. This is deeply upsetting to me, my boyfriend and both my sons, so when a neighbor comes by and tells us that there are a lot of chickens running around an empty lot up one of the streets behind my house, we’re very hopeful, and we go into action. We take as many cardboard boxes as we can, the kind my wife uses to store books, and the four of us head up there on foot, since my wife is the only person with a car and she’s taken it and my younger daughter to go visit my oldest daughter in college.

Well, we find there are a lot of chickens up there in that empty lot. We find ours, all right – Raspberry and Henry and Marie and Solo – and a whole lot of others. A Barred Rock rooster, two Orpingtons, a Wyandotte, four random Cornish (these are meat birds, rarely found as pets because of their short life spans, so who knows what they were doing up there), a gamecock and two game hens (couldn’t tell whether they were American Game, Old English Game or some other kind, but they were little and the roo was fierce), an Ameraucana, an Easter Egger, a Brahma, a Rhode Island Red and a Jersey Giant, and then there were the really weird ones – a Sumatra, a Yokohama, a Houdan, a large Oshamo, an Onagadori, two ducks, a baby peacock, and a flamingo. I have no idea what those last guys were doing hanging around chickens.

We’re very worried for these chickens. They’re running around free in an abandoned lot and they’re expensive chickens, a lot of them, that someone is probably looking for… and my experience with Animal Control tells me that if they come along and take the chickens, the families who bought these chickens will never see them again. I have a lot more faith in my boyfriend’s ability to find local chicken owners on Craiglist or various neighborhood sites than I do in Animal Control’s willingness to actually look for owners of the chickens. So I tell my boys, and my boyfriend, that we should grab as many chickens as we can – not just our own, but all of them, so we can repatriate them to their correct homes.

We start boxing chickens. For most breeds you can get two in a box. Little chickens, sometimes three. My ninja son is an experienced chicken wrangler and my younger son is good at making a lot of noise and scaring chickens toward my older son, my boyfriend, or me. We get our own chickens boxed up quickly and start boxing the other chickens.

Then this woman I don’t recognize shows up and starts screaming at me that she’s called Animal Control and I don’t have any right to have any of these chickens. I point out that some of these chickens are mine, but she isn’t having any. She accuses me of being a chicken thief and insists that the chickens have to go to Animal Control. I tell my ninja son to get himself, his brother and my boyfriend out of here with all of the chickens they already have in boxes, and I distract the woman by arguing with her that I have every right to my own chickens and all of these chickens are mine or belong to neighbors of mine that I intend to return them to, and there’s no need to call Animal Control, who will probably ship the chickens off to a petting zoo and the owners will never see them again. She’s not having any. I’m the worst person in the universe for taking chickens that belong to me out of a yard they don’t belong in.

I stand there arguing with her until Animal Control actually shows up, at which point I head back home, hoping my boys have been smart enough to stash the extra chickens somewhere safe. Here’s where there’s a problem. I have a permit for four hens. Not the six hens I actually own, where the bantams live in the house half the year; the city doesn’t let you keep chickens in your house, never mind that bantams have a hard time living through the winter if they live outdoors. And not the four roosters I own, because you’re not allowed to own a roo in the city, and also you’re not allowed to keep chickens in your basement, which would be a reasonable prohibition if not for the prohibition on roosters and the fact that you can’t sex chicks worth a damn.

While Animal Control is gathering up the chickens we didn’t get to, plus the ducks and the baby peacock (the flamingo has flown off by this time), this crazy woman follows me back to my house, continuing to harangue me about stealing chickens and she’s going to have Animal Control inspect my house. I turn back toward her. “Do they have a warrant?”

“I – what? They’re Animal Control, they don’t need a warrant!”

“The only entity that doesn’t need a warrant is Child Protective Services. Everyone else – the cops, the FBI, the Time Police, the SCP Foundation – they’re all required to get a warrant. Why do you think Animal Control would be an exception?”

“Okay, well! We’ll go to a judge and see about getting that warrant!”

“And who’s ‘we’? Unless you work for Animal Control, you’ve got nothing to do with them getting a warrant. All you are is a complainant.”

“You’re a terrible person who mistreats chickens!” she shouts. “Your yard is horrible, your lawn is nothing but weeds all year long, you put construction trash out on your parking pad, and you keep six chickens when you’re only allowed to have four! Four! Four chickens and only four chickens!”

I’ve just figured out who called animal control on us the first time, when our chickens were confiscated, and I feel sudden rage. “You seem to pay a lot of attention to my house for someone I’ve never seen before,” I say. “You know that stalking is against the law, right? Maybe I need to get a warrant served on you.”

She flounces back toward Animal Control, but now I know that she knows where I live, that she has some kind of long-standing grudge against me, and Animal Control actually listens to her. This could be bad.

So when I get back to the house I find a zoo waiting for me. My sons released all the chickens… into the house. Argh. “You’ve got to get them into the basement,” I tell my oldest. “Use the secret tunnels and get them out of here before Animal Control arrives!”

Animal Control shows up five minutes later when my sons have just finished boxing chickens, and after I’ve just finished texting my wife about what’s going on so she can get back here. They demand to come inside my property because they say I have illegal chickens. I tell them the only chickens I have are the ones I’m permitted to have. They don’t believe me. They tell me they’re going to go and get a warrant. I tell them to have fun with that. They insist they can hear a rooster inside, and my heart sinks, because they absolutely can. The basement roos have set up a cacophony of crowing in response to the sound of all the chickens who my son has just finished boxing up and who were previously running around my house.

Now they’re telling me that if I don’t let them in to get the roosters they can plainly hear, they are authorized to use force. Since when has Animal Control been so hardcore? I can’t afford to let them in; quite aside from the roosters and all the extra chickens, I have an illegal rabbit and none of the cats have licenses. Plus, there’s a tarantula. I can’t remember whether it’s legal to have a tarantula for a pet around here. “Fine,” I snap at them, and with great regret, I go downstairs, I get Dr. Tran and Lyndon, and I hand them over to them to protect the rest.

Meanwhile my sons are in the basement on the other half of the house, the half owned by my in-laws, and they’re using the secret tunnels we dug under the entire street to deliver chickens to every house on our side of the street. My boys managed to recover 16 out of the 24 chickens or so we found running around in that lot, and my older son the ninja dropped 2 or 3 chickens at each house (he kept the game hens and their roo together and left them in our old enemies’ basement. I haven’t talked about our war with the people down the block whose son has always been a terrible person and who always decorate outrageously for the holidays, but you have to hate people who have a 20 foot Frosty the Snowman on their roof all winter long.)

Animal Control leaves. The woman, who is hanging back in the yard watching Animal Control, leaves. My wife arrives. Now the thing you need to know about my wife is that, at heart, she longs to be Big Sister – like Big Brother, but just surveilling everybody without actually doing anything about it. Also, she can’t recognize faces. She recognizes me because my hair is distinctive, but she always mistakes my oldest daughter for one of her friends with a similar hair color, mixes up my son and my boyfriend a lot because they have vaguely similar hair, and one time stalked a guy through a shopping center because she thought he might be her brother. There was absolutely no reason to think he might be her brother, to be honest, her brother lives in a different state. So she’s got all this software on her PC that does facial recognition and matches it against databases.

She takes the pictures my youngest son took with his cell phone of the crazy woman, runs them through her databases, and gets a hit. The woman lives on the street behind ours where all the back yards got bricked up. Don’t recognize her name at all, and my boyfriend confirms she is not one of the people he corresponds with online who’s a fellow local chicken owner. So we have no idea what this woman has against us, but my wife doesn’t care.

She goes online to those places that want you to subscribe to three dozen print magazines, and subscribes to them all, in the name of the crazy lady up the street. She orders cheap sex toys and has them shipped there. She signs the crazy lady up for a subscription to monthly snacks in the mail, and Book of the Month Club, and yes I want more information about energy choice, please send an agent to my home. She gets the woman’s phone number out of online databases and requests car insurance quotes, home insurance quotes, quotes on solar panels, quotes on home renovation, quotes on exorcising ghosts, and please send me information on cruises and destination vacations. She prints the woman’s name on about fifty shipping labels and starts putting moldy VHS tapes of children’s cartoons from the 1990s into envelopes, creates a fake online business so she can buy a Stamps.com account in the name of the fake online business, uses a prepaid Visa card from the drug store to pay for the postage, and mails all the tapes to the woman… one at a time, every day, for two months. She prints fake labels for empty prescription bottles for AIDS anti-virals and really hardcore anti-psychotic drugs and puts them on the prescription bottles, and she’s gonna have my son drop them off in the yards of the neighbors of the woman, but I point out to her that that’s kind of ableist because her entire idea revolves around getting revenge by making the neighbors think the woman is sick, so she shelves that idea.

You don’t mess with my wife.

Animal Control comes back with a warrant the next day. We show them around the house. See? No chickens here. No chickens in our yard, they disappeared. No chickens anywhere in the house! We don’t open any of the doors to the other side of the duplex, so they don’t know that the other side of the house is also ours and therefore they don’t know about the chickens that belong to us that we hid in the basement over there, nor do they know about the secret tunnels we have running under our entire street so they don’t know about the random chickens in the neighbors’ basements. My boyfriend reports that on his neighborhood forums, lots of people are complaining they can hear rooster noises, but they can’t find any roosters, because none of them expect to find roosters in their basements, so they don’t look.

After Animal Control leaves, we go down to the shelter where they drop the confiscated animals, and try to claim four of the eight chickens that got picked up yesterday because if this works, then we’ll find who in the neighborhood lost their chickens and try to get them back to them. We’re told that the confiscated chickens have already been identified as to who they belong to and their owner has picked them up.

Owner, not owners. Remember, you’re only allowed to have 4 chickens per house in this city, but someone managed to get eight.

My son retrieves the various chickens he’d been hiding in people’s basements, we pile them all into the car, and we drive to my boyfriends’ parents’ farm in Canada. Extradite these chickens, assholes. When the heat dies down we can try to find their real owners, we figure. Meanwhile we retrieve our own chickens from the basement on the other side of the house, put four out in the yard and put the two roosters in with the bantam hens, then think better of it and remove MeToo and make him a house rooster. He wears a chicken diaper well enough and he never crows anyway, and Eggy bullies the crap out of him so it’s best he doesn’t stay in an enclosed environment with him.

Then my youngest daughter comes home from school with a story. Apparently there are wild chickens in the woods near our house. What?

I should explain this. We live in a city, but we live close enough to the outskirts and to various parks that there are small patches of nature all over the place. The “woods” is about a block long and four trees deep, hardly what I’d consider woods, but it’s a good place to dump possums when you find them hiding in your laundry room. (Yes. Possums in our laundry room. Lots of them.) So my son and I go back there, and sure as day, yes, there are chickens back there. All of the chickens that got confiscated from that yard, plus additional chickens who have been disappearing from people’s flocks all year. Either somebody has been stealing chickens and then keeping them in a mega-flock in the woods… or the chickens have been escaping, and gathering together.

We leave the chickens where they are; I’m no narc, to rat out chickens who maybe just want to be free. But my son and I do put up wire fencing to keep our chickens from joining them, because one off-leash dog and those chickens could be in a world of hurt. We do notify the other chicken owners in the neighborhood about the woods chickens, and over the next few days, several of the chickens disappear from the woods as they’re retrieved by their owners.

Meanwhile, my wife has continued her vendetta against the crazy lady. She has my son go over in the middle of the night and throw trash into the yard, which she stole from trash cans in the park so there’s nothing that can be tied back to us, and then calls 311 in the morning to report that the woman’s yard is full of trash. She inspects our car every day to make sure no one has slashed the tires, but she uses a ballpeen hammer to break the crazy lady’s headlight because that will get her a ticket. I tell her to let it go. She buys a bale of hay and throws it in the woman’s yard. And she’s still sending moldy videotapes.

A For Sale sign pops up on the woman’s house. We’re currently extending the tunnel network over there so we can sneak in and leave tripe in the air conditioning system and dead rats. It’s not next door to our house, so there’s a very good chance that my wife actually could buy it, this time.

Never found out why she had a grudge against us, but she’s moving out, so who cares.

#52 project #alara original writing #chickens

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st-crylo · 4 years

Text

Rebound

Part 10

A/N: Sorry for the late update! Anyways, this chapter has a lot of tea, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, mentions of manipulation and emotional abuse

Word Count: 4.9K

Tagging: @haylaansmi @thomasscresswell @nankstasty @maybe-your-left

Masterlist

In the morning you were awoken to the smell of pancakes from the kitchen. Almost as soon as you smelt it, Phasma and Sami began to stir as well, Sami sniffing the air before letting out a sigh.

“Oh hell yes. I haven’t had pancakes in forever,” she said before sitting up and stretching before throwing off the blanket and jumping off the bed. Phasma groaned but followed suit and soon the three of you were bounding down the stairs.

The day was spent talking, gossiping, and contemplating until it was time to get ready, which was about an hour and a half before the agreed upon time to meet at your house. As you washed your face, ready to apply the makeup you had planned, you were thinking about the conversation last night. You tried your damnedest to keep it out of mind, but you couldn’t help it. Any time you weren’t talking to Sami or Phasma, your mind began to wander to Kylo again. You couldn’t help it, especially now that, since Sami brought it up, you were looking at the interactions between the two of you with a new lens.

No, you were overthinking all the looks and touches and close moments, the look in his golden eyes when he smiled at you, amused by something you said. And besides, it was too soon after Shawn for you to actually consider being in a real relationship. You decided to put it out of mind as you focused on your makeup. As you went back into your room, you sat next to Sami, who was focused as she applied a light amount of blush to her cheeks. You pulled forward your vanity mirror and began work on your own face.

When all was said and done, you had settled on a classic smokey eye, using a deep shade of blue that matched perfectly with your dress. You also settled on a dark nude lipstick. You slipped on your dress and made some final touches before turning to the others. Sami was also sliding into her green dress, dark hair curled beautifully, and Phasma looked very sophisticated in her blazer. The three of you headed for the bathroom, where you took a selfie in the mirror before heading down the stairs, where the boys were beginning to show up.

Your mom had invited them in, though she was a little hesitant around Kylo. Thankfully, though, Kylo was simply sitting at the counter, eating a cookie from a batch your mom had made, not making too much trouble.

The thoughts from earlier came rushing back to your mind when you first laid eyes on him. He was wearing a black shirt and black pants, with a midnight blue vest over the shirt, and a matching bowtie. He actually had his hair half-up into a small bun, which was somehow perfectly done, probably with help from his grandmother. The hair out of his face made his features seemed more refined, and he looked really cleaned up. You had to keep yourself from staring too hard.

Pat and Alan were both dressed nicer than you’d ever seen them, not that you’d seen much of Pat. Regardless, they were both in black as well, but Alan was wearing a red cummerbund that was a little too big for him- you wondered to yourself if it had belonged to Milo- and a matching red bowtie. Pat was almost matching with Sami, except he was wearing a sea green vest instead of the dark green Sami was wearing. The color went well with his eyes, though.

As the three of you walked into the kitchen, you plopped the bag you had ready for staying at Sami’s after Pat’s party.

“Alright, well, since the girls are here, we can go ahead and start taking some pictures!” Your mom said enthusiastically, grabbing the camera from the living room and ushering all six of you outside and onto the front lawn.

Outside, your mom arranged all six of you as the Skywalkers and Mr. Kenobi watched from their front porch, occasionally laughing as they watched the slew of awkward teenagers try to pose for a nice picture. Your mom had set you and Kylo in the middle, Kylo wrapping his arm around your shoulder, and you wrapping your arm around his waist. To the right of Kylo was Sami and Alan, and to the left of you, Pat and Phasma. You all gave your best smiles as your mom proceeded to take picture after picture until Mrs. Skywalker came in, ignoring the groan from Kylo as she decided to take pictures herself. When the older women were satisfied, the group diverged, each settling into their respective rides.

Everyone else headed for Phasma’s car, as there was way more space in there, but you headed for Kylo’s car, ready to make a spectacle at homecoming with your very handsome date. As you climbed in the car, tossing your bag of clothes into the back, you smiled at Kylo, who gave you a wink in response.

Once Kylo started the car, your mom began waving goodbye to you.

“Have fun! Text me when you get to Sami’s house!”

“Will do!” you replied as Kylo pulled out of the Skywalker’s driveway, and began driving towards the school.

“Your makeup looks good,” Kylo said as he looked forward at the road. You felt your heart flutter, but you responded in a nonchalant way.

“You don’t look too bad yourself. How come you never wear your hair like that?”

“Too much work. Besides, I look too much like a model citizen this way,” Kylo joked, causing you to laugh.

“Oh we can’t have that, can we?”

The parking lot to the school was packed full of the different cars of students. As Kylo pulled into a parking space, Phasma pulled into the one beside it, and soon all of you were climbing out of the cars, straightening yourselves out and making sure you were all presentable.

“Hope you guys don’t mind leaving early to set up for the real party. My dealer gave me some good shit this time,” Pat said as the six of you headed for the entrance to the school, which was decorated with a balloon arch.

“I don’t care. I’d rather help you set up than be here for too long,” Kylo responded, taking your hand in his. You tried to ignore the warmth on your cheeks. Shaking your head slightly, you willed those thoughts to leave your brain.

“Good man. Besides, I know Sami can get crazy with streamers,” Pat said as your group waited in line to buy your tickets.

“Oh hell yeah. Give me some streamers and I’ll make it gorgeous,” Sami responded enthusiastically. You simply laughed as you and Kylo got to the table. Kylo paid for both of your tickets, insisting that you didn’t need to pay him back.

Once all of you had gotten your tickets, you all headed for the gym, where the dance was being held. In the hallway, people standing by idly for their friends gave you and Kylo looks, some admiring Kylo, some giving you disapproving stares. You ignored them, simply standing closer to Kylo, your shoulders almost touching as you strutted the hallway down to the gym.

Once past the doors of the gym, you could feel the countless eyes on you and Kylo as the two of you led your group into the gym. You scanned the room to see who all was there when your eyes locked with Poe’s, who ran up to you, Finn in tow.

“(y/n), you look great! The two of you coordinated really well!” Poe said as he went in for a hug. You smiled and hugged him back, feeling a warmth in your heart knowing that at least not all of your old friends had given up on you. Once Poe let go, Finn brought you in for an embrace as well.

“Thanks! You guys came with Rey and them, right?” You asked the boys once Finn had let you go.

“Yeah, but Rey is dancing with the other girls. We should be getting back, though,” Poe said. He then turned to Kylo, holding out his hand. Kylo hesitated for a moment, but took it and gave Poe a shake, smiling warmly at Poe, and Poe smiled up at Kylo. You felt your chest explode with warmth and delight. Never did you think you’d see the day.

Soon, Poe and Finn were returning to the dance floor, causing Sami to come up beside you and pull you away to start dancing as well. Taken by surprise, you grabbed onto Kylo’s wrist, allowing Sami to force you into the giant group of dancing high-schoolers. You could feel the bass in your chest as you approached the speakers set up on either side of the DJ, and you decided to let go and let your body sway to the music. Grabbing Kylo’s hands, you all but forced him to move along with you, refusing to let him simply stand there in his awkward way. He was a little stiff at first, but after a while, he lightened up and let loose, allowing the music to move his body in sync with your own.

From the corner of your eye you could see Sami trying to get Alan and Pat to dance, but instead opting to dance with Phasma, who gave no fucks about who was watching her dance. You laughed as you continued to sway, and after what felt like forever, but was only an hour, you pulled Kylo along with you to get a drink.

“Tired already?” Kylo quipped as you pulled out a dollar at the table for a water bottle. You unscrewed the cap, gulping down the ice cold water before turning to face Kylo.

“Just a little hot. You want some?” You said as you offered the bottle to Kylo.

“Damn right you are,” he said before taking the water bottle from you, narrowly avoiding your playful swat at him. Kylo finished up the last of the water before tossing the bottle into the trash, and the two of you headed back to find your friends.

Your time at the actual dance was short, mostly because the six of you wanted to help set up for Pat’s party, but also Sami was beginning to complain about her shoes.

“You shouldn’t have worn heels to a dance, dumbass,” Phasma said to Sami, who turned her nose away once Phasma said that.

So, your group was leaving, climbing into their respective cars to get to Pat’s house. As you climbed into Kylo’s car, you pulled off your own shoes and rolled down the window, letting the cold air blow softly onto your face as Kylo followed behind Phasma.

Pat lived in the same neighborhood as Jordan, which wasn’t all that surprising to you. As Kylo pulled into the driveway, you noted how Pat’s house had the same kind of opulence as Jordan’s had as well. This told you that there was probably going to be a good number of people at this party.

“Alright, Sami is in charge of streamers. Sami, choose your team members,” Pat said as he unlocked the front door, turning on the lights to the large foyer.

“Phas and (y/n),” Sami replied almost instantly.

“Alright, then me, Kylo, and Alan will set up the drinks,” Pat said before tossing a bag of streamers that was hanging on the rail post of the stairs. Sami then ran off into the living room, beckoning for you and Phasma to follow her.

It took about twenty minutes to get the streamers set up, and as soon as the three of you were done, someone rang the doorbell. After that, streams of people seemed to pour into the large house, filling every single space in the house. Pat had hooked up some music to the speaker system in the living room, and had moved all the furniture to give people an opportunity to dance more than they already had.

“C’mon, let’s get drinks!” Sami said, and you followed her into the kitchen, where people were pouring themselves drinks into red solo cups. You rolled your eyes at the simplicity of it. Sami looked through the various bottles and decided to settle on Fireball, pouring each of you a shot. As she did so, you quickly texted a message to your mom, telling her that you were all at Sami’s now.

“To senior year,” she started, raising her glass. “May this year be full of memories, and may all of them be great!” After Sami’s toast, you all clinked shot glasses before dumping them down your throats. The alcohol burned as it slid down your throat, and the cinnamon taste was invigorating, clearing your sinuses with its strength.

It didn’t take long after your shot for Sami to make you a mixed drink, a graciously strong margarita, or a Phasma said, tequila with a drop of triple sec. You took a sip from it and tried not to gag at its strength, but very clearly failing as Phasma began to laugh hysterically. After that, the three of you headed to the living room, where you each began to dance to, in your opinion, the much better selection of music than had been at homecoming.

After two more of Sami’s margarita’s, each one tasting better than the last, you wandered out to the back deck to get some fresh air, needing a space to breath that wasn’t filled with the smell of liquor and weed. As soon as you stepped outside, the cool air hit your face, and you leaned against the railing of the deck, overlooking the backyard as you stood in thought. Your tipsy mind wandered back to your possible feelings for Kylo. You simply couldn’t help it, if you didn’t have anything else to think about, you thought about him.

You couldn’t lie, he looked good tonight, you would even go so far as to call him hot, though you shook that thought out of your mind. It didn’t stop you from thinking about how nice it was to dance with him though, to have his body sway with yours in sync with the rhythm of the music. It also didn’t help that his golden eyes would make eye contact with yours every once. Each time, it had struck like lightning straight to your heart. Groaning, you rubbed your face, trying to quell the blush on your cheeks. At least you’d be able to blame it on the alcohol.

“There you are,” came a familiar baritone voice, causing you to whip around, almost falling in the process. Kylo laughed as he approached you, though he was a little less smooth in his motions than usual. “Been lookin for ya.”

“You alright?” you asked as you noted the weird uppity tone to his voice.

“Yeah, just a lil tipsy. We finished a bottle of vodka before people started getting here,” Kylo admitted as he leaned his back against the railing of the deck.

“A whole bottle between the three of you?” you asked, incredulous.

“Nah, just me and Pat. Alan’s been warned off vodka by Milo,” he said, looking down at you. Though it was dark outside, Kylo’s eyes had a certain glimmer to them, and you couldn’t help but feel mesmerized. It had your heart beating heavily in your chest.

“You’re gonna get alcohol poisoning that way, y’know,” you said, letting out a laugh to relieve some of the ache in your chest.

“Well you don’t seem much better, what did Sami make this time, some horrible whiskey and beer combination?” he said, smirking at you. You playfully and weakly punched at his arm, causing him to laugh.

“No, it was a couple of margs. At least, that’s what Sami said they were,” you told him.

“Sami’s gonna give us all alcohol poisoning,” Kylo mused before letting out a sigh. “Wanna go dance?”

Your heart pounded as you simply gave a nod, and soon Kylo was dragging you back into the house, pushing through the crowd of people to get to the small makeshift dance floor in the living room.

If you thought dancing at homecoming was intense, dancing drunk like this with Kylo was almost painful. He was a lot more comfortable this time, the alcohol melting away his inhibitions as he placed his hands on your hips, and let you lead him with the sway of the music. You had your arms around his neck, bringing you dangerously close to his chest, his warmth radiating off of him, no doubt aided by the intense amounts of alcohol. Dancing with Kylo like this was electric, and as you looked into his eyes, you could feel your heart begin to pound faster. Whether or not it was love or lust, you didn’t care, you just loved the intensity of it.

The rest of the night, you were practically attached to Kylo at the hip. After he decided he was thirsty again, he pulled you to the kitchen with him, where he poured you both a drink, opting to make screwdrivers for the two of you. You gulped down the drink, not caring about the burning of the alcohol as your thirst was quenched

“Hey, Kylo, Pat’s looking for you, he just rolled a joint,” Alan’s voice said from the entryway of the kitchen. Kylo simply nodded in response, bringing you along to find Pat.

Pat had hidden away in his room with a couple of people you didn’t recognize. As Kylo walked in, he took a seat on Pat’s bed, sitting you on his lap as Pat lit the joint. The joint was passed around the circle twice before it was finished. With each hit you took, you let the sweet yet herbal taste swirl around your mouth before passing it to Kylo, who always took small drags before passing it back to Pat, who was sitting beside him. Soon, Pat was rolling another joint, talking about what felt like nonsense to your ears as you took your drags each time the joint was passed back to you. After the second joint, you decided you were thirsty again, and so you left your spot on Kylo’s lap and headed back downstairs in the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Sami was in the kitchen, pouring herself another drink, but nearly spilling it when she saw you, letting out a loud gasp.

“There you are! I guess you’ve been with loverboy, huh?” she said very loudly, causing you to shush her, taking the drink from her hand and gulping some down. Once again, you had to keep yourself from gagging at the intensity of the alcohol.

“Maybe. And maybe you shouldn’t be drinking anymore. I think this is just straight alcohol,” you said, laughing.

“No! Phas is driving us home anyways, she only had the one shot. Besides, Mom’s out of town, I can drink as much as I please, I-uh oh.”

You turned to see what had gotten Sami’s attention, and all you saw was a girl about your age, maybe older, wearing a crop top and some short shorts. Her hair was a deep red, one that was definitely not her natural color, and her skin was extraordinarily pale. She looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen her before. Your being cross-faded really didn’t help either.

“Who is that?” you asked Sami before Sami grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the bathroom with her, closing the door and locking it. You were confused by her actions, but decided to go with it anyways. Once Sami closed the top to the toilet, she sat down and let out a sigh.

“Where’s Kylo?” she asked, the tone in her voice much more serious.

“Smoking with Pat in his room, why?”

Sami let out another sigh before looking up at you.

“That’s Stella, his ex.”

Realization dawned on you, but you were still stumped on one thing.

“She looks familiar, have I met her before? I know Kylo never showed me a picture of her.” Sami looked deep in thought before her face turned to a frown.

“I never got around to telling you, but Stella is the girl from the picture.”

You turned around just in time to throw up in the sink. Your stomach felt like it had dropped all the way to the floor, and you couldn’t stop yourself from heaving in the sink. Sami quickly jumped up with some toilet paper in hand, wiping away at the corners of your mouth once you stopped. You felt dizzy, like the world was spinning, and you felt yourself sink to the floor. You weren’t sure how to feel, or even how to process what you’d just been told.

“I’m sorry,” Sami said, sitting down beside you. “I should have told you earlier, but it’s definitely her in the picture.”

“It’s okay. My reaction would probably be a little better if I weren’t piss drunk,” you said with a laugh.

“Even so, I can imagine that’s a lot to process. I don’t get why she’s here, I don’t think Pat would have invited her,” Sami said, scratching at the top of her head.

“I mean, he invited Hux, who we have yet to see, so is it really above him?” you offered.

“No, it isn’t. I often wonder why Milo and Kylo even hang out with Pat. He can be really shitty sometimes. Maybe it’s just for the weed.” You laughed, but then you turned to Sami, a more serious look on your face.

“How did Kylo meet Stella?”

Sami let out a sigh before running a hand through her dark hair.

“I used to go to Corellia High, but I got mixed up with the wrong crowd, so my mom moved us to Mos Eisley my sophomore year. Stella was one of my friends in Corellia, we practically grew up together. I didn’t realize what kind of person she was becoming, and I didn’t realize that it was her my mom didn’t really want me seeing anymore, so we kept hanging out. Well, when I met Milo and everyone else, I introduced them to Stella. From the get go, Stella had her eyes on Kylo. She really wanted to corrupt him further, and kind of test his loyalty to her. I knew she was really just toying with him, but I hoped maybe he could ground her. Instead, she made him become a lot more unstable. Kylo’s issues were already pretty bad, according to Milo, but Stella made them worse. She always told him shit like his parents didn’t care about him, that he had to take care of himself, and that she was the only one who really loved him. At one point, the two of them would always blow us all off to be with each other.

“Well, at one point, I tried to sit down with Kylo, to tell him that Stella wasn’t really good for him, and he lost it at me. It was the only time I’ve ever seen Milo and Kylo physically fight before. Milo punched Kylo, and Stella used it as proof that the only one who cared for him was her. At this point they were dating for about a year. Well, Jordan was at a party in Corellia, and that’s where she saw Stella all over Hux. Kinda like what that person did for you, Jordan snapped a pic and sent it to all of us. It broke Kylo. It was the only thing that got him to snap out of the trance she’d put him in, but it broke him. That first two weeks after, we were really worried about Kylo’s safety, but thankfully he just stayed home. He apologized to all of us for how he’d acted while he was with her, and he had Milo help him break up with her. Naturally, she didn’t like that, so she started to blame me for meddling into her business. She called me a jealous bitch, and that was the last time I talked to her. As for Kylo, it took awhile for him to really open up to any of us again. He trusted us, but not fully yet, after all, she had convinced him that we didn’t care about him. It wasn’t until right before he got arrested that he really opened up like before.”

You took in all of Sami’s words, processing the story, your heart aching for Kylo. Though there were definitely things you could understand about Kylo’s own story, at least Shawn had never convinced you that your friends and family didn’t care about you.

You were about to say something when there was a pounding on the bathroom door.

“Sami, (y/n), are you guys in here?” came Alan’s voice, muffled by the door.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sami called.

“You gotta take Kylo to your place. He’s belligerent, and he’s about to start a fight with Hux,” Alan responded. You looked at Sami before the two of you helped each other out, stepping out of the bathroom and following Alan to the foyer, where everyone had fallen silent. At the door, you could see a man close in height to Kylo standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, a smug look on his face. You could already tell by looking at him that you didn’t like him. Across from him, and closer to the three of you was Kylo, feet spread apart and shoulders hunched like he was ready to fight.

“I’ve had enough of your shit, Armitage. Why don’t you run back to piggy daddy and tell on mean old Kylo again?” Kylo yelled, his voice filled with hostility. You felt yourself sobering up as you pushed past people to get to Kylo. As you reached him, you also realized that Stella was hanging on Hux’s arm.

“Kylo, there’s no need to be that way,” she said, but in her eyes you could tell she was enjoying the chaos and the attention.

“You shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking talk to me!” Kylo practically spat at her. It was then that you placed a hand on Kylo’s shoulder, causing the tension in his shoulders to fall away. He turned to look at you, relief in his eyes.

“Come on, let’s go,” you said softly, taking his hand into yours. He simply nodded before being led towards the door by you, Sami following behind, and Phasma appearing behind her. You were almost out the door without incident when you heard a scoff from Hux as you passed by him.

“Of course. Run away so that Mommy can fix everything for you again.”

It happened in a flash, but Kylo let go of your hand and swung on Hux, leaving his nose bleeding.

“Oops, my hand slipped,” was all Kylo said before he threw the door open and headed outside.

The ride to Sami’s house was quiet, the faint sound of the radio playing being the only thing to distract from the tension in the air as Phasma kept her eyes on the road, and Sami did the same. In the back seat of Phasma’s car, you sat upright, and Kylo laid his head on your lap. Trying to help calm him, you ran your fingers through his slick hair that had been nice and neat only hours ago.

Sami’s house was a quaint little house, not unlike your own home, though maybe a tad bigger. It had a very homey feel to it, as you stepped through the front door, looking at the quaint little way the house was decorated.

“My mom’s really basic. Anyways, Kylo, you’re sleeping on the couch. Let me get you some water and some blankets. (y/n), do you want to stay down here with him, or sleep in my room with me and Phas?” Sami said as soon as everyone was inside. You held onto your bag of clothes, thinking for a moment before replying.

“I’ll stay down here and keep an eye on him,” you told her. She simply nodded, heading to the kitchen and coming back with two glasses on water. She handed one to you, and one to Kylo. You gladly gulped down the water, grateful for a drink that wasn’t alcohol. Kylo sipped on it a little, but kept it in his hands, waiting on Sami to bring blankets. When Sami went upstairs the first time, Phasma followed, momentarily leaving the two of you alone.

“You can sleep on the couch,” Kylo said before taking another sip of his water.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just make a little pallet on the floor,” you insisted, but Kylo shook his head.

“I want you to take the couch.” With a shrug, you simply nodded.

Sami came back soon with an immense pile of blankets and some pillows.

“Okay, this is a pull out couch, there should be room for both of you,” Sami said, giving you a look that you tried to ignore. Sami pulled out the couch and set up the pillows for the two of you.

“Goodnight,” she said before disappearing upstairs. You settled into the mattress, pulling a generous amount of blankets over yourself. Kylo also climbed on, laying a little too close to you, but you didn’t mind. Once the two of you were settled, you were looking into each others eyes. Kylo’s were an ocean filled with emotion, but they were no less beautiful in your eyes.

“(y/n)? Thanks for being there for my dumb ass,” Kylo said softly. You simply gave him a small smile before letting out a sigh.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

With that, Kylo reached a hand forward, caressing your face gently before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

17 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part ten) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±6500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part ten: Y/N is about to go on an adventure. Good thing she has her friend Jo to help her pack and her crush Dean to guide the way. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: The Man With The Harmonica - Ennio Morricone, Hide And Seek - Gareth Dunlop (end scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Wait, you’re not planning on bringing all that with you, are ya?” Y/N’s eyes leave the three pairs of boots from which she still has to choose. Not to decide what two sets to leave behind, but which to wear and which to pack. Jo stands in the doorway of her tiny room, staring at the bed, which is covered in flannels, shirts, tops, several hats, jeans, jackets, sweaters, towels, socks, matching underwear, swimwear, a makeup bag, and a toiletry bag. Even a hair iron and of course her phone charger lay amongst the collection of items that one way or another are going to have to fit into her bag.

The season is coming to an end now that September has reached its final days. It’s time to move the two-year-old horses down from the summer reservation. Bobby had asked his intern if she wanted to come along and of course she blurted out ‘yes!’ before he could even finish his sentence. She was so excited about the trail ride and started packing immediately. This is going to be quite an experience, especially for a show rider like herself who usually sticks to riding in a fenced arena. It’s a good thing that she started gathering her things early, because she has been contemplating what to bring for over an hour now. She’s the kind of girl who pays extra for exceeding the luggage weight limit on her flights, so no wonder she’s having it tough choosing what to bring.

A little helpless she looks over at Jo, who’s waiting on her response. “I was planning on bringing this, actually,” she returns, hesitatingly. “Damn… poor horse,” the blonde cowgirl comments, eyeing all her friend’s stuff. “Too much?” Y/N assumes. “Just a tad,” Jo scoffs as she walks in. “And what the hell are you bringing the entire electronics store for?” “It’s just my charger and my hair iron. I will look like birds are nesting on my head if I don’t straighten this out,” she objects, holding out the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail. “And you can’t have that with Dean around.” The ranch owner’s daughter crosses her arms in front of her chest, knowingly frowning at her friend. Y/N tilts her head and glares back, but fails to come up with a decent counter, because she’s not wrong. “Shut up,” she mutters instead. “By all means, pack it.” Jo shrugs as she turns back to the door. “But unless you tie a generator behind that horse of yours or find a cactus with a plug, you ain’t charging a damn thing.” “Wait. What?” Y/N responds, confused.

Jo sways around, her blonde braid hanging down from one shoulder. She narrows her eyes, trying to understand how her friend could be so oblivious to the fact that there won’t be any electricity where they are going. “What did my old man tell you exactly?” “That we might have to spend a couple of nights out camping,” Y/N recalls, trying to remember his exact words. “Have you ever been out camping, city girl?” Jo wonders, her tone indicating that she has figured it out. Now Y/N crosses her arms defensively. Just because she comes from a wealthy family, doesn’t mean that she has never been on a trip back to basics. “I have, as a matter of fact,” she returns confident. “Let me define ‘camping’,” Jo kicks off. “I’m talking ‘bout the sleeping-in-a-tent, no-shower-for-days, cooking-your-own-food-above-a-fire kind of camping. Not the kind where you park the luxurious double axle camper nice and close to the restaurant and the power station and get that satellite working as soon as possible so y’all can watch Netflix.”

Y/N opens her mouth to claim that she is not that kind of person, but has to admit her loss. She’s right, down to the double axle camper and the satellite TV. “So, no electricity? No shower?” she asks, intimidated by the matter, a trace of panic in her voice. “Nope,” Jo confirms, amused. “Better start prioritizing. Let me get my saddlebags, you can use those. Everything that doesn’t fit in there except for your sleeping bag, is not comin' along for the ride.” “Alright,” Y/N agrees reluctantly, nonetheless grateful for the help. “But how are you going to pack if I have your saddlebags?” “Simple: I’m not. I’m staying home,” the ranch owner’s daughter says. Astonished, the intern looks at her. Wait, her friend isn’t coming on this trail? The thought actually scares Y/N a little, because Jo has been there to guide her since she picked her up from the airport over a month ago. “Are you kidding me? Why?” “Someone has to run this joint while y’all are having fun. Usually, the stable crew guards the castle, but with Ash gone…”

Y/N drops her head, her mind going out to the former cattle worker. Ash left a week ago. Bobby gave him two weeks' notice but said he was free to go anytime. The loyal employee showed character and stayed as long as Bobby could afford to keep him. But after those fourteen days, Ash had no choice but to leave. Everyone was sad to see the quirky fellow go. The exchange of hugs between him and every member of his working family was moving to witness. “Dad offered to stay behind by himself, but he’s getting too old to work that hard,” Jo explains. “Garth and I will make sure everything runs smoothly here.” “What about me? How am I supposed to function without my conscience?” Y/N pouts. “You’ll be fine. You got Dean to hold your hand the entire way,” Jo mocks. The worried cowgirl chuckles. “That’s the whole problem now, isn’t it?” Jo gets up and intends to leave the room to get the saddlebags. She halts in the doorway, though, offering good advice. “Just remember: don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “He’s your cousin. Of course you’re not going to sleep with him,” Y/N returns smartly, pulling a laugh from the blonde cowgirl. “See my point?” she returns, winking back before she leaves the room.

Thirty minutes later, Y/N is packed and ready, but sacrifices had to be made. Obviously, the hair iron and phone charger didn’t make the final cut, but neither did her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer, since she won’t be able to shower anyway. Her makeup didn’t fit into the bags either. It hurts to leave it all behind and she already feels insecure about spending days with the others wearing a blank canvas of a face. Sure she isn’t as fresh at the end of a working day as she was at the start of it, but so far she has been able to keep her hair and makeup in check. Now she won’t even have a mirror to judge how tired and ordinary she looks without a brow pencil and mascara. “You’re all set.” Jo, who is on her knees on the wooden floor fighting with the saddlebag, secures the last strap, shifts her weight back on her heels and places her hands on her narrow waistline. “I owe you one. I would have never managed alone,” Y/N says, appreciating her friend’s help. “You know you can count on me.” She shrugs it off after getting up. “I’ll lend you my raincoat and my gloves too. Never sure if you’re gonna need ’em, but if the monsoon decides to throw a curveball at ya, you’ll be thanking me.” She pops out of the room again, as excited for the intern as Y/N is herself. Jo’s bubbly personality has her smiling even after she leaves. It’s funny how it feels like they have known each other for years and yet it was only a month ago that she got into the pickup truck at the airport. One month ago, this challenge started. Her dad tries to hide the surprise in his voice every time she phones him to tell him how much she is enjoying her time here. He probably expected a plea for money. That, or a one-way ticket back to luxury and easy work.

Y/N looks at one of the pictures that she nailed to the wooden wall. It portrays her family; Mom, Dad, and her three brothers surrounding Y/N at her graduation ceremony. Sure, she misses them, but she is starting to become a part of this ranch family too. That’s how it feels anyway: accepted, wanted… even loved. Her eyes hover over the picture frames and other decorations that she used to spice up her room a little. Many of the photos show Meadow, some snapped during shows, others at home in the fields. Won belt buckles and ribbons are trophies of their success together, each memory a highlight of her partnership with the special Quarter mare. Y/N remembers when she won every single one of them.

“You’re not getting homesick, are ya?” She startles, jolted awake from her daydream, and turns her head to face her handsome supervisor. Dean leans against the doorpost, and judging by the amused expression, he has been standing there for longer than a second. Dear Lord, she got so caught in recalling past victories and happy memories, that she didn’t hear him walk up to her room. The sight of him has her lost for air, even after recovering from the scare. He stands on one leg, the other bent and crossing his back foot, resting on the nose of his boot. Fringe from his worn chaps fall down over his jeans, a dark brown Stetson to match it. Dressed in a red plaid buttoned shirt and a denim jacket over it, he looks even better than he did this morning. The handsome models in the old Marlboro commercials have nothing on him. “Don’t worry. I’m not going back anytime soon,” she responds before Dean can call her out on staring. “Besides, this is beginning to feel a lot like home, too.” The wrangler glances at the wall next to the bunk bed and lets his eyes roam over the photos, ribbons and buckles. He smiles at a goofy picture of her and her three older brothers. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” he compliments. Y/N smiles at that. “Well, I am going to be staying here for a while. Might as well make it cozy.”

He grins, his green eyes catching the rays of sunlight coming through the window. Specks of gold stand out amongst the apple green, his pupils adjusting as they flick over the captured moments. They stop when he notices a photo taken during a prize-giving ceremony. He recognizes Meadow instantly, her trademark white face is hard to miss. She stands proudly with a white and blue sash hanging from her neck, event sponsors standing next to the horse, presenting the prizes won while smiling at the camera. But the person who smiles the brightest is Y/N, who sits squarely in the saddle with a wide grin on her face and sparkles in her eyes. “You won the State Championships,” he says impressed, reading the footnote. “That’s pretty damn impressive.” Y/N lights up but stays humble. “Meadow was on fire. It was the ride of my life.” “I bet it was.” Dean watches her for a second, admiring, while she reminisces over the highlight of her riding career. Then he glances at his watch briefly. “We leave at ten. You’re all packed?”

“She is now,” Jo interrupts, holding out a rolled-up sleeping bag and neatly packed raincoat. “Gloves are in the pockets.” “Thanks, Jo.” Y/N takes them and looks over her shoulder in search of her saddlebags. Dean instantly moves in to pick them up, since she has her hands full anyway. “I got it,” he states, lifting her luggage over his shoulder. “Oh, how noble of you!” Jo teases her cousin, not at all impressed with his manors. “What are you gonna do next? Buy a white horse?” Y/N snorts, but quickly straightens her mouth into a thin line to silence herself and hide the sign of amusement. Luckily, the wrangler is too busy countering her friend, as he follows the two girls into the living room. “It’s called ‘being nice’. You should try it sometime,” Dean snarls. Before the ranch owner’s daughter pushes open the front door, she looks over her shoulder. “Would you like to hold the door for her too?” she suggests, a challenging smirk on her face. “Would you like to shut your piehole?” Dean fires back after rolling his eyes.

Y/N giggles at the bickering, and opens the door herself by pushing it with her foot. If she didn’t know any better, she would think the two are siblings. Maybe not by blood, but they spent a great deal of their childhood together in the same house, at least that’s what she understood from Jo. Over the years, the youngest Singer figured out that she might not be able to beat her older cousin when it comes down to strength and speed, but verbally she stands her ground just fine. Now is no different, because Dean might have had a comeback ready, Y/N doesn’t fail to notice the color on his cheeks. He carefully glances at her from under his hat, the cowgirl smiling back reassuringly before she descends down the stairs.

At the tack up area, the Joshua tree stands tall, offering meager shade to the horses and humans underneath its branches. It’s rush hour. Benny and Garth are readying the horses, assisted by the three riders that are coming along for the trail. Dean was against bringing people along on such a long and potentially dangerous ride, but Bobby said the tourists paid good money and were experienced, so eventually, he agreed. Eight horses are tied up to the rails around the yucca tree. Six of them will be ridden, the other two will be the group’s packhorses. Y/N spots Joplin amongst them, the feisty mare that has grown on her over the past weeks. “She’s yours for the next couple of days.” Dean points her out, heading over to the dark horse with Y/N’s baggage. “Since the two of you get along so well.”

Delighted, she faces the mare, who pushes her soft nose into the folded raincoat in her arms, sniffing up the aroma. Y/N likes the little dark horse. She is not easy, has different ideas about what the pace should be, and can get very offended when her rider tells her otherwise, but there’s something about her attitude that the intern appreciates. She’s fast, tireless from the second her rider puts a foot in the stirrup, to the second he or she gets off. The Quarter is perfect for a trail like this. It didn’t cross her mind to bring Meadow for the ride. The reining horse, which is used to train on smooth arena footing, would most likely injure herself on the uneven rocky slopes and narrow paths. The hours under saddle would be much longer than regular training too, and Y/N does not want to confront her four-legged best friend with a task that she isn’t up for. Dean swings the saddlebags over Joplin’s back and straps them to the saddle. He mounts the sleeping bag and Jo’s raincoat that he takes from the intern on top, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in the transfer. The tingling sensation lingers on the surface of her skin where he touched her, causing her to be the one who is flustered now. The wrangler carefully glances over as he secures the baggage. She feels caught, but his expression is soft and comforting; he felt it too.

“Okay, y’all! We’re goin’ in five!” Benny shouts loud enough for everyone on the square to hear with his Southern accent thick on his tongue. “If you have to use the john or forgot to pack clean undies, now would be your last chance to do so.”

Last preparations are made by the crew. Benny secures his lasso to the horn of the saddle with a leather rope strap, while Dean consults his uncle one more time before departure, the two of them looking at a map of the Superstition Mountains. Then Dean folds the map and shoves it into the inside pocket of his jacket, after which he walks over to Ted Nugent, the big brown gelding that he will be riding for the upcoming days, since his favorite buckskin is out with a tendon injury ever since that rainy morning when the cattle broke out. Ellen walks up to her nephew and hands him a paper bag which, without a doubt, contains something delicious. “Made you some pecan tassies for on the road,” she says. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my baking too much.” “Thanks, Ellen.” Dean gives her a grateful nod and puts the tassies in his saddlebag. “Be careful out there, alright?” she presses, clearly worried about the quest that lies ahead for the wranglers. “Bring them back home safely.” “I’ll take care of the bunch. I promise,” he assures comfortingly, gently pulling her into his chest after which he gives his aunt a kiss on her hair.

Ellen and Dean aren’t the only ones who exchange a few last words before the group leaves. “Okay, grasshopper. This is it,” Jo’s voice sounds from behind Y/N. She spins on her heels in between the horses to meet the ranch owner’s daughter, who folds her arms around Y/N and hugs her tight. Happily, she returns the embrace before Jo pulls back and holds her by the shoulders. “Stay away from chollas if you don’t want Joplin to turn into a two-year-old who never had a saddle on her back before. And if the horses get nervous and you hear a rattle, get the hell out of Dodge, because there’s a rattlesnake within a few feet from you. Check your–-” Y/N cuts Jo off, because she has heard this before from either her or Ellen. “I know, I know. Check my boots for spiders and scorpions before I put them on and keep the tent closed,” she fills in. “Not just to keep out insects and reptiles, but horny cowboys as well,” Jo adds. Y/N snorts. “I’ll handle him. I will miss you, though.” “I’ll miss you, too, sis,” her friend returns, smiling.

They say goodbye while Dean unties his gelding and gets on swiftly, overlooking the group from the higher point of view. “Y’all ready?” he asks the company of six. When the riders cheer, he takes the reins with one hand and pulls it gently towards him, an aid for Ted to backup and move away from the other horses. The excitement rises noticeably, comparable to what one would feel when on an aircraft just before take-off and on its way to a new destination. Some of the animals start to get restless in the thrill, Joplin included. Y/N doesn’t waste any time and pulls the safety knot in order to free the mare, then puts her left foot in the stirrup and pushes herself off the ground with her right, swinging it over the back of the black horse. “Good luck, y’all,” Bobby wishes the six men and women. “See you in a couple of days!” Jo calls out.

Y/N waves at the people staying behind, a bright smile spreading from ear to ear. Looking forward to the adventure that will come next, she straightens herself in the saddle and faces the vast landscape. She might be twenty-four, but she feels more like a seven-year-old going on a field trip. In front of the rider, a pair of alert ears belonging to Joplin point forward. Beyond that view, the promontory of the Superstition Mountains stretches out. The sun has risen from behind the ridges in the East hours ago, already warming up the valley with its strong rays.

Dean watches the young woman, consumed by a different kind of scenery as his horse follows the path. In the past few weeks, she has grown more comfortable in her role as a wrangler and a ranch hand. The daily routine is starting to become her second nature and the people she works with are her friends now. He wouldn’t have guessed it at first - and he’s quite sure she herself wouldn’t have guessed it either - but she fits in perfectly. The rich girl from upstate with a master’s degree under her belt feels at home surrounded by a bunch of country folks in the dry desert lands of the south west. Who would have thought that? Dean smiles, content; something tells him that this trip will help her blossom even more.

She could almost hear a harmonica play the theme from Once Upon A Time In The West, and she’s still waiting for tumbleweed to roll across the path. Cacti reach for the sun, their arms outstretching upward, like the giants are growing actual limbs. It’s a nice variation to the evergreens that she is used to, back in Maine. The rain that came down two weeks ago has laid a blanket of green over the dry lands; it’s amazing how nature can change in a matter of days. Jo warned her about the sun, and with good reason. Over the last month, the intern slowly but surely got used to the extreme weather circumstances that Arizona offers, but she has never been on a horse during the hottest hours of the day. It might already be late September, but the heat is blistering. She could use a shower right about now, and just the thought of not being able to take one for the next couple of days grosses her out. The temperatures weigh on the female rider, more than she thought it would, but her partner Joplin doesn’t seem to mind much. Her neck and shoulders are sweaty, but she still dribbles impatiently every now and then, eager to cover more ground.

Dean leads the group, guiding them from spring to spring. The group left the Hieroglyphic Trail about three hours ago, which ended at a small creek and a poor excuse for a waterfall. They took a break there and had a few of Ellen’s delicious pecan tassies while the horses drank. Now, they are well on their way to Willow Spring, but the trail isn’t getting any easier. As they conquer the steep slopes, the pace slows down. Y/N is amazed at how the horses are able to maneuver on the rough terrain, which consists of loose pebbles, slippery boulders, and cracked volcanic rock. One misstep could severely injure the large animals, but they seem to be aware of that. Joplin proceeds agile and fearless, almost like a bobcat, and her rider learns quickly to let her take care of the drops and jumps. She doesn’t need guidance, the mare knows the way. All Y/N has to do is sit tight and move along with her to maintain the balance.

“How y’all doing back there?” Dean is looking over his shoulder, his free hand resting on the cantle of the saddle. “We’re good!” one of the tourists assures. His name is Brad, the young guy riding next to his sister Macy and their buddy Jonathan. The head wrangler chatted a little bit with the three members of the group and they turn out to be good company. The trio is traveling across the country, enjoying a gap year from college. With Brad and Macy’s father being a rancher in Colorado, they know their way around horses. Jonathan is a little less experienced in the saddle, but he’s managing just fine. No doubt about it, though, that he’s going to be left with a serious muscle ache in the coming days. The leader of the pack shifts his eyes from them to his intern, asking her the same question silently. She nods, smiling reassuringly at her handsome supervisor, telling him in the same language that she’s doing fine. Content, Dean smiles back and winks at her before he straightens himself. It’s a good thing he’s not facing her anymore, because Y/N is sure that about a hundred butterflies hatched from their cocoons in her stomach, the feeling triggering her to take a shuddering breath. She huffs, annoyed with the response he triggered. Just look at him. He’s infuriatinglygorgeous, looking way too good on his horse, in those darn chaps, wearing that darn western hat. A part of her wants to dislike him, just for being so distracting. But she can’t be mad at him, not really. Just a glance her way with that grin and she’s a complete goner. Y/N watches as the cowboy catches up with Benny, slowing his horse down when they are side by side.

“Tell me, Chief, how are things between you and the intern goin’?” the Southerner wonders, making sure the woman in question is unable to pick up on the conversation. Dean looks aside at his best friend, amused by his curiosity. “It’s not going anywhere, really. Things are good as they are,” he claims. “Oh, c’mon, now. Did she turn you down again?” Benny guesses. Dean eyes him. “She didn’t turn me down. I just didn’t make my move.” The wrangler next to him seems to need a second to process the information. Dean Winchester didn’t make a move on a girl he likes in 0.2 seconds? That’s a new one. “Wait a minute. So you two haven’t even…?” “We’re just friends, Benny,” Dean claims, aware how terribly unconvincing it sounds the moment he pronounces the words. “Horse shit. You didn’t pass up Casey to be ‘just friends’ with the gal. You called dibs,” he reminds the head wrangler. “Besides, I see the way you look at her. You don’t look at a pal like that.”

Dean shakes his head, remembering the arrangement well. It’s not like he can deny he made that deal with the farrier, despite that it felt wrong to do so. But back then when he claimed her in order to keep his notorious friend away, he was still clueless about the affection he felt for her. The affection that steadily grew stronger to the point where he cares more about what’s best for the free young woman than what he wants for himself. “So what, Benny?” He shrugs, hoping his friend would let it go. “So what? I know it’s a little dusty here in the desert, but did you get sand in your eyes?” Benny returns, perplexed. “Look, I know she’s awesome, and yes, I wouldn’t mind hooking up with her, but I can’t, okay?” Dean claims. Unable to understand the math behind his choice, the broad-shouldered ranch hand throws him a look that somewhere between dirty and confused. “Why not?” “Well for starters, Bobby will kill me if he finds out, since he took me aside to specifically forbid me to pull anything. Secondly, she’ll only stay for six months--” Benny interrupts him, however. “Invalid, Chief. Bobby told you before to quit bouncing around with clients and staff and it never stopped you then. And since when is six months too short for you? You usually get bored with your lady friends after a--” The cowboy from the South stops mid-sentence and Dean can almost hear it click in his mind. Oh, boy. Benny has figured it out. Even though he tried to make up excuses in order to avoid being confronted by his best bud, there’s no way of dodging that bullet now. “Well, fuck a goat and call her Nancy! You’re in love with her,” Benny announces, shocked. Dean raises his eyebrows at the rider next to him, then scoffs and looks away, trying to act like the very idea is ridiculous. “That’s - that’s just… Y-you’re insane,” he stutters, unable to flat out deny it. Benny starts to laugh out loud, apparently very much amused with his discovery. “I can’t believe you walked straight into that love trap!” “Would you keep your voice down?” the rider next to him hushes. The farrier looks over the back of his horse at the intern, but she’s about thirty yards behind them talking to Macy, clueless what the two wranglers leading the group are discussing. Dean stays quiet for a few long seconds, trying to decide if he is ready to admit that she means so much to him. “She’s a nice girl, Benny. I don’t wanna hurt her,” he claims. “Oh, c’mon now! You’re seriously telling me you grew a conscience all of a sudden? You used to love ‘em and leave ‘em without a second thought.” Benny has crossed his wrists over the horn of his saddle, the reins loosely between his fingers, as he looks aside to catch anything that would indicate what’s going on in his best mate’s head. It’s clear that he’s astonished by the shift in his demeanor. “I’m gonna ignore the urge to ask you who you are and where my friend is,” the Southerner chuckles. “But is it really just her heart you’re scared to break?” Dean ponders, trying to make sense of the odds and ends that scatter his thoughts. Benny is not entirely wrong. It terrifies the wrangler to give in to these emotions. Is that maybe the true reason why he didn’t kiss Y/N that night under the Joshua tree? Or when she came looking for him after he had that argument with Ash? Maybe it’s a bit of both. “How long have we known each other? Fourteen, fifteen years now?” Dean recalls. “Give or take,” Benny confirms, looking down at the trail as he moves his hand over the mane of his horse in order to steer it a little wider around a boulder. “Do I seem like the kinda guy who does that? Fall for a girl? I liked the way things were, no attachments and all that,” the head wrangler continues, confused. “That’s the thing about falling in love, Chief. It happens to the best of us and always at a time when you least expect it. It hits you like lightning and you’re toast before you even got a clue why you’re feelin’ so crispy,” Benny says wisely.

The head wrangler glances at his companion sideways, reading into his words. It almost sounds like the Southerner knows what he’s talking about. “You’ve been there,” he realizes. “Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve been beyond falling in love, I loved her with my whole damn heart,” Benny acknowledges, smiling at the memory. “Her name was Andrea. We were both eighteen. She spent the summer with relatives in Louisiana and I was a lost cause from the moment I laid eyes on her. A Greek Goddess, and I ain’t exaggeratin’. She was pretty as a peach! Kind, funny as hell, too.” “Since she’s ain’t here, I reckon it didn’t end well?” Dean assumes again. “It didn’t; she went back to Greece and I moved here because everything reminded me of her at home,” his friend tells him. “You know you just proved my point, right?” the head wrangler says, a hint of triumph in his voice trying to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If love always comes to bite you in the ass, why even bother?” “‘Cause the heartache ain’t the clue, brother. What I had with Andrea was so good, so pure, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if I knew what I know now, how it would end, I would take that plunge again without a doubt in my mind.” Dean huffs, unable to believe that. “Despite that she left you?” “Fuck, yeah,” Benny states. “Better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.”

Dean is quiet now. The path narrows and he holds Ted back a little, merging behind Benny’s horse. As he lets his friend’s words sink in, he glances down the slope at the intern again. She’s several yards down the steep hill, focused on Joplin as she rides her up the trail. Her braided hair already has strands peeking out from under her hat, and he is sure if she had a mirror she would fix the mess, but he loves it. He loves it when the wind rustles her locks, or when the desert dust smudges her skin. Once again that feeling overcomes him, the feeling of a lantern being lit in the pit of his stomach, warming his body as it slowly rises through his core to his chest, where the heat lingers. It feels so good, but there’s a catch to the sensation. It comes with the emotion that creeps up on him when he lays awake at night thinking about Y/N; fear. The fear of her leaving him after her internship. The fear of her reaction if he would let her witness the scar tissue that lays thick on his soul. The fear that this love will consume him, just like the love for Mom consumed his father. The fear of failing her. But now that the true meaning of Benny’s message dawns on him, another kind surfaces. It’s a thought that he hasn’t had before, and as it pops into his head, the question reverberates louder through his mind than all the others. What if he misses his chance? What if there are only so many opportunities to win her over?

He straightens himself before she looks ahead and spots him staring, and he closes his eyes and tips his hat forward. Shit, you’ve been so worried about losing her that you forgot that in order to lose her, you have to have her first, he thinks to himself. A sigh slips from his dry mouth, reminding him how thirsty he is. He reaches for his water bottle from his saddlebag, pulls out the cap with his teeth and gulps down the water, knocking his head back as he takes a few swigs. Nope, he’s not dehydrated. In fact, he’s still having these contradicting thoughts. When he slips the bottle back where he took it from, his eyes wander down the path again, this time looking straight into hers. As he tries to decide on his next move, he holds her gaze as she smiles up at him. Dean wasted two shots already; what if it’s three strikes, you’re out? If he fucks this up, at least he tried, but if he won’t give this a try at all, he’ll beat himself up over it for the rest of his life. Either way, failure seems to be inevitable.

Then he remembers something. Something that he was taught at a very young age. He had just turned four when he took a fall off the neighbor’s Shetland pony. It was the first time he had rode alone without his mom holding the miniature horse and the naughty pony took advantage of that situation. The Shetland picked up speed and bucked once, sending him straight into the dirt. After making sure that her son was okay, he recalls his mom picking him up. “You wanna give it another go?” she asked. “No…” he said. “So that’s it? You never wanna ride again?” she questioned again, her voice gentle. Now he was quiet, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t wanna fall off,” he mumbled eventually, looking down at the ground. “Falling is a part of riding, sweety. It’s a part of life. It’s okay to fall,” she told him. “But it hurts,” he said, rubbing his scraped elbow. “And it’s scary.” “Yeah, sometimes falling can be very scary,” Mom acknowledged. “But you won’t get any better if you stop trying. You have to face what you’re scared of, to grow. You know what they say about falling?” He shook his little head, waiting for the elaboration patiently. “You have to fall off seven times before you'll become a good rider,” she says. “Seven?!” he repeats, eyes wide. “Seven,” Mom pointed out. “But you know how he becomes a great horseman?” Dean shook his head again and listened eagerly. All that he wanted was to become a horseman, so this was the time to pay attention. “A good rider becomes a great horseman when he falls seven times and gets up eight.”

The wise words always stuck with Dean as he grew older. He remembers when he was twelve and got back to his feet after his seventh crash landing, this time from a young bronc. He was a horseman now, because he got up beaming, and brushed the dirt from his jeans. Every time when life beat him down, he did the same. Sadly, Mom wasn’t there to see her son become a horseman. She was long gone by the time he reached that age, but her life lessons will never be forgotten. Life is filled with setbacks. No one walks this journey without encountering them. For some that one setback is enough reason to give up and never become good at anything, for others, it’s a way to push through. And yes, getting up and trying again is not easy. But Mom taught him to look fear in the eye and get back in the saddle anyway, because quitting will definitely not get him anywhere. Whenever he hit the ground, literally or metaphorically, he would think of that memory. Now is no different. Mom was right; he has to face what scares him in order to grow.

Dean slows down his horse, pulling the bit just enough to stop Ted, giving the horse behind him a chance to catch up. When Joplin comes alongside, he glances at the rider from under his Stetson. “Hello, Cowboy,” she greets, a small but delighted smile on her lips. Dean chuckles at that, his eyes not leaving hers. “Hey, beautiful,” he returns. The compliment brightens her eyes even more and heats up her cheeks. The trail barely allows the two of them to ride side by side, their stirrups touching occasionally. He aches for her knee to brush his like he would crave rain after a long desert ride. When the denim of her jeans does rub against him, it leaves him electrified. And then he realizes that Benny is right, too. It is better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part eleven here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester series #Dean Winchester AU #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural AU #spn au fanfiction #Dean x Y/N #Dean reader insert #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester fanfic #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Kate Huntington

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