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b4ts1e · 9 months

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▀▄▀▄▀▄Traditions▄▀▄▀▄▀ (𝚐𝚗!𝙼𝙲)

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍: 𝚀𝚒𝚞/𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚗 𝙻𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝙱𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗 𝙾𝚙𝚊𝚕 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝙲 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍 (𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙾𝙻:𝙽&𝙵)

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝: The night before Halloween, the cul-de-sac trio decides to have a sleep over at MC's house- going trick or treating the next evening as a group. Based in Step 1

(𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗)

The cul-de-sac trio, all bundled up in their pajamas with a bunch of fluffy blankets (supplied by MC) together layed out on the floor with snacks as they huddled together, watching classic Halloween movies from Opal's laptop. (Imma draw this, at some point- I already have a refrence picked out.)

"I'm super excited to go trick or treating! My parents didn't really do Halloween, so this basically a first time for me!" Tamarack said excitedly shifting side to side- scooching just a bit closer to MC who resided in the middle of the trio, controlling the laptop while laid out on their stomach. "Really? Why didn't they?" Qiu asked, curiously- lifting himself up with his elbows slightly to get a better look at who he was talking to.

"I dunno, we just didn't. Not very common in German culture I guess, plus they were always busy." She said nonchalantly, not bothered much by it- too distracted by the movie playing on the screen. "Makes sense to be honest, cultures can be vastly different." MC spoke up, pausing the movie. "Oh? How do you know that?" Qiu asks, a smug smirk on his face but it was a genuine question.

"Well, living previously in the city- many different types of people lived there. Plus we used to move around alot for my mom's job- that said I had the oppertunity to meet a lot different people, or at least learn about them." MC explained a bit before Opal came into the room with a plate of decorated cookies- halloween themed of course. "So- how's the movie going kiddos? Need anything? Water, more blankets, anything?" She asked with a kind smile, putting the cookies down on MC's nearby desk.

"Hey momma? What was that guy from the bakery's name again? Him and his mother ran that place after moving from France to share his mom's recipes?" MC asked, shocking Opal a bit who just chuckled a bit but smiled anyways. "That was Monty sweetheart, why do you ask?" she replied gently, crossing her arms and leaning on the doorframe gently. "Tamarack is having her first genuine Halloween with us, and that turned into talk about different cultures." Autumn explained quickly, resulting in Opal to nod swiftly.

"Gotcha, well- Monty was from France. Just like how Tamarack's Omi and Opa were from Germany. Germans don't often celebrate Halloween because of one of their holidays: Martinstag. It's very similar to both Halloween and Christmas, but also- what me and MC celebrate: Yuletide. I don't know much about the specific details of the traditions or celebrations, but I do know they light lanterns, share treats, and have a communal bonfire." She explains a bit, teaching what she knows from her minimal experience. "Yuletide?" Tamarack asks, looking to MC with a questioning glance.

"Yeah, what's Yuletide?" Qiu asked with her, MC's eyes seemed to sparkle in delight at the mention of the holiday season. "Yuletide is the holiday season of what you both know as Christmas! Yule is the actual holiday. It's a whole two weeks of celebrations! We light bonfires, give gifts, do a simmer pot, cook together, decorate a yule tree, and a bunch more things! Christmas was derived from it actually!" they rambled on a bit, excited to be able to teach their friends about one of their own traditions.

"A WHOLE TWO WEEKS?!" Tamarack exclaimed, sparkles in her eyes- jaw dropped. "That's so lucky!" she said excitedly. "So do you get gifts everyday?" Qiu asked, making Opal chuckle a bit. "Well- we normally spend the first week and a half exchanging hand made gifts. The second week we spend quality time together but on the day of the winter solstice we exchange the rest of the presents we got each other." she explained with a happy sigh, recalling the memories.

"Do you think we could participate in each other's traditions this year? All together?" Qiu asked with sparkles in his eyes, Tamarack nods eagerly- grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Well I'd have to speak with both of your guardians first, but if they accept it- then I don't see why not!" Opal says happily, pulling out her phone. "I'll go give them a ring, you three get back to your movies and snacks!" she said before exiting the room, the three kids giddy and excited for the possibility of spending more than just Halloween together.

"I hope they say yes!" Tamarack said excited, hugging a stuffed animal tightly as she got back into her original position for watching the movie. "I hope so too! It'd be super fun to join our families for the holidays! Besides, even if they don't say yes I still intend to make and get you guys gifts for the holidays!" Qiu said with a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure you won't lose them?" MC teased him gently, earning a slight elbow to the arm- making them laugh a bit. "Either way- I had already planned to make you guys Yuletide gifts, but now I'm way more excited!" MC said hugging a pillow and snuggling it close.

"Aww MC!" Tamarack said before hugging them, "I'll be sure to make you some gifts as well!" she said happily. Qiu chuckled lightly, smiling softly "I will too, it's only fair. After all you do keep my papers from magically disappearing." he said with a smirk, leaning against MC lightly. "You mean, they keep your papers after you lose them?" Tamarack teased before getting a pillow thrown softly at her, both her and Qiu laughing as MC just laid their shaking their head and stiffling a laugh.

"You guys are the best, thank you for being my friends. Seriously." MC said with a soft smile, catching the other two off guard slightly. "Where did that come from?" Qiu asked with a chuckle, his hair dishevled and completely down. "I don't reallty know, just- thank you. Both of you." they said again. "MC!!!!!" Tamarack squealed before she practically tackled them in a hug, making Qiu get squished behind the two- but they all laughed despite that.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1,017

#our life now and forever #olnf #qiu lin #tamarack baumann #olnf mc #x reader #childhood #holiday #ABatsie-Writes

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sailtomarina · 6 months

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A New Wreath

Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy & Scorpius Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Scorpius Malfoy | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 1: Parents/children relationship | WC 1576 | Rating: G

It was a bit of a miracle that Scorpius and Draco could even find a spot along the wall to observe the crowds bustling around Professor Longbottom’s new greenhouse. The holiday season was well underway with magical snow falling from the ceiling and dissipating before touching anybody’s heads, and Mrs Longbottom had somehow convinced some toads to croak along to the Christmas soundtrack she’d charmed to sound throughout all the buildings.

Hermione’s long-standing friendship with his father made her adamant on finding the majority of the Manor’s holiday decor from her favorite Herbologist. Scorpius had tried to convince her to forgo the effort seeing as they had House Elves to do the work for them and he already enjoyed more than enough festivity at Hogwarts.

But there was no steering her once her mind was set. Plus, she said it helped her support Neville’s business, and how could any of them say no to that?

“You’d think 50 wreaths would be enough,” Scorpius grumbled, watching her wave her arms excitedly as she put in an order for 100 more from a very amused-looking Hannah.

“Well, she’s taking into account not just the Manor, but all the outbuildings, too. Where there are windows and doors, there’s bound to be a wreath.” His father simply sounded amused, and he rested an arm across Scorpius’ shoulders as they continued to wait.

“And the trees? It’s not like we’re Hogwarts needing 10 trees in our Ballroom.”

“No, but 10 trees would cover all the important rooms.”

Scorpius snorted at the thought of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if one of those Evergreens ended up in his bedroom, laden with all of his childhood ornaments.

He waved at the sight of Albus and Lily Potter. They trailed after their mum, who was making her way towards Hermione. They waved back, then disappeared behind a crowd of eager shoppers.

“You’re free to join your friends, if you like,” his father encouraged, squeezing his shoulder just once before letting go.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Scorpius jetted away immediately, winding around trailing ivy and teetering pots. He bumped into more than one witch and wizard along the way as he made his way towards where he last saw the Potters.

“Sorry! So sorry!”

“Scorpius!”

His heart soared at the sound of his name, then he grinned at the flash of red before he was nearly tackled off his feet in a fierce hug.

“Hey, Lily. Hey, Albus.”

Lily let go as her brother approached, and the two boys exchanged their secret handshake.

“Where’s James?” Scorpius asked.

“He stayed at home to help Dad–”

Lily cut off her brother before he could finish, “--set up a huge surprise for mum.”

“Lily! It’s a secret!” Albus swatted at her head, but she ducked at the last minute so he snatched nothing but air.

“It’s just Scorpius!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone,” Scorpius assured them.

A part of him, deep down, twinged in pain at the memories of him and his dad once setting up surprises for his mum. She’d laugh uncontrollably every time, long, dark hair spilling forward to hide her face as she clutched her stomach with each giggle.

That was before she got sick. After that, they didn’t want to risk hurting her even more than she already was.

“What are you all doing here, then?” He changed the subject before his face could give his thoughts away.

Lily waved over her shoulder. “Mum wanted to see if Professor Longbottom could teach her how to untangle the garlands we messed up.”

“What’d you lot do?”

Albus’ eyebrows waggled as he grinned, before he leaned forward to loudly whisper, “We built a Christmas nest for Aurora.”

Aurora was Mr Potter’s snowy owl. Scorpius chuckled as he imagined the look on their mum’s face when she discovered her garlands had been twisted and shaped beyond repair.

“Scorpius! Where’s Draco?” Hermione’s question brought his attention away from the siblings and over to where she stood with Mrs Longbottom. Her brow was wrinkled in concern as she scanned the greenhouse in search of his father. She knew, as well as he, that he hated crowds.

“He’s waiting against the wall. Want me to fetch him?”

Warm caramel eyes turned back to look at him, and he couldn’t help but relax in response to her smile. “That’s alright. I won’t be too much longer.”

She returned to her discussion with the heavily pregnant woman at her side, one hand rising far above her head as she tried to describe the heights required for a Malfoy Christmas tree.

“So, it’s going well then?”

“Hm?” He turned a puzzled glance at Albus.

“You and Hermione.” Lily nodded at her brother’s side in agreement. What were they on about?

“I mean, yeah. She’s great. Why wouldn’t we get on?”

The two Potters glanced at each other with what looked like exasperation.

“Aren’t she and your dad, you know, together now?”

Scorpius’ eyes jumped high on his forehead at the question. Hermione and his dad?

“What makes you think that?”

Now they were looking at him like he’d missed an obvious answer in Charm’s Class, his best subject.

“Scorpius,” Lily said carefully, “have you not seen them?”

He jerked back at her tone, his stomach dropping at the implication. He looked over their shoulders back towards where he’d left his dad whose height and unmistakable hair made it easy work. He spotted the grey eyes that matched his own, but they weren’t looking at him.

They looked past him.

At Hermione.

The creases at the corners of his eyes faded somehow, and he looked soft in a way Scorpius hadn’t seen in several years…not since his mum.

“They’re…friends…” he said softly, still at a loss in how he’d missed the signs right in front of him.

“They are…” Lily replied slowly.

“You okay, mate?” Albus asked, but Scorpius didn’t answer him.

He followed his dad’s line of sight until he reached its obvious source. This time, Scorpius really looked.

Hermione turned, sensing the gaze that sought her own, and, as she locked onto his father, Scorpius saw.

He saw the way her eyes sparkled and lips parted. He saw the hitch in her breathing and the inquisitive tilt of her head in an unspoken question. This brilliant, wickedly funny, thoughtful witch liked his dad, and his dad liked her back.

Perhaps even loved.

Scorpius was surprised that he didn’t feel angry, or even sad, at the realization. His father had been lost for so long after his mum’s death, that when he started to come alive Scorpius had thanked whatever gods might or might not exist for not taking him, too. When Hermione started coming around for work, then as a friend, Scorpius had been thankful for her, as well. She brought a levity to the Manor that it desperately needed.

She couldn’t be any more different than his mum, light to dark, snarky to sweet, exuberant to gentle. He hadn’t seen her like a substitute, unaware for so long about what had been undoubtedly growing between the two adults, but he had noticed the way she filled an emptiness he had thought would never go away.

“See you guys after Christmas, yeah?”

He didn’t wait to listen to his friends’ replies, quickly making his way back towards his father. Rather than lean against the wall next to him like he had earlier, he came to a stop in front of him.

“Dad.”

Draco looked down at Scorpius, the gentleness from his exchange with Hermione still present in the muscles of his face. “Son?”

“I’m cool with it, you and Hermione.”

His father blinked once, twice. His mouth hung open for another beat more, before he resumed activity. “There’s no rush to–”

“Dad.”

Draco’s mouth shut at the admonishment.

“I really, really like her. She isn’t Mum, but no one ever will be. She’s Hermione. You should tell her how you feel.”

The eyes looking down at him flashed with emotion, the man taking a staggering breath, and then another. He brought up his hands to rest on Scorpius’ shoulders.

“When did you get to be so wise, hm?”

“I’ve always been wise. You can thank Mum for that.”

Draco snorted, but didn’t disagree. He crushed Scorpius in a hug that radiated exactly how he felt.

“What’d I miss?” Hermione’s chipper voice brought them out of their embrace. Her eyes widened as she took in their faces, the way their eyes shimmered with tears they’d never let fall in public.

“We’ll tell you back at the Manor,” Draco said with a smile.

Scorpius reached out to take her bag, overflowing with mistletoe, and sent her his own reassuring grin, dimples on full display.

“Shall we?” He playfully nudged her elbow, then danced away as she made to jab him back.

“You!” She missed again. He lept back, cackling loudly and retreating towards the exit.

As the distance between them widened and she gave up to walk at his father’s side, Scorpius pocketed a handful of the mistletoe. He could think of several key locations where they’d never suspect them. Maybe he could help kick off their relationship before they could get too caught up in talking and all that dramatic rot. Hermione and his dad both had the nasty habit of overthinking things, then getting all huffy, carrying on in shrieks and jabby fingers.

Mistletoe. Kisses. Bam.

Christmas magic. They could thank him later.

If you’re reading this, welcome to the start of my submissions for the Yuletide Bliss Festival, the first of my Christmas writing festivals! I hope you enjoy as the month brings us closer to one of my favorite days of the year.

I wrote this with Scorpius and Draco fresh on my mind after writing their relationship in another work of mine (still to be revealed). This is a Hermione sans any marriage with Ron, because I didn’t want to have to mess with any complications of Scorpius versus Rose.

#harry potter fanfiction #dramione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #scorpius malfoy #hp yuletide bliss #christmas hp fest

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phantomphangphucker · 2 months

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Phic Phight - The Bone-Stick Breaker

@46-reasonable-hamsters

Make no BONES about it, there’s a lot of GLOWING remarks in here. A real ILLUMINATING read, that’s positive to leave your eyes SHINING with laughter (and-also-maybe-a-little-bit-of-concern-about-the-authors-mental-state).

Should this be concerning? yeah.

Was it incredibly weird? Yup.

Would any reasonable person be incredibly disturbed right now? YES.

Does Danny need therapy? ABSOLUTELY.

Why you ask?

Oh only because Danny is glowing through the motions of systematically attempting to break every single bone in his entire body one by one, nothing too wild.

Just a little mild self torture is all.

It’s no big deal.

It’s definitely not a sign of a severely unstable psyche, no matter what anyone -Jazz- says.

It’s fun.

That’s a lie.

Well at least it’s Educational.

eh-juh-kay-shuh-nuhl.

Yay! Points for him! And points for another broken bone! A glow-in-the-dark star sticker!

That’s one more rib down!

He’s okay.

Everything is FINE.

It’s not like his boney woney’s are filled with glow-stick juice or anything.

Okay that’s exactly what it is.

He’s a little glowy broken boy.

A bone beater boy.

A real boner if you will.

That was a really dumb joke but he absolutely does not apologize. Just like this is a really dumb plan but he’s not apologising for this either.

Even if his teeth did count as bones and he did attempt to Slap Chop™ one to see what would happen and maybe accidentally sent a chunk flying into the soup pot.

At least he confirmed that yes, his teeth glowed when ‘snapped’, or Slap Chopped™, too.

He’s positive he is absolutely making Technus regret breaking his leg the day before yesterday’s morning, leading to his glowing discovery; all the ghosts were giving positively glowing reviews.

Meaning some were casually cheering the chaos and suffering, and others were begging him to ‘please stop’ and ‘spare us’ and ‘no don’t stab us with your bones! Why do you have bones!’.

But Danny had bones.

Ho boy did he ever have bones.

Bones to pick with everyone that is! Ha!

He’s got this glow stick party going and it’s utterly illuminating the night. Really lighting it up. Giving it a good ol’ spit shine. Absolutely brightening up everyone’s nightmares.

He should start a rave.

A bone glow stick rave.

It would be a bone cracking good time.

Maybe he could liquify some bones, hope they still be shiny, and make a motherfuckin’ proper glowing jello pit. He could use it to try and make people see the light at the end of the tunnel and then all the high people would make a bunch of giggle-watts!

Plus!

Everyone would definitely pay for that!

You know, since he’s not shady!

He is slim though, slim and slime. An ecto-green lime crime, since he be leaving random bones bits around.

The cops must be having a fright over all his nightlights.

He kept ignoring their questioning though, gotta keep the conversations light after all.

Let him be a funky little bean, copper man!

ACAB!

WHOOOOO!

If it was Christmas time he’d replace the city hall Christmas trees star with a bone star. Like a rock star but more him flavoured and more likely to sound like ominous crunching sounds and unholy screams. The kind that would get him basked in holy light out of sheer concern.

Eh. Danny’d still shine brighter.

After all he’s broken a-hundred-and-ninety-two bones, how many bones have those angels broken?

Probably none.

So there.

He’s the winner! Go him! Chicken bone dinner!

Fear the glowing Bone-Stick that is he!

Like a boom stick, except what gets shot and boomed everywhere is BONES!

A real glow up he says, especially since he’s waaaaaaaay brighter.

And then Val has the gaul to catch him in an ecto-net, point at him, and tells him to ‘stop this you menace’ and how ‘seventeen people have vomited because of this crap’ and ‘why is this your response when Tucker cuts off your caffeine supply’.

Which, rude.

Either he got his life blood or they got his bone blood!

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! BONES FOR THE BONE THRONE!

Val tasered him into unconsciousness for that one and Tuck dumped exactly one hundred and ninety eight bags of coffee beans on him.

…

But he made it to two-hundred-and-one on his first try? That’s more bones than what’s in one entire hamster! Doesn’t he deserve better pickings for his lickings?

Should he aim for forty-six hamsters next time? Really shoot for the stars and glow amongst them!

He must acquire more bones! Grow them from the ectoplasmic ether!

For the first time in a long time Tuck punches him.

Do they not understand?

Do they not know?!?

That this only causes the rumblies that only broken bones can satisfy to grow!

He will feast on his complete breaks and be one with THE NIGHT IN UN-DIMMABLE RADIANCE!

Shine bright like a bone diamond!

And be better at hide and glow seek!

But first.

Coffee.

Then after.

Only after.

The Bone-Stick Breaker shall return once more upon this mortal domain!

And with him!

UNENDING GLOW STICK BRIGHTERY!

End.

Prompt: Danny breaks a bone in ghost form for the first time, and discovers that his bones function similarly to glow sticks

#danny phantom #phandom #phicphight24 #phic phight 24 #danny fenton #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #my writing #phic phight #phan phic #fan fic #crack #crack fic #broken bones #puns

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themusingsofafanficwriter · 7 days

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The True Meaning of Family - Chapter 3

Summary: A found family Supernatural AU. Ophelia Humphries is an English 19-year-old who is just trying to finish her online history degree when she receives a letter from two brothers she never knew she had.

A/N: Here's chapter 3! I hope everyone is liking the fic, if you didn't see the first two chapters, you can find chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here. Let me know what you think <3

T/W - Mentions of death

The old car pulled into a car park on the outskirts of town. With it being midday on a weekday, the car park was almost empty.

"Okay, this is as close to town I can get, with how big the car is I can't really park on the road. It's not a long walk but I thought you should know." Ophelia said, turning the car off.

"Hey, no worries, it looks like a nice town, we don't mind a little walk now do we Sammy." Dean replied.

Sam looked at Ophelia, he smiled and nodded.

She locked the car and said "Okay guys, this way" as she started heading up the cobblestone street. The boys follow behind her, taking in all the history of the town.

The sandstone buildings were tall and crooked, in the midday sun the streets were bright and charming. Dean grumbles as he stumbles over the uneven cobbles.

"I just don't understand what is wrong with a smooth side walk." he mumbled under her under his breath. Ophelia still heard him.

"Dean, this village was built in the fourteenth century. Way before modern America was even discovered. Plus, they're traditional!" Ophelia said with a smile. "Come on, you can't tell me this isn't cute."

"It is pretty, but i'm kind of concerned about how low the ceilings look." Sam interjected, looking genuinely sceptical.

"Yeah, I'd duck if I was you…" the girl trailed off.

Ophelia took them around the town pointing out places of importance to her.

"And that's where they put the Christmas tree every year. Last year some guy got so drunk on Christmas Eve that he tried to climb it" Ophelia said giggling. "He got about half way up when the police turned up to get him down."

They walked a little further, passed the bench where Ophelia had her first kiss and the school where she got her GCSEs and A levels, towards an old building that was covered in flowers and vines.

The seating area outside the front door was surrounded by potted plants and hanging baskets full of foliage that loves the colder climates.

The coffee shop was called The Crescent Moon and it had an astronomy theme throughout it.

Pushing the door open, Ophelia beckoned the boys to follow her. Both of them had to duck when entering the building but once inside the ceiling was higher than they expected.

Ophelia moved towards a booth at the back of the coffee shop and put down the small bag she was carrying. "So," she began "What do you guys want to drink? I imagine coffee right?"

"Yeah, just a black coffee for me." Dean said as he slid into the booth.

"Actually, can I have tea?" Sam said "When in Rome and all that."

"Yeah, of course. Do you want a specific tea or do you want me to pick one of my favourites?" Ophilia said with a smile. She loved tea, it was her comfort drink.

"I'll have one of your favourites." Sam replied. "Oh, could we also get some food? We haven't eaten in ages, I'll pay."

"Don't be daft, I've got this. How about a full English as they're still running their brunch menu?"

The two men looked at each other and nodded, Ophelia smiled at them and headed towards the counter.

"How much are we going to tell her?" Sam asked his brother, while peering around the booth to look at their sister at the counter.

"Well, I don't think we should start with 'Hey, we fight monsters and almost die on the regular - in fact we both have died on a number of occasions' Somehow I don't think that's a good idea." Dean replied.

Sam just rolled his eyes and suggested "Well why don't we use this opportunity to ease her into the idea of what we do. If she doesn't believe us or whatever we just get Cas to pop in."

"Oh what a great idea Sammy, let's just shove a full on angel onto a girl who might not believe us, way to give the poor kid a heart attack." Dean sarcastically replied.

"Why don't you take the lead then if you've got all the answers?" Sam said in a tone that suggested a lack of patients with his brother.

"What are you two bickering about?" Ophelia asked with a lighthearted tone.

"Oh, nothing important" Sam said "Why don't you tell us more about yourself, you say you're doing history at university, is there a campus around here?"

"No, I do classes online. No in person university would take me with my grades so all my classes are online. I really like it though, it was good when I was living at home, it's a little harder now."Ophelia replied.

"Why's that?" Dean asked with a cautious tone.

"I'm no longer living at home. I'm okay, you guys don't have to worry but I bounce around from hotels to sleeping in my car to a friend's sofa every now and again." Ophelia's voice trailed off towards the end. She had never really said out loud her situation and it sounded really quite bad.

"Do you want to talk about that? Dean continued his careful questioning.

"Not at the moment, it's a difficult thing to talk about."

The boys nodded, not pushing it any further.

A young girl brought the drinks to the table, she was only about fifteen or sixteen. Her face was round and chubby and she had a smattering of acne on the right side of her jaw. She placed the teapot, milk jug and empty cups in the middle of the table and the heavy looking mug of coffee more towards Dean.

Ophelia nodded a thank you to the girl before she left, then began to set up the tea for Sam and herself. Dean took a gulp of his coffee, looked pleasantly surprised and carried on drinking.

"This is one of my favourites Sam, it's called English Rose. I hope you enjoy it. It's a black tea so you should have it with a little bit of milk." Ophelia pushed the now full cup towards Sam. He poured a little milk into it, stured it and took his first sip.

"Oh, that's actually really good, I didn't think I'd like it as much as I do." Sam said with a smile on his face. The cup looked comically small in his hands.

The three of them sat making small talk while waiting for their food to arrive. Ophelia found out that Sam didn't graduate from Stanford but he could relate to how hard starting a degree was. Dean never went to university, stating that he wasn't very academic.

The young waitress carried the three plates of food over to their booth. Two full English breakfasts for Sam and Dean that included sausages, eggs, bacon, black pudding, beans, hash browns and fried toast. The third plate was a small stack of pancakes that had whipped cream and a berry sauce.

Sam took smaller bites of the food than his brother Dean who practically inhaled the meal. Ophelia watched their mannerisms, trying to notice if they shared any. She realised that although she looked like Dean more, she shared more things in common with Sam. They made the same face when Dean would say something questionable and they both would try and make themselves smaller when something was embarrassing. This was much harder for Sam to do than Ophelia.

"So, you guys travel around a lot for work? What do you do?" Ophelia asked between mouthfuls of food.

"Well, it's a little hard to explain." Dean started.

"I'm a big girl Dean, I'm sure my big girl brain can handle it." Ophelia replied with a cheeky tone.

Dean's face was sturn, this confused Ophelia. She was unsure what could be so serious about their job.

"Okay, well did your mom ever tell you ghost stories when you were little?" Dean continued "We hunt those ghost stories, the vampires, the witches, the angels and demons; they are all real and we kill them to prevent them from killing innocent people."

Ophelia stared at them both. This had to be a joke, they didn't really think that she would believe this did they?

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

It was Sam that spoke next. "We mean that we travel around America and save peoples lives. We've been doing it since our mom died. Dad got us into it. That's why he was over here, he was looking for an artifact that could save a lot of people. That's when he met your mom and had you. Eventually he had to come home though."

Ophelia took a sip of her tea. It had gone cold by this point but she just needed to do something with her hands.

"Right." Ophelia said after a little pause, placing her cup back down onto the table. "I'm not sure how I feel right now. On the one hand I don't believe you. On the other I do because why would you lie to me about something like that." As she said this the boys looked a little relieved.

"Well, that's a good start. At least you didn't run out of here hoping to never see us again." Dean replied with a smile.

"I hate to be 'that guy' but could I have some proof?"

"Yeah, sure, we can't do it here though. There are too many people." Sam replied to his sister's request.

"Okay, great, well I'm done how about you both?" Ophelia paused looking for some response to her signal to leave.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other and stood up to leave, they followed Ophelia out towards the car.

"Okay, so you guys murder things that look like humans then?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"Sometimes, yeah, but the thing you have to remember is that they're not human and that they kill innocent men, women and children." Dean answered.

"Is it hard to do? Like, because some are so human like you can't kill them?" Ophelia questioned.

"Well, like anything there are exceptions. There was this girl, Kate, she was a werewolf. We let her live because she promised us not to hurt anyone. We've not run into her since so hopefully she's kept that promise. Either that or another hunter has killed her…" Dean trailed off on that last sentence realising that something bad could have happened to Kate.

The rest of the journey back to the car was in silence. Ophelia didn't quite know what to make of it all. She wanted to believe them but it was just a lot to take in all at once.

She never knew what her dad did for work or why he was in England. She had always imagined either construction or something like that due to how worn his clothes looked in the photos Sandra had.

They arrived at the car and headed back to the hotel in almost silence. Ophelia just kept thinking about the danger her family willingly puts themselves in to save others. Yet a part of her couldn't get her head around the realisation that everything that went bump in the night was real. How were they going to prove this to her?

"We know, this is a lot to take in Ophelia but we thought you needed to know the truth. We had hoped that your Grandad had told you." Dean said, his voice was calm, steady and quiet.

This startled Ophelia, she glanced at Dean in the front seat and pulled into a layby on the side of the road. She put her car's hazard lights on and put the car into park.

"What the actual fuck did you say?" Ophelia said. She knew exactly what he had said but the pain had stopped her from computing the information.

"Dean, man don't you think that we should have told her this when she wasn't driving?" Sam sheepishly asked from the back seat.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to agree with Sam on this one. What the actual hell! You mean my grandad knew? How on god's green Earth do you know that?" Ophelia spat angrily. She was gripping the steering wheel, she couldn't bring herself to look at Dean.

"Ah yeah, um you see, dad wrote about it in his diary. Dad said that your grandad was asking lots of questions and it was just easier to tell the truth. Jesus, I didn't think you'd react like that. I'm sorry Ophelia." Dean stated.

"Right, well one thing you guys need to realise pretty sharpish is that I'm pretty open with my emotions. I'll tell you when something has hurt me. You telling me that my grandad neglected to mention a key part of my dad's life is going to hurt me." She glanced in the rearview mirror and made eye contact with Sam.

Sam noticed a small tear begin to fall down Ophelia's right cheek. He reached through the gap between the two front seats and put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

"We're sorry Ophelia. Are you okay to drive still? I don't mind taking over. I know I shouldn't but if you don't feel up to it I will. Sam said as he rubbed her arm.

"Thanks Sam, I'm okay. Is there anything else you guys want to tell me before I start driving again?"

Her brothers shook their heads to tell her that they hadn't got anything else. "Right then. Lets go." Ophelia said.

They arrived back at the hotel and headed towards the rooms.

"Okay, well you guys can come sit in my room. Give me this proof and we can go from there. How about that?" Ophelia said it very matter of factly.

They followed the short woman towards her room. Dean was unsure if he had ruined the relationship he had just created with his sister.

Ophelia unlocked the door and held it open for the two men. She sat on the bed, Dean sat on the chair by the desk and Sam hovered around the window.

"This proof then?" Ophelia said looking at Dean. "What is it?"

"I'm going to call Cas." Dean said looking at Sam.

Sam nodded at his brother. There was an understanding there that Ophelia didn't get.

Dean closed his eyes and whispered something to himself. Ophelia fiddled with her hands, not really sure what was going on.

"You called Dean?" A rough unknown voice spoke from inside the room.

"Hi, yeah, Cas I want you to meet Ophelia, our sister." Dean said.

Ophelia looked up to where the voice came from. A new man was standing in the room. He looked older than the two Winchesters. Dean addressed the man as Cas, this was the guy who dropped them off.

"How did you get into my room?" Ophelia asked in a panicked tone.

"Ophelia, it's okay, this is Cas. He's our friend. He's also an angel." Sam said as he moved from next to the window to greet Cas.

"Oh, this is the illegitimate child John had?" Cas asked. He moved towards her from the door. Ophelia stood from the bed and reached out a hand. Cas ignored the offer of a handshake and gave Ophelia a hug.

"Ophelia Winchester, it is a pleasure to meet you. You are known to the angels as the Winchester who never joined the family business. There were other plans for you but as ever, plans change." Cas released Ophelia from the hug and looked her deep in the eye as he said the last sentence.

Angels knew of her? As far as Ophelia was concerned she was an accident. She was never supposed to happen.

"I'm sorry, Cas was it? How did you get here?" Ophelia asked slowly.

"I simply apperated here. I can travel all over the world in a matter of seconds. When Dean called me, I was at the Men of Letters bunker." Cas explained.

Ophelia sat back down on the bed and stared at a mark on the carpet, her mind was mush, she didn't know how to communicate what she was feeling. Her heart was racing; going at a million miles per hour. She placed her hands on her knees to try and stop them from shaking.

Sam looked concerned. He knew what was happening, he had a few anxiety attacks back at Stamford and knew the signs.

"Ophelia, are you okay? Do you need water? What can I do to help?" Sam asked sitting next to her on the bed. He rubbed her back in small circular movements as she tried to steady her breathing.

"…Some water would be nice. Please." Ophelia replied in a shaky voice. Sam glanced at Dean who nodded before rushing to the bathroom. He returned with a glass full of water, he knelt down so he could look Ophelia in the eye and handed her the glass.

Taking sips of the water Ophelia started to feel a little better. "This is all so much to take in. First you guys, then you tell me my grandad knew about it all from dad and now a literal angel is in my hotel room."

"We know it's a lot but it's okay. We're here every step of the way." Dean told her, still kneeling on the floor.

"I mean, this is ridiculous right? Monsters, angels, hunting and everything. It's ridiculous." Ophelia was shaking a little less now but she still couldn't get her head around it.

"It's actually quite logical, Ophelia. Folk stories and fairy tales have to come from somewhere." Cas said in a flat tone.

The three Winchesters looked at the angel. "Thanks Cas. That's exactly what she needed to hear you asshat." Dean remarked with sarcasm.

"No, thank you Cas, that actually makes sense. I had never thought about it that way." Ophelia said. She looked up at the angel and smiled.

"Okay, so now what?" Dean asked his sister.

"Well, that depends. I want to be a part of your life, you're the only family I really have now. Mum and I are patching things up, I think, but I can't move back in with her and her boyfriend." Ophelia replied. "On the other hand I'm not sure how I can help you. Like, I know a little about that world but nothing about it in America. My specialism at university is the occult in Europe, but that's probably not much help and you probably know it anyway." The girl was weighing up her options. She could just stay here and carry on with life and keep emailing them or she could join the 'family business' like Cas had called it.

"You…" Sam started to speak but stopped halfway through his thought.

"What are you thinking Sammy?" Dean asked. "If it's what I think you're thinking then it's going to be a no from me."

"I mean she's already in danger right? If the angels know about her, what are the chances that so do the demons? Wouldn't it be better if we could keep an eye on her?" Sam continued.

"What are you guys talking about. Demons? Like Lucifer's minions? They're real too? Bloody hell. Also am I in danger? Nothing has happened to me in my 19 years of life." Ophelia questioned.

"That isn't strictly true. I can sense demonic energy now." Cas chimed in.

"I'm sorry, you can what now?" Ophelia said with a start.

"Cas, come on man, maybe you should have led with that? There is a demon nearby?" Dean replied.

"I'm sorry Dean but I thought that your heart to heart with a long lost sibling might come first."

"Damn it Cas! Now is not the time for heart to hearts if we're being watched by demons!"

"Okay, everyone stay calm. What are we going to do?" Ophelia finally spoke after the initial shock. She was unsure where the sudden calmness and confidence came from.

"We need a plan." Sam said. He was still rubbing Ophelia's back subconsciously, not sure now if it was to comfort her or him.

"Right, well we need to leave as quickly as possible. Is there anywhere we can go?" Dean asked.

"Mum…Is she safe?" Ophelia realised that as she was in danger her mum could be to.

"She lives at the home your grandad owned, is that correct?" Cas replied. Ophelia nodded. "Then yes, she is safe. John put protections in place so nothing can hurt you or Sandra."

"Then we go there." Ophelia stood up and pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. "You guys go get your things and meet me in the reception area in ten minutes."

As Opheila began to pack Dean spoke. "Are you sure your mom will be okay with Sam and I turning up on her doorstep?"

"It'll be for a day, maybe two days, while we can figure it all out."

Sam was the one to speak next. "Okay well then, Cas stay here with Ophelia just in case anything happens. She can't defend herself against a demon even if she is a Winchester by blood."

Cas nodded in agreement. Ophelia thought this was fair. She had no idea what she was doing anymore. Her brain had gone into overdrive.

Cas stood in the corner, monitoring Ophelia's every movement. She was frantically packing all her clothes that she had only just unpacked.

"Is there anything I can do Ophelia?" Cas asked in his gravelly voice.

"Yeah, can you pack my makeup that's in the bathroom? You do know what that is right?"

"Yes, I know what makeup is. I have been alive since the beginning of time." Cas replied as he headed into the bathroom.

"Right, yeah, of course you have. How silly of me."

"It's okay, this is all very new, you had no reason to know that." Cas said

"I was being sarcastic Cas." Ophelia said with a slight giggle and a smile.

The angel smiled at her and said "Ah, your brothers are also fond of sarcasm. I see that I still have a lot to learn though." His smile turned into one of slight embarrassment.

"It's okay Cas, British humour is also apparently difficult for some people to understand. I assume being an angel doesn't make you immune to that." Ophelia reassured him as she packed her shoes.

She reached out towards Cas and took the bag of toiletries he was holding awkwardly and continued talking. "How do you know my brothers then?"

"I resurrected Dean in 2008 after he was sent to Hell and I have been with them ever since." Cas replied in a deadpan way.

"I should have realised by now that that was not going to be a normal answer like 'oh we met through a friend' shouldn't I?"

Ophelia finished packing and made sure she had everything; keys, phone, laptop, headphones and chargers.

Cas opened the door for her so she could wheel her suitcase out into the corridor with ease.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"She should come with us. All I'm saying is that the girl is basically homeless and not protected. Did you not hear her when she said she was sleeping in her car?" Sam told Dean when they got out into the corridor.

"Of course I remember Sammy. I just don't know about it. She can't come out on hunts and every person we care about has a tendency to die in a tragic and painful way." Dean replied "We will talk more about this when we're at her mom's place.

They met up with Ophelia and Cas in the reception of the hotel. "Are you guys ready to go?" Ophelia said in a quiet voice.

"Yep, lets get moving as quickly as possible." Dean said.

"Okay well I'll hand back the keys and ask for a refund, I'm sure it'll be okay. Do you guys want to wait out near the car?" Ophelia asked.

"Oh no, we're not leaving you alone. If there is a demon here then you need us with you." Dean's voice was serious and slightly scary to Ophelia. She just nodded and headed towards the desk.

"How can I help Miss?" A new receptionist asked. They weren't wearing a badge and his clothes were not quite right.

Tentatively Ophelia handed back all three room keys and said "Something has come up. We're having to leave. Can we get a refund on the days we didn't stay?"

The nameless man looked at her blankly before opening his mouth. "Of course. However there is a note here for me to call my manager if you or those two gentlemen leave early. I'll be right back." There was something sinister about his presence. He left and headed into the back office. Cas came up and grabbed Ophelia by the hand.

"We need to go right now Ophelia." He said with haste.

"What about our refund? Like, this cost me more money than I'd care to say." Ophelia was confused at the rush.

"That man is a demon, I can see their true faces. We need to go now."

Ophelia looked at Sam and Dean, they looked worried as well. She took a quick look back at the back office door before turning to catch up with Sam and Dean who were now outside heading to the car.

Throwing their bags into the boot, Ophelia got into the front seat and started the car.

"Is everyone in?" She asked. There was a low grumble of confirmation from the three men. "Fantastic." Ophelia replied before speeding out of the car park towards her mum's home.

#fanfiction #ao3 #writing #supernatural #sam and dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #found family #chapter 3

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 7 months

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Thoughts on First Thing/Collaborator – Daniel Kitson (2023):

I wrote a post last week about how I saw the livestream of Kitson’s Ghost Story show, which is pretty much a remake of the Christmas show he’d already done. That’s one of the only two full shows he’s done this year (not counting just messing around with improv/up-a-chicken-style WIP), and the other one is also pretty much just a slightly different version of a show he’s done before. Which backs up the veracity of the thing he’s said in almost everything he’s done this year, which is that he’s out of ideas.

And yet, I am not complaining one bit. You’d think I should be, right? And I could understand another Kitson fan, a proper one who lives in Britain and has been going to see him in person for years, being a bit disappointed. But I haven’t been. I have been collecting all the Daniel Kitson I can find for the past year and a half, and lots of it has been similar, but I like hearing the updates as he progresses in both his artistic skills and worldview.

I think a lot of his shows can be considered companions to each other. Where Once Was Wonder feels like an update to Weltanschuung. Keep is a 10-year-later update to 66A Church Road. Something Other Than Everything is an update to Impotent Fury of the Privileged. A Short Series of Disagreements Presented Here in Chronological Order is… he was up against a deadline to have something to take to America and couldn’t think of anything new so he basically wrote Gregory Church again. Maybe a Ghost Story is A Story for Christmas but for Halloween. I enjoy spotting the many parallels between Mouse and Tree. And I realize that depending how generous you want to be, you could call something a “parallel” or “homage”, or you could call it derivative (of his own work, to be fair, which is at least better than being derivative of someone else). But I do tend to be generous, looking at any repetition as a “two cakes” situation. Why would I complain about having more of a thing I love?

I’d previously said the companion show to Polyphony is As of 152 GMT on Friday 27 April 2012, This Show Has No Title. I still think that’s true, and those two plus First Thing (which I’m going to call the show that was called First Thing in London and Edinburgh over the summer and has now been called Collaborator in Bristol, I’m picking one name to save time and I knew it as First Thing for too long to have changed how I think of it yet) can be a sort of trilogy. Three shows in which Daniel Kitson struggles to think of a new idea, so instead, he writes a play in which he is the main character, and the play is about his own writing process and back catalogue and it discusses his current lack of ideas. 2012, 2015, and 2023.

If anything, the fact that he’s done this twice before makes me less concerned about him spending 2023 insisting he has no new ideas. Okay, Daniel. You said that in 2012. You said it via an hour-long well-written story that plays with fourth walls and reality and shit like that. Then you had several new ideas in the next few years, wrote a few more lovely things (Analog.Ue, Tree, the Christmas thing, After the Beginning), and then wrote another play about how he doesn’t have any ideas. Then wrote a few more great things, and another play eight years later about having no ideas. Surely he has at least a few more cycles of this left in him before retiring to make pots for the rest of his life. And if he doesn’t, then he’s created lots of wonderful original things already and I wouldn’t begrudge him a few years of repetition before going off to make pots for the rest of his life.

So those are my thoughts about it in the larger context of that back catalogue that he wishes everyone would stop going on about. Aside from that context, however, I think First Thing is an enormously fun show. Especially the latest versions, when he hasn’t made fundamental changes but has cleaned up a lot of the dialogue, made it faster and snappier and it flows well and the jokes are spread consistently and the points are made in a sensible order and it’s just really well done.

It's Daniel Kitson at his most meta, it references all the older things about Daniel Kitson and when it runs out of those it starts referencing itself. It’s a retrospective of his career, and to be fair to him, I think his career has been long and varied enough to justify at least two retrospectives. But it is more than that, it’s got ruminations on art in general, and performance in general, and audience participation in general.

It’s kind of an apology, and I always find it interesting when artists do that. Write some art that exists to apologize for different art they’ve made. Simon Amstell’s Grandma’s House. Great Big Sea’s Dear Hometown. Daniel Kitson’s First Thing. What an odd assortment of examples.

In this case he’s looking back at the early days of his career, which I of course find interesting as an early 00s comedy historian, specifically a Chocolate Milk Gang historian, specifically, really, a Daniel Kitson historian. It makes a lot of references to things I’ve heard about, and in a couple of instances to things I’ve actually heard, in recordings from those years. I find it really fascinating to go directly between First Thing and hearing a few specific old recordings from the early 00s where he’s doing the things that he apologizes for in First Thing. Though I think most of the stuff for which he owes apologies is even older than that and from before most of my collection, from the late 90s. There is a documentary from 1999 that documents a little bit of it, and… yep, it is pretty rough. It’s not great.

He's obviously talking about his Late ‘n’ Live days as well, which I do really enjoy seeing, because I think it’s funny when Daniel Kitson is dragging a drunk Johnny Vegas off stage or wrestling David O’Doherty or rap battling David O’Doherty (they did do a lot of that back in the day) or taking apart a cow. Probably less funny when he’s yelling horrible things at audience members, though to be fair you could argue that some of those audience members were very literally asking for it at Live ‘n’ Live, I don’t mean in the sense that they deserved it, I mean in the sense that they showed up to a gig like that because they wanted that to happen. And if they really, honestly want that to be happen, then I guess that can be fun too.

This gets into all kinds of other questions about when and why it’s all right for a comedian to call the audience cunts. Obviously it has a lot to do with context, with whether they showed up to a type of gig where that should be expected, with whether they were heckling in a way to suggest they want that (which is its own problem – rewarding heckling by giving them the thing they want is a good way to ruin comedy overall).

I’d say it has to do with more specific things too – I wrote recently about seeing people online say they were upset that Daniel Kitson called an audience member fat in 2006, and someone else said he used to do that stuff but doesn’t anymore, and someone else said yes he does because he called someone a pedophile recently. Now this is a difficult thing to justify and there’s really no way to make it sound all right out of context, but I think that’s not a fair comparison because calling someone fat is a lot worse than calling them a pedophile. Because the former is a genuine insult, they probably really are fat and you’re telling them you think that’s wrong and you’re telling all the fat people in the crowd that you think how they look is wrong and you don’t respect those members of your audience. While calling someone a pedophile is very obviously a joke and doesn’t pick on a real thing about the person. However… that’s a tough distinction to explain, I’m not confident that I did it successfully here or that I could anywhere. All I can say is I’ve heard Daniel Kitson call people fat (in very old recordings) and I’ve heard him call people pedophiles and I feel like I can hear the difference. You could also make an absolutely fair argument that pedophiles do actually exist and there could be people in the crowd who’ve had their lives ruined by them and won’t enjoy hearing a comedian make light of the idea that one could be in the room. I don’t have a good answer to that, I think I might have just talked myself out of my own justification. I similarly don’t have an amazing explanation for why I as a feminist think the word “cunt” is okay even though I’m often less cool with a word like “bitch”, except to say that “dick” is also an insult because I think we’ve just agreed that genitals are taboo in society so therefore they’re a mean thing to call someone and the insults don’t have to be gendered unless you gender them. I’d be fairly suspicious of a man who only called women cunts, but I’m pleased to say Daniel Kitson applies it liberally across genders.

These are flimsy explanations at best, I’m not really confident in any of them. I just mean that I have heard Daniel Kitson call people cunts in a way that I’ve found hilarious, and I’ve heard him call other people names in a way that’s felt horrible and mean, and I wish I could find a more logically consistent way to differentiate between the two. I’ve also heard some comedians say almost the same thing but in slightly different ways and slightly different contexts, leaving one seem like a funny bit of harsh crowd work and another seem horrible. The status of the comedian comes into play too – if they choose to play a lower status then they can get away with more because it feels like punching up. But also, if they actually are too low a status, then I think excessive insulting can feel a bit cheap and desperate. Kitson might be in the perfect position that way, that he genuinely is sufficiently high-status so the audience trusts that he knows what he’s doing and can do this without really hurting anyone (anymore), but also plays low status enough so it doesn’t feel like he’s doing any real harm.

Back in the day – in the really early days of his compering at rough clubs and first couple years of Late ‘n’ Live – I think he was lower status but played a bit higher status, and that’s a good way to immediately sound more harsh. These are days I’ve only glimpsed through tiny clips as there’s barely a record of them, but I’ve read about them in some articles, and have heard Kitson tell stories of them in many later years. They are most clearly summed up in these paragraphs from this article in the Australian publication The Age from 2007:

For a couple of years, he learned to tough it out with audiences as the compere at the weekly new talent night at one of London's top comedy venues. “It was absolutely invaluable, up to a point,” he says. “It made me confident on stage; it made me not value any gig too much; it made me feel I could talk to people, but I did it slightly too long.” In 1999, he was doing the same thing in Edinburgh. “And somebody said, ‘Look, you've got to be careful; not every gig is the Comedy Café’. It was genuine advice and I thought, ‘f---'. “I realised I'd gone too far down that road and I was no longer doing the thing I'd originally wanted to do on stage. I remember sitting outside, nearly in tears, saying, ‘I’m shit’. And I probably was. I had loads of people saying no, you're brilliant, you're going to be huge and I'd say, 'But this is shit, hateful, bullying shit!' And that was a real turning point. It was after that that I decided right, I'm going to do a show that is material-based, not just me f---ing around.”

I've heard him tell that story on stage too, when he says the person who gave him that advice was small-faced man (and... possibly some things that are a lot less fun than having a small face and the reality of some comedians being horrible is exactly why being jokingly horrible isn't always all fun and games even for the genuinely nice ones, but let's not worry about that right now) Trevor Lock, along with Andrew Maxwell. When the three of them did a joint show in Edinburgh in 1999, which is where he also did a show with the Comedy Cafe, which was the rough London comedy club he's talking about. In Edinburgh in 1999, he took part in two shows - one with the Comedy Cafe where he'd been performing in London, and one with Andrew Maxwell and Trevor Lock.

The former is partly documented in this documentary about Edinburgh that year, so I can confirm that it's pretty fucking rough. A show that he did with fellow Comedy Cafe performer Lee Canterbury, and also appearing in the documentary is Noel Faulkner, owner of the Comedy Cafe who had taken them to Edinburgh like children on a school trip, it sort of seemed. That latter is the show where apparently Andrew Maxwell and Trevor Lock - hardly the epitome of thoughtful and restrained comedians - had to tell him to take it down a notch because you can't treat an Edinburgh show that's not in a truck like it's the Comedy Cafe.

...I may have recently gone through all the Edinburgh programs since his first year in Edinburgh, which was 1999, and taken screenshots of all Daniel Kitson's entries to put in a folder, because that's the sort of thing I do, so here are the two from that first year:

Amazing that at the time, his late-night (start time: 22:45, 00:30) Gilded Balloon show was the restrained one compared to the other one he was doing. Having seen some of the other preserved in a documentary, I can confirm that this is the case. It would be a couple of years later that he took over compering Late 'n' Live, where I think his skills at dealing with tough audiences were welcomed. This is where he did things like yell at audience members for using the bathroom.

After that, in 2002, he won the Perrier Award at the same time as Phoenix Nights was happening, and then he got bigger crowds as a result of both those things, including crowds of people who were just there to see the guy from the quite abrasive sitcom, and who wanted to see him call people cunts. And that was when he hit the brakes very hard on all the momentum he'd built in that direction, wrote the sensitive theatrical touching story show A Made Up Story in 2003 to put off all the people who want to hear him say "cunt", and developed his entire schtick about wanting to be small and un-advertised and refusing to perform on Friday or Saturday nights and starting shows at odd hours and doing everything he could to get rid of the shitty audience he'd cultivated by being shitty. In 2006 (the same year he left his agent, I think - though that might have been 2005) he fucked off from the raucous Late 'n' Live to go host Honourable Men of Art, at The Stand that was for artists rather than the Gilded Balloon that was for raucousness, to have a nice nerdy show with the other Chocolate Milk Gang nerds. He didn't even take some of his biggest stand-up shows to Edinburgh, instead writing more sensitive theatre things and performing those there. I've heard recordings from 2006 in which hecklers have tried to get into arguments with him, and he's said he doesn't do that stuff anymore, he used to be like that but now he's not, if they're here because they remember when he used to spar with hecklers and call everyone cunts then they should go away because he's changed. Though I've also heard him say that and then proceed to get drawn into some rough stuff with the audience anyway.

In his efforts to backtrack on all the things he hated about what he'd done in his early days, when he was only 22 and really should be easily forgiven for being a bit of a dick for what wasn't even all that much time in the grand scheme of things - he may, arguably, have slightly overcorrected. Just a bit. Surely there's some sort of middle ground he could have found. But I think one of my favourite things about Daniel Kitson is the way he eschews the middle ground. Whatever he's doing, he's anything but average.

I'm aware that I've veered wildly off topic, by the way. I realized I was going that way a few paragraphs back and decided to just go on rather than acknowledging it. But I feel like I should acknowledge it now. This is barely related to the show First Thing. But it is related to it a little bit. Because First Thing is him talking, nearly 25 years later, about those days of his career. And apologizing for them, even going so far as to write some of his slated audience members in as characters to come back to haunt him.

I like the show. It's basically Polyphony again, but I very much like Polyphony - it's one of my favourite things he's ever done - and I'm happy to have another Polyphony. Polyphony and As of 152 GMT on Friday 27 April 2012, This Show Has No Title are a similar idea executed very differently. Polyphony and First Thing are pretty much the same idea executed pretty much the same way. Which I think is great! Two cakes!

I think I fit into the exact category that's a target audience for something like this. Someone who knows nothing about Kitson's career history won't get a lot of the references in First Thing. Some who follows his career closely like a normal person will already know about Polyphony and find this repetitive. But someone like me - an obsessive collector of as many versions of Kitson as I can possibly find - will get the references and just be pleased to have a new version of the retrospective on them.

I don't think you have to know his whole history to enjoy this show, though. Because like I said, it's about broader stuff. What art is, what performance art is, what audience participation is, under what circumstances comedians should be allowed to call people cunts. You know, universal themes.

...I started this show planning to write a sort of review of a Daniel Kitson show, and didn't intend to do the long off-topic history lesson in the middle of it. But personally, I find the show more interesting when knowing the context. And there's a lot of context. But even if you have no context, it's a fun hour of the audience all getting to take part and there are good jokes and it made me laugh and that's what actually matters, isn't it?

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forestryfae · 11 months

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so like the goal for today is to clean the kitchen to some degree, do laundry until the racks are relatively full, and ideally clean my bedroom as well, plus i gotta empty the litterboxes

and its not like i cant get it done or anything its just that im thinking about the kitchen and its just so fucking cluttered. theres shit everywhere. ive got machines and hit on the counters and table, ive got two big boxes on the floor full of stuff i wanna get rid of, i cant even reach like half of the shelves in my kitchen and i can only it so much stuff where i CAN reach, and its just so i-wanna-throw-away-everything-core like. i dont wanna have to keep utensils Just In Case i need them, im tired of having to wash plates and keeping them around just for the cats even tho i dont use them myself, its annoying to not ever have a clean tidy kitchen bench and its really easy to forget ive put soemthing on there so i keep filling the dishwasher and thinking im done and i just turn around and theres six more pots i forgot i had sitting on the other side of the room.

i cant even fit my nicer dessert bowls and such in the cabinets cus theyre full of stuff i got as gifts that i REALLY like and wanna keep but also like who needs 8 waterglasses and 8 mugs at the same time. i love all the stuff i have and i dont wanna gt rid of it but every time i go to grab a mug im instantly like "no i dont want that one i want a different one" but its towards every cup and i cant even get rid of more cups cus i like all my cups and i dont even know what i have in the lower cabinets next to where i store the pots. i NEVER use them. if i want something i use often i store it where i can actually reach it and everything else just gets forgotten so you can imagine my surprise at the dicovery that i have four breadmolds and even christmas cookie tins

and its like that with every room in the house, theres stuff in plain sight i dont want to keep, theras stuff i didnt even know i had that i cant decide whethar i want or not specifically cus im so surprised i even have it and because of nostalgia, theres gifted stuff i actually like, then theres gifted stuff i dont even want to keep cus its just utterly useless to me. like the roomba dad "gave" me because he thought itd help keep the house clean. except its a much bigger hassle than its worth and it can only do one room and its a room i dont use so why bother. i als put gave in quotation marks cus hes coming to pick it up some da, no fucking clue when cus he just said "some day", cus he wants it back so grandma can have it. like. yes fair enough shes struggling to keep the house clean but its still annoying that this keeps happening over and over why does my family keep giving me shit then wanting it back. mom gave me their toaster so i wouldnt have to buy one but she went and just took it cus she just needed it while i was in inpatient. like. ive got furniture i got from either her or dad too. a table and chair set, a dresser, some lamps, christmas ornaments and shit, a christmas tree, some bowls mom gave me so id have bwls until i could buy myself bowls, etc. like i dont use any of it and they can gladly have it all back but they do not get to complain when i try to get rid of it and they dont want it either, and i dont want them changing their mind and wanting the stuff i actually like and use back. i wanna keep that one chair dad gave me and thats non-negotiable.

like. i just really wanna start over w the house. sell or give away all the shit i dont want so i can actually manage everything without exhautsing myself and getting rid of stuff i only keep cus i need it regardless of whether i want it or not. starting over completely interior-design-wise so ill have a better idea of what stuff i actually enjoy and what i actually use and what just feels trashy or just takes up space it doesnt need to take.

anyways i cleaned the bathroom today then washed my hair so thats nice

#i also bought!! boxes!! cardboard ones AND plastic ones #im not sure exalcty how many i need but it should be enough for now? i hope #talkies about the cleaning again

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mydyspraxiablog · 7 months

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Having dyspraxia I member of Dyspraxia foundation, Coelicuk other members but there is dyspraxia week up in November I would like give some money to dyspraxia foundation and Coelicuk but there promble I also sponder a child in Ethiopia and don't want that family miss out on birthday and Christmas after Christmas there birthday coming up in family.

Promble don't trust Natwest bank anymore called tell table bank.

At ages of 50 years old have ask mum if could give money charity's and embrassment all because of scarm I can't going town order coffee or hot chocolate like use missing day went up stone order hot chocolate whip cream chocolate flak and marshmallow dream having then then chocolate 🍫 Icecream in Stone those days when was Richard fellowship volunteers but miss it because now noughting in Stafford.

I got cold wait for bus 3.30pm-4pm Here one passages say " took of 3.45pm bus because of two school buses one 825 school bus other 8A school bus. So start rain really badly but most people decide go back have coffee in at cafe Nero but me could not because didn't any money so wait by self at bus stop goal square it was really cold.

Then bus didn't up 430pm because roadwork on Wolverhampton Rd and moss pit hold bus up.

Noughting can do public bus not turn up because took off because school run if buses too late because roadwork there abouda ship leaving passages wait for next bus to come.

I get worry bus might be fall up might not get on it but luck 101 bus came first at was full up and that double deck bus. Other bus did turn up behide 101 bus home bus also full up too.

Don't get wrong love farms doing and arts crouse doing but waiting do math and engish crouse in Stafford and other film crouse Indid enjoy making films bit not going happon.

"How do know Christian aid ,Acting Aid are really charity you know Facebook do fake charity offers them free sample like pray book or candle she jealous of Amazon because find way be paid things with out my Natwest card using mum card by finger print that how order things through Amazon or voice code do shopping but not going do that I do something different this Christmas want do some good around the world and in uk but can't help everyone need saving nougt money for birthday and Christmas. I really ask mum can have money buy your birthday card or birthday gift or Christmas gift 🎁 it would not be right so I decide this year going making Christmas things mumm and my family.

Right wonder. What can do help children in uk and around the world 🌎 but help hidding disabilities and disabilities child and adult too. I got think plus help those dogs and cats 🐈 in shelter want to help them.

I do want go Charlie cafe see all cats there as I missing Annabel and Sydnee my pets cats that both gone over Rainbow bridge and I want see them. Today saw Rainbow 🌈 in Stafford outside but waiting for double Rainbow so know Annabel, Sydnee my pets cats and Darcy my dog 🐕 missing them all want them back but can't I really upset with PSDA run out funds for help sick pets wasn't any money in pot so have put Sydnee down end of May how die upset me she hidding beside book shelf and fall sleep on neck down between pipe of bookshelf and body on floor so could not let die that way so pick up Sydnee but on Soffee on my knees said " You with Annabel now but Christmas really be hard for me it second years Christmas with out Annabel you die 16 years old and first years without Sydnee at Christmas Sydnee die of 17 years old. What kill Sydnee rat possion from the park knob down building at was Hotel 🏨 bulliday stupid caring home and look park behide me and don't want ride three wheel bike anymore don't walk around the park anymore I don't want go out in gardens anymore why noughting do in Stafford?

If do going town get art book and draw of Victoria Park. Trees, birds and Swam but can't going in cafe having drink coffee with no money.

So just sit there draw till get tide walk back home is weather nice or back on buses.

What decide this years not let Newphew and Nices down this years.

I not going let my sponder child and her family down this year as well but don't let dogs and cats be shelter want help children go to school

And help animals too.

So have see if can make some Christmas gift 🎁 for family instead but don't know get whole family photo just have look up on Google photos with all family.

What do next is secert for family around the world.

#dyspraxia

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upismediacenter · 1 year

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LITERARY: Christmas’ Mira Claus!

The most wonderful time of the year is quickly approaching. Awake is the spirit of brilliance, accompanied by solace and cheer. Bustling streets rival the luminance of stars, forming joyous constellations and pleasing connections. The beautiful melody of laughter blends in with the choirs of angels. Everybody's trying to look their best, decking themselves with bows and dresses. And of course, Santa is putting smiles on children's faces... Ugh, what a displeasing sight.

Unlike the rest of the world, Felix hated Christmas. He’s not green nor hairy, just a simple boy devoid of merriment. A season so joyful plus recognition and fame equals the selfishness of his father whose entirety revolves around the 25th of December. The household’s supposed pillar often vacates his post, leaving no trace for the son to reminisce. He adamantly resides in his workroom, observing other families while forsaking his own. He devotes his time to familiarizing himself and sorting young’uns, not caring for his child waiting at home. Santa’s certainly atop someone’s naughty list.

At long last, the damned holiday arrives. Felix’s father sails the sky aboard his sleigh hauled by a reindeer train and bearing the force of generosity. Chimneys are polished and ready to welcome his visit and an open door at home awaiting his return. He gobbles all the ‘for Santa’ cookies and milk except the ones made by his son. From warm and sweet to cold and bitter, there goes another year of him failing to be better. Felix looks under the tree expecting presents, awaiting change, only to be disappointed again. Somber thoughts filled his head: I’d rather receive coal than get nothing at all.

A gentle caress burst Felix’s cloudy bubble, her soft hands and smile lines providing him much-needed comfort. Mrs. Claus is established as the other half of an icon but is not cared for enough to be known by her first name—Mira. She stuffs her boys’ big pot bellies, makes sure the elves are taken care of, consoles the red-nosed reindeer, and tends to her one and only son. The two sit by the fireplace enjoying a hot cup of cocoa and its uplifting saccharine aroma. They bundle up in a blanket, at ease in each other’s embrace. So precious they are indeed, the light’s job is a feat her husband could never achieve.

Mira’s flame will never burn out, a candle so bright that it melts worries away, ensuring Christmas miracles happen as always. The last vestiges of heartbreak are freed, the powers of a mother loud and clear. As thanks, Felix wrote a letter not to Santa but to Mira:

#MC2023 #MabaitCaba?#literary #english #Panda

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dancergurl3000 · 2 years

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The bachelorette party. An essay.

I looked around the woods near my cousins lake house. Perfect. A late night late season scavenger hunt where my guests get to drink every time they see one of my “clues” or “trivia facts” before they get to the next tree. I have never felt more proud of something I did in my entire life. But I wanted to be a part of the entire day, and what the group were doing right this minute and right now they were at a museum eating cheese in the front lobby, and walking down Park. Avenue to be taken by helicopter to the House. Oh well. I couldn’t join every activity, and it looks like my best friend was enjoying herself. The afternoon the bachelors had the Lake House and the House smelled like cigars. The pot gummies were also gone and apparently the groom to be went water skiing high on the lake, and not drunk. It was a step up for the village. Two years ago some drunken idiot crashed his boat onto a dock, killing an eight year old girl. I had made it very clear that drunk boating was a no no. So far, parasailing at night while High was technically illegal, and was safer at night since so few boats went out on the lake at night. They had the afternoon to see the entirety of the lake, and to come back or, to go into the village and do some shopping. Whatever they decided to do: it was unlikely they would cross paths with the bachelorettes: the scavenger hunt was sparse around the parking lot and the garage and it would most likely end here. The bachelors would want to find the bars in town: the bachelorettes would want to lounge at the House, best way to wake up. But whatever happened: most likely everyone would end up at Home, and isn’t that was how the wedding was supposed to begin? With both the bride and the groom both ending up together at the end of the night? They did have the rest of their lives to spend with each other, but I don’t know. Doing three of these weddings, it depends on how long the bride and the groom have been together. If they were dating for four plus years, the marriage was likely to last. But as a wedding planner I had seen the bride have a full blown panic attack the night before but pull it off the morning of. I felt like I could go to bed tonight knowing I found my way back to this place. It was from my childhood, I spent much of my teenage years here in this lake house and now for this special occasion. It spoke to how much I’ve grown up here. And now I can share it. I sat on the first three steps as I did every Christmas and headed upstairs to bed. A wedding planner needs her beauty rest.

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entireoranges · 2 years

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Jason and I are going be doing a craft fair. I have never done one before, but it seems like fun and a good way to be creative. Plus hopefully make some money! I thought originally we'd share a bit of my parents tables (they are getting two) but the hubby and have some many ideas it quickly became apparent getting our own is a better idea. We are planning on signing up at the same time to insure we get placed next to each other. We will only be getting one table by the way. Don't want to overdo it.

As mentioned my brain is a whirlwind of ideas. I know some won't be developed and tossed out; which is perfectly fine. I do suffer from low confidence on this type of stuff, so I'm hoping when doubt starts whispering in my ear I won't listen to it and will keep pushing through.

Also I need to be strong and stand up for myself once I pinpoint what crafts I want to make even if potentially my husband or mom might try to stir me towards something else. Of course if they have logical reasons as to why something may not work or be the best I will listen to it.

Sign ups start in early September, unsure exactly when. It's like $45 bucks. I don't know if that's a good deal for something like this. And the fair is November 1st. For the record though to be honest I personally am not actually a fan of it, I'm disappointed it's the day after Halloween, because Jesus there are so many crafting projects involving Halloween!

Here is my current list of ideas. Again I will not be doing them all and good chance some will be added. Majority of the ideas are things for me to do, but a few are Jason's or ideas I thought for him.

Thanksgiving napkin rings

Christmas tree seed bead pins

Christmas lyric tote bags

Holiday letter bracelets

Marbled mugs

Decorate Pop sockets

Button mason jars

Button picture frame

Colorful magnetic clothespins

Mousepads

Flower pots

Painted water bottles

Holiday switchplates

Waterless snow globes

Custom guitar picks

I have been looking at diy crafting sites for ideas and I think half of these come from them. If anyone has any ideas that seem to fit the vibe of what I have please let me know! Not sure if it's apparent but I'm quite excited and can't wait to buckle down and start creating.

#my thoughts #my hubby #craft fair

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fromasgardandback · 3 years

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Shopping Spree

Sam S. x Reader

christmas | masterlist | oneshots

“Sam, c’mon it’s gonna be fun. We just need to get some gifts for the team and then we’ll be home.” You sipped your coffee at the kitchen counter.

“Why can’t we just order the gifts online and have them shipped?” Sam whined, knowing that he hated going to the mall. Sam was fun, but hated going shopping, especially in New York.

“No. I am not paying for shipping. Plus, you know Tony is going to be nosy and look through all the packages until he finds which one could be his. We can get all the gifts today. Wrap them when we get home and be done with them.” You drank the last of your coffee, placing the mug in the sink.

“Baby” Sam groaned, hugging you from behind.

“Birdie, we’re going.” You kissed him sweetly.

You two started by going through 5th Avenue. Trying to see what you could find, but that wasn’t as easy being on a budget. Through the side streets, there are mom and pop shops. You two got most of the gifts for everyone in those cute little stores. Nothing too big, but sentimental to show you cared and listened. You looked around, enjoyed the holiday lights and decorations. Sam would occasionally kiss you. Sweet little kisses from your face, to your hands. Kisses turned from hugging you from behind.

“Baby, look” Sam held up an ugly Christmas sweater, making a funny face.

“Oh, you look handsome.” You giggled. “Put it in the cart. I’ll get it for you.”

“Only if you get one too.” Sam pecked your lips.

“Pick one out for me, Birdie.” You turned to look through the sweaters with him.

The two of you continued shopping through the city, taking little things for each other. You hoped he didn’t see what you got him and vice versa. Turning the corner down the road, there was a puppy park, filled with puppies in Christmas sweaters. Sam quickly placed the bags inside the car, then practically dragged you towards the puppies. There was a time for people to come and sit with the dogs, while they ran around. Sam took photos of you, holding the puppies. Next, you took photos of Sam holding the puppies. The look on his face was pure joy. You wouldn’t change today for anything different. These were the times that you loved.

It took all day shopping. There was seventeen people in the team which meant too many bags to count. You shopped for the women and a few of the guys that you were close with, while Sam shopped for the rest of the guys. It only took about three hours, which to Sam felt like nine.

“Ok, all the bags are in the car. I’m starving and want to go eat.” Sam pecked you lips, lightly tugging at your jacket.

“Yes, please. I want food.” You followed him.

For an early dinner, he leads you into this adorable little Italian place. They had a tall, but skinny Christmas tree in the corner. Lights hung around the walls at the ceiling. Candles and one-pot poinsettias at each table.

“Where did you find this place?” You asked, placing your purse between your feet.

“I saved the owners a while back. There was a hostage situation. I came in for some lunch with Bucky and we got them out safely.” Sam smiled.

“Wow. Look at you. Saving not only countries but everyday people too.” You smirked.

“Baby, we have the same job” He chuckled.

“Let me admire you.” You shook your head.

Once you got home, you wrapped all the presents you got. Yet, saving the ones you got for each other to wrap another day. Although, wrapping isn’t all that you did that night.

#sarah's specials #25 days of christmas #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #falcon #sam wilson #sam wilson imagines #sam wilson x reader #shopping spree #christmas

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allhailthewicked · 3 years

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Random JATP Headcannons: Bobby and His Passion For Knitting

Bobby is what I called #STRESSED ALL THE FREAKING TIME™

I mean like all the boys are stressed for different reasons (you know with the band, or familial problems, or you know anxiety just being a bitch)

But unlike the other boys he doesn’t have that many great coping mechanisms

He hates how terrified Alex and Reggie look when he beats the shit out of one of their harassers. And he hates how he can’t play guitar after because of his busted hand

He doesn’t have any drums to wail on like Alex, and he absolutely sucks at writing music (that’s why none of his newer music isn’t any good) so he can’t bury himself in songwriting like Luke

He tried smoking but boy oh boy does his asthma flare up for smoking and once Alex found out he worriedly started to carry an extra inhaler for Bobby

Mediating SUCKS it’s too quiet. it’s too still. he hates how he is just trapped with his thoughts

So with nothing left to him to do Mr. Bobbers turned to his lola (grandmother) for advice

She was a tiny old woman with a black and silverish bob she quickly patted on the floor next to the armchair that she was sitting in furiously knitting something that looked like it was supposed to be a sweater.

Bobby sighed plopping down next to her enchanted by the furious rhythm she had

“Goddammit apo pass me my switch-blade I need to cut the extra... the extra... the extra nakakayamot string”

“Whatever you say lola, but I still need your advice I am just so fucking stressed all the time and I don’t know what do.”

Bobby’s grandmother grabs the switchblade and quickly slices through the extra string before placing the blade back into his hand.

“Well Robert why don’t you calm down for a second. C’mon grab that ball of yarn and knit with me. I won’t teach you but just watch what I’m doing.”

“What you mean you won’t teach and how the fuck will a pile of string calm me down”

“Curse at me one more time, and I’ll show you another way this string can calm me down. Just watch and learn from me apo and keep my blade you’ll need it when you make a mistake”

“Okay Lola I’m sorry for that, I’ll shut up, but I can’t take your blade”

“Apo stop apologizing you have done nothing wrong, if anything you remind me of your father. Plus I have a spare blade in the flower pot now get your lazy ass off the ground and go and grab it for me”

And Bobby learned and learned and fell head over heels in love with knitting

After that day Bobby left his grandmother’s house with a shiny red and black switchblade, 4 brightly colored balls of yarns, and two sets of knitting needles one bamboo and one metal

AND THE STRESS KNITTING BEGINS

One time the Alex and Luke were fighting and over what to do with Reggie when he walked into practice with a black eye. And Bobby pulled out a scarf he was working on for Reggie and started muttering: knit knit purl knit purl knit purl knit purl knit purl knit knit knit he was working on it, completing it in 45 minutes.

Fun Fact: is favorite type of stitch and pattern is the Chevron Seed Stitch

When Luke ran away from home a week before his birthday and crashed at Bobby’s place and on his birthday he woke up to a present next to his mattress and inside the box was a slightly janked up knitted beanie that Bobby made for him, and it was obviously made with love

Luke cried a lot that day, but he definitely sobbed the hardest at Bobby’s gift

When Bobby was teaching Alex how to drive the van he to keep knitting needles in his glove compartment

Reggie and Bobby had found a dog during one of their hikes, and they took care of it together for like a week until the owner reached out to them to get their dog back and Reggie was devastated! Until... Bobby made knitted a little stuffie of the dog

Before every show Bobby would bust out his knitting and go through a couple rows

For Christmas Bobby made the boy special ugly holiday sweaters (two Christmas sweaters and one Hanukkah sweater for Reggie)

Reggie’s sweater was a rich maroon and yellow with a menorah,dredial,horses, and pizza

Luke’s sweater was a royal blue with music notes and mini beanies on ornaments

Alex’s was a pastel pink with drumsticks an inhaler with a Christmas tree on it

IT TOOK SO FREAKING LONG FOR HIM TO FINISH LIKE LITERAL MONTHS

At any given moment you could count on Bobby carrying his knitting needles in his back pocket

One time he saw Alex sleeping in the garage and made it his mission to make him the fluffiest and comfiest blanket

But then the boys died and Bobby stopped knitting. Even holding his needles reminded him of them. It would remind him of the guys, and it would stress Bobby out and give him panic attacks

UNTIL Carrie was born, and he knitted her a three-piece set of baby booties, baby romper, and little hat in hot pink string (Even at 32 weeks old Carrie was serving the looks)

He even made matching sweaters for Carrie, Julie, and Flynn when they were like 8

When Rose started to go through chemo Bobby started to knit her so many hats and blankets (but not the one he started for Alex)

Bobby did eventually finish that blanket, and he gave it to Carrie the day she left for college

@sunset-bobby I hope you enjoy this I realized how little I wrote about Bobby and I just wanted to thank you for your encouragement. I also hope that you enjoy my characterization of this amazing character.

@theobligatedklutz Here’s one of the headcannons I said I would write then like didn’t lmao. I have more coming but sometimes my brain just doesn’t want to write anymore.

Also, to anyone who is reading this if I get anything wrong about knitting or Tagalog please tell me. I have very little experience with both of these things and I would love to learn more about both topics :)

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jtargaryen18 · 5 months

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Hounds of Hell MC 2: Snow

Emily -- Most wonderful time of the year? Yeah, right. Business isn’t booming at my bakery this Christmas and I’m behind on my business loan. And if that weren’t enough, my SUV’s transmission is dying, my ex is in town for the holidays, and our regular Santa broke his leg and can’t make it for the annual children’s Christmas party. Somehow, we’ve ended up with a biker playing Santa Claus this year and I think he’s the wrong man for the job. Santa shouldn’t have all those muscles and tattoos. And I shouldn’t be daydreaming about sitting in Santa’s lap.

Snow -- I’m not a man with a sweet tooth -- at least I wasn’t until now. If I’d known about the gorgeous little baker, I’d have snatched her up years ago. The little lady has a lot of problems this holiday season. For her, I’ll play Santa Claus for the kids, and her ex will wish he got a lump of coal in his stocking when I’m done with him. Emily will have a good Christmas. I guaran-damn-tee it.

Buy it today!

Excerpt

Emily

“Wait. What?” Emily Frost couldn’t have heard that right. The annual Christmas event they held in Mercy each year for the town’s children was two weeks away. “What do you mean Andy isn’t going to be able to play Santa Claus this year?”

While she listened to the elderly man’s wife explain why he wouldn’t be able to be Santa this year, Emily was fighting off hysteria. She understood that he’d taken a nasty fall and told his wife she was very sorry he’d broken his leg. Automatically, she asked if there was anything she could do. She did care. But she really wasn’t listening for a response.

What was she going to do?

Emily carried on the rest of the conversation as best she could, taking a deep breath when she ended the call.

“Fuck!” Her yell echoed through the quiet bakery.

Could things get any worse? She was blinking back tears as she finished counting the register and got all the goodies that hadn’t sold today boxed up. And there was a lot that hadn’t sold today.

The planning committee for the Christmas event was meeting tomorrow. Each member of that committee had jobs to do to make the event happen each year. Liza Austin and her husband owned a greenhouse in town. Each year they provided a beautiful wreath for the door. A live potted Christmas tree for the event was displayed in her bakery shop’s window throughout the holidays. Liza had a key to the shop to take care of the tree so it could be replanted later.

Myra Michaels handled the guest list, answering questions from parents and guardians about the event. She also handled donations that came in. Mina Dock had passed away this summer, but her granddaughter had moved back to town and was taking her place on the committee. Jade Dock and Emery Phillips oversaw setup, using folding chairs and tables Emery used at his bar, Sackett’s, for special events. They got out the decorations they used each year. Most had been donated by Jade’s grandmother Mina.

Emily had been a part of the committee since its first year, five years ago. Her job was supplying all the baked goods for the event and, with help, filling stockings with candy and treats for the kids to take home.

And she’d been the one who found their Santa Claus, Andy Wilder. Each year the elderly gentleman arrived as Santa and was just the best part of the entire event in her opinion. His warmth and sincerity made him a perfect choice. Plus, he could handle anything from kids scared of Santa, to those who were acting up and rowdy.

But he wasn’t coming this year. That was just the latest calamity this week and it was just Thursday night.

Where were they going to get another Santa Claus with two weeks to go?

Locking the door on her way out, she carried the box of goodies out to her SUV and got in. Emily crossed her fingers that the damn thing would start because it hadn’t been running right for the last several weeks. She knew her transmission was failing. What she didn’t know, since things had been so slow at the shop, was where she was getting the money to fix it.

In five minutes, she reached Mercy’s homeless shelter, delivering what she didn’t sell as she did every day the bakery was open. Heading for the back door, Emily rounded the corner and almost collided with someone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered glancing up into gray eyes.

There were two men, both tall and wearing leather vests with their biker gang name on them, carrying a bed frame into the shelter. The one closest to the door was blond and nice-looking. The one she almost ran into? He was just as tall and muscular with a dark beard and mustache and almost entirely white locks of hair were in disarray on his head. She did a double take because hair that color didn’t usually go with a younger face. His eyes were pale gray and stunning.

The Hounds of Hell had long been a part of Mercy according to Liza, and she spoke of them fondly. Emily didn’t know much about motorcycle gangs and none of them ever came to her bakery. She really wanted to keep it that way. They were a little scary for her.

That gray-eyed gaze moved over her until the blond lost patience. “Snow, we still moving this frame?”

Snow returned his attention to the task, and someone else walked over to her.

“Emily, how are you?” Jade Dock asked. “Making your deliveries?”

Emily smiled. “I am. How are you?”

“Donating some things,” Jade said, watching the men carry the bed frame carefully through the shelter door. “At least I have some strong help to move them.”

Jade walked with her into the shelter. As she always did, Emily placed the box of treats on the receptionist’s desk just inside.

“Who’s your friend?” a deep voice behind her asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Guys, this is Emily,” Jade said, motioning to the two bikers who were apparently with her. To Emily, she said, “This is Hero and Snow.”

Emily shook hands with both, noticing the one she called Snow wasn’t too quick to release her hand. By the time he did, she noticed the blond had his arm around Jade’s waist. So they were a couple?

“I’d better get going,” Emily said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow?” Jade called as she walked back to the SUV.

When I get to tell the committee we need another Santa Claus, and we just have two weeks to find one? Yes, wouldn’t miss it.

“I’ll see you there,” Emily said over her shoulder as she reached the door. And as she headed back to her SUV, she just hoped the damn thing would start and not embarrass her in front of the bikers.

* * *

Snow

August Crowe, Snow to his MC, watched the petite blonde rush back to her SUV, the long braid of her hair dancing behind her. She looked so perky in her soft sweater and form-hugging slacks. He’d never seen an ass like that on such an uppity girl.

“Who’s that?” Snow asked Jade as he helped Hero get the old box spring out of the truck bed.

Jade watched her drive away in her SUV before turning back to Snow. “That’s Emily Frost. She owns Whisk and Whimsy in town. It’s a bakery.”

Frost, huh? That had Snow grinning. They sounded like a matched pair.

“Say that five times really fast,” Hero said from the other side of the furniture they were moving.

Figures. She looked like someone you’d find in a bakery, making treats. If he thought she’d give him the time of day, Snow would become a bakery patron real fucking fast. But from the look she cut him, he probably wouldn’t have a lot of luck.

“What meeting is tomorrow?” Hero asked Jade, holding one end of the box spring and guiding Snow who carried the other.

“Planning committee for the annual kids’ Christmas party,” Jade explained. “It’s only two weeks away.”

Jade had mentioned it recently. Doing an event for the poor kids in Mercy sounded like a good plan to him. If Miss Uppity was in on it, she had a good heart.

“If you need help with that, let me know,” Snow said. It earned him a look from both Jade and Hero, but he meant it. There had been a few times when he’d been a kid that he and his family wouldn’t have had food if not for the kindness of others. He liked the idea of paying it forward.

“Thank you, Snow,” Jade told him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hero shook his head as they reached the shelter door.

“What?” Snow asked. “Something wrong with wanting to help kids? Razor did say we should do some community outreach.”

“Not that,” Hero said. “The blonde. I’d forget that if I were you.”

“Why?” Jade asked. “Emily’s nice.”

“Maybe so,” Hero said. “But I’d be willing to bet someone in an MC isn’t exactly her type.”

“I might have said the same thing once,” Jade didn’t look convinced. “You can’t assume things like that.”

She had a point.

“So the party is for any kid in Mercy?” Snow asked as they maneuvered the box spring through the shelter door.

Jade followed them. “Technically. We have to leave it open for anyone to avoid singling people out, you know? The ones who really need help.”

“Good approach,” Snow said.

“I’m told each year we have a tree and decorations. There’s an older man who comes to play Santa Claus. There are treats for everyone and everyone gets a gift from Santa. We identify the kids who really need help and they get different gifts than the ones we give the other kids that show up.”

“Makes sense,” Snow said. “What do the poor kids get?”

“The smaller ones get a toy, some candy, and a gift card this year,” Jade explained. “The older kids get candy and a bigger gift card. Santa tells them they can’t open their presents until Christmas Eve. Liza said most of the time that works.”

It was thoughtful.

They set the box spring down, heading back out for the mattress.

“Offer stands,” Snow said to Jade. “Let me know if I can help. Even if it’s just setup.”

#Published works #MC Romance #Hounds of Hell MC #Working on 3 right now

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undertale-writing-times · 2 years

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Christmas time ! S/o calls papyrus/blue/so paps over to decor the Christmas tree :3

Since it took me so long, and there are just two, I decided to make these long! Hope you enjoy ^^

Word count- 1403

Papyrus: Papyrus wasn't quite sure what Christmas was, at first, until his datemate explains to him that it was a holiday quite a bit similar to Giftmas! He thought that that was so amazing! Of course he shouts that he loves that holiday! Humans come up with so many new and interesting things. It makes him very happy to learn all of the new things that humans do, though would he be allowed to make his noodles for this... Christmas? If so, that would make him even happier since, you know, he is the great and amazing Papyrus and everyone should love and enjoy his spaghetti! Which, he was fairly sure by now, that they do. Funnily enough, that was what he was doing right now, stirring the pot while watching videos on his phone his eyes squinted at the screen. He had been trying to learn how to get better at cooking lately because he even could get better at things! Shocking, he knows. That was until he heard his datemate's footsteps coming closer, and they say "Hey Papyrus, do you want to help me go and get the tree for the living room?" he perks up and looks over his shoulder, and grins "Oh Y/n! Yes, of course! What do you mean by the tree, though? Is there not going to be one outside?" They always had a big one outside that the whole town came together to decorate. They tilt their head to the side, and laugh softly, shaking their head quickly explaining that no, everyone would have their own tree. Most of the time it was fake for most people but you? Not you, it had to be real or it didn't feel right. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about that if he was to be honest. He never did like it when things changed, that was why he made his noodles so often, they were a comfort item for him or why he never changed out of his battle armor. Well... lately he had been? His datemate got him very nice clothing, mostly orange sweaters or things that went well with the clothing that he already had. His scarf and gloves could never leave, no matter what. "oh! I'm sorry, I was thinking" he laughs softly at himself, then turns off the heat, and wonders over to them holding up his hands, smiling excitedly "I would love to go with you my amazing datemate! You picked the best skeleton for the job" He scoops them up in his arms, and takes off running outside making them squeal, then laugh, putting their arms around his neck. He liked it when they did that. After a while of walking around, and asking for help from people, they found the best tree! Papyrus got it down with his magic, and they went home. He dragged it for a while, then they called Sans so he could do a 'short cut' as he called it. Papyrus normally disliked having to do that but his datemate seemed so excited to get home for some reason, and so was he! He just wanted to see what was going on. When they finally got back, and set up the tree, Papyrus puts his hands on his hips bouncing a little on his toes "Wowie! Y/n, this looks amazing!" it was plain though... Y/n nods, pulling a box over "and now we can put the stuff on it! Sans, come on, come help" Sans shakes his head, yawning, and mumbles, "Nah, I'm bone tired. You're barking up the wrong tree, Y/n" Papyrus groans, tilting his head back making his datemate giggle, and they roll their eyes. Together, they start to put the sparkly things on the trees, while Sans kept putting the ornaments into his eye sockets. "Hey hey, Bro, they're orbaments" Papyrus looks over, and snaps "That doesn't even make sense!" Sans will never be able to ruin this for him, he was so happy to spend time with his datemate, plus being able to cover the tree with just him and his datemate and his brother was kind of weirdly nicer than doing it with all of the others. How strange.

Blueberry: Blueberry heard about Christmas from a different human even before he met his datemate, and he started to study and learn about it. He thought that the holiday seemed like such a special time! People get together and spend time together. It was a bit like Giftmas, yet not as well? Instead of just putting gifts under the tree to be given out at random, you get people gifts specially and you get more gifts than just one. It was shocking but oh so enjoyable as well! He loved the idea of getting people he cared about so many gifts. Their first Christmas above ground, he might have gone a little overboard. He got everyone at least five gifts, some even more. Yes, Blueberry knew that that wasn't what you were supposed to do but he kept seeing things that he thought that they would like, and he kept getting them even more and more. It was a tad embarrassing but he tried to not think about it too much. Now that he was with his datemate though, they were explaining so many more things! They should have a tree inside, not one outside and they said that they could cover it in so many nice sparkly things! Yes, they did that underground as well, just... not as special as doing it with just the people you really really care about, you know? That didn't mean he didn't care about the other monsters! He did! Simply... they weren't his family. Stretch was his family, and Y/n felt like it. He was making food at the moment, Stretch asleep on the couch, when he heard his datemate's footsteps. He knew it was theirs, it was easy to read "Y/n! Good morning!" They poke their head into the kitchen, smiling at him "Hey Berry! You wanna go get that tree today?" he perks up at the question, then grins, holding up his hands his eyes turning into the familiar stars "Would I!?" He runs over, taking their hands into his own, saying "Of course! We shall get the biggest one there!" they laugh, nodding in approval, and then they leave. Stretch would most likely have to get up to turn off the stove... Blueberry is not the best at cooking because he gets distracted by things much too easily. After a while of walking around, they found a great tree! It was large enough for Blueberry to be okay with it, and a very nice shade of green. He got it cut with his magic, and scooped it up the best he could, starting to drag it. He at least tried his best, a tad hard to do that when you're... so much smaller than it but he was strong! A lot stronger than he looked, of course. Finally, after quite a bit of time, they got back home, and Stretch looks at the tree "Hey, this might be a stretch, but I think that that might be too tall" Blueberry huffs softly at the pun and shakes his head "Nonsense, I am sure it will fit. Now, please help me with it?" Stretch sighs, but nods, and raises his hand using his magic to help which annoyed Blueberry a tad as well! Come on Stretch, you can do other things than using your magic! Y/n helped as well "I dunno, I think Stretch might be right on this one" Blueberry shakes his head quickly, yet when they got it up, and the tree was bent against the ceiling he crosses his arms over his chest, looking up at it letting out a soft hum "Well... would you look at that" Stretch snorts with laughter, Y/n covering their mouth to not laugh as well. Blueberry huffs, his cheeks flushing, and mumbles turning his head away "Stop laughing at me" he waves his arms by his sides "It is a perfect size! As magnificent as myself!" Y/n rolls their eyes, smiling as they agreed then pulls the box over and they start to cover it in the sparkly and glittery things. Stretch wrapping the sparkly paper around Blueberry causing him to start waving his arms again to try to get it off. Rude!

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N Know what this fic needs? More Geillis. No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this. Just bear with me. Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue. Thanks for coming on the journey with me! With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed. I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic. When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months. When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen! I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire. Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me. The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list. Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app. As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche... who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested. “The first three are for Frank. The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him? Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard. Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire? And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent. My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas. But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him. Or it had. I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts. “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list. And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment. She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here. House of Fraser. See? Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling. The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights. The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section. Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing. “I don’t need a new outfit. And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this. Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night. I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms. Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these. And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size.

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight. She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant. The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings. Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely. I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie. We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore.

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze. It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing. Everything. Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass. I only want tae see ye happy. Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber. Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith. It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern.

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef. Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams. The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter. Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid. Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks. And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached. I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse. Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef. He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim. A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him. He looked dangerous. It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef. With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me. I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin. The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.” His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.” He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging. I swallowed and looked frantically around. Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go. I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table. An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued. I tried to convince myself I needed to leave. It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment. Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song. The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door. Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant. Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port. A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up. Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone. The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist. I couldna hear myself think in there. Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.” Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle. I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming. I told him everything. My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability. Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home. And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined. I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket. He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face. I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted. I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name. “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me. But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.” At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do. But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.” Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words. “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist. Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?” The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them. His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning. Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things. Regular, ordinary things, mostly. My family’s health and happiness. A faster bike. My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him. But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune. Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands. Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother. We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining. Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned. “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment. “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.” His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist. Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast. It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about. We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed. My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine. As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket. I laughed, although no-one could hear me. I yelled, and only the wind yelled back. I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat. My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember. I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls. He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist. Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow. I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him. He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried? Do you have any idea what time it is? My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days. You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing. “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace. Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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