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arch-venus25 · 3 years

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The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go...

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

“Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

“Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

“So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

“Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

“And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

“Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

“I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

“Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

“Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

“Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

“Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

“If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

“But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

“You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

For better or worse, they were sisters.

Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

“Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

“Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

“John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

“Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

“Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

“Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

“So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

“Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

“Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

“How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

“Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

“Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you! I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn

#landlord vampire fic frenzy #twinning vs vamps #arch-venus25 writes

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jenniferxprentiss · 4 years

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you think you want me (but you don’t know what you’re getting into)

part one of the “somebody that I used to know” universe. ao3.

JJ x Elle Greenaway

“Do you want a drink?” Truthfully, she didn’t — not after the day she had at work — but didn’t want to offend the man, felt her heart clench with guilt at the way he was looking at her with puppy dog eyes and lopsided half smile. She reasoned with herself that one drink wouldn’t impair her judgement too much, and it was rude to sit there without buying something, turned back to him with a small half smile. “I’ll take a glass of white wine… whatever you’ve got.” “I pictured you as more of a red girl.” “It’s funny that you pictured me as anything at all.”

hi my lovelies!

first of all, a huge huge huge thank you to @whiskey-fluent for helping me craft this amazing universe that I love so much, and for fueling my love of elle once again. ilysm. <33. and a thank you to @babyblockcolorcat for naming this fic and also the universe. <3

tag list! @j3mily @heat-waveee @ellegreenawy @anepiphany @criminalmindsgonewrong @jjsgirlfriend @blakes-dictionxry && whoever else wants a tag in the future!!

hope u all love it!

——

The rain poured down on her shoulders hard and fast, and JJ hurried down the road to the only open storefront she could find— a small place, the flashing of a neon open sign in the window the only indication that it was open. It was dark now, the evening chill setting into the air and deep into her bones, toes numb and feet soaked in her shoes that were less than appropriate for the weather.

She shivered, soaked to the bone and hair clinging to her face, pulling the heavy wooden door open and stepping inside in a hurry. JJ shook the water from her head and arms, thoroughly drenched and chuckling under her breath at herself at the thought that it would help dry her off, even a little bit.

There was a spot at the front door for jackets and a mat for shoes, and the regular patrons clearly had respect for the establishment by the way their shoes were neatly lined across the wall. She toed her own shoes off, bending to line them up on the plastic mat alongside the other pairs before shaking off her jacket and hanging it on a free hook.

JJ took in her surroundings — from the peeling grey paint on the walls to the hushed chatter coming from further inside the establishment down the hall — felt her toes start to regain some of their feeling on the surprisingly warm linoleum as she padded her way down the hall and further into the bar. There was a sense of comfort she felt, though she had never been there in her life — something that came with the quiet chatter and dim lighting, a stark contrast to the typical bar scene of darkness and booming music.

She padded down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the room, a small smile twitching the corners of her lips upwards despite the chattering of her teeth. JJ looked around the room, took in the friendly smile from the bartender and the few tables of middle aged patrons sharing a drink while quietly talking amongst themselves. There were a few people circling the pool table, captivated by their game of billiards.

JJ’s breath hitched at the woman who was bent over the table, back to the doorway of the room. Her jeans clung to her curves in all the right places, shirt riding up slightly as she lined up her shot. She was a pro with the cue, flipped her curly dark hair over her shoulder before standing up and letting out a triumphant sound.

For a moment, JJ almost thought it was someone she knew — not a random stranger in a bar she had never been to before — but she couldn’t help but feel a nervous flutter in her stomach at the thought. Pushing the thought from her mind, she forced herself to look away from the group at the pool table and move towards the bar, perching herself on the edge of a stool and allowing herself to look around at the room.

“Can I help you? You don’t come here often, do you?”

The bartender’s voice was a stark contrast to his appearance — tone soft and kind, a hint of a southern twang behind his words while he stood well over six feet tall, his shoulders broad and arms strong. He smiled politely at her, pushed a clean hand towel across the wooden counter and motioned for her to dry her arms and face off.

He waited for her to be done, arms folded across his chest and looking at her with an eyebrow cocked, lips curved into a perfectly sculpted smirk. His facial hair was patchy and short in an endearing way that somehow made him look boyish to her despite the fact that his eyes looked older, wiser.

“Sorry, yeah, I’ve never been here before… just trying to get out of the rain.”

“Make yourself at home.” He smiled, fingers tapping against the wooden counter. “Name’s Will — from New Orleans but settled down here about ten years ago and opened this place. And you?”

JJ sighed, ran the damp towel over her face one last time before passing it back to him across the bar. She let her eyes wander to the wood under her hands, focusing on the scratches and dents. Her fingertips grazed the wood, finger digging into a particularly large dent before looking up at Will.

“Jennifer, but my friends call me JJ. FBI agent, I’ve worked for the bureau for a little over a decade now.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, then busied himself with wiping the bar down. Will didn’t seem to be a man of many words, and for JJ, that was okay. She didn’t intend on staying or intruding on the group of regulars, all in their respective corners talking amongst themselves — only intended on staying long enough to wait out the rain to make the rest of her walk less dreadful.

“Do you want a drink?”

Truthfully, she didn’t — not after the day she had at work — but didn’t want to offend the man, felt her heart clench with guilt at the way he was looking at her with puppy dog eyes and lopsided half smile. She reasoned with herself that one drink wouldn’t impair her judgement too much, and it was rude to sit there without buying something, turned back to him with a small half smile.

“I’ll take a glass of white wine… whatever you’ve got.”

“I pictured you as more of a red girl.”

“It’s funny that you pictured me as anything at all.”

The bartender — Will — busied himself with pouring her drink, boyish smile still tugging upwards on the corners of his lips. His hair was half in his face, hanging in his eyes as he poured her drink. It gave JJ the opportunity to look away from his gaze, turn over her shoulder and around the room again. There was an air of familiarity to the place despite having never set foot in the establishment — the comfortable, quiet chatter of the room giving her a sense of belonging.

She turned back to the bartender, let her fingers brush over the scratches and dents in the wood top as she waited. He was taking his time, glancing up at her through his mess of wavy hair, smirk on his lips. After a moment, he put the bottle back on the shelf before turning to her and sliding the glass across the bar top.

“So you said FBI, didn’t you?” He barely waited for her to take a sip, leaning his back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mhmm.” She swallowed, looked at him with an eyebrow raised in cautious skepticism. Most people, when they found out she was with the bureau, usually wanted some sort of confidential information. “Behavioral Analysis Unit, been there for over a decade.”

“Hm, the unit name sounds familiar.” Will peered up over the bar, eyes connecting with someone behind JJ’s back. “Hey, Elle? Come up here for a second.”

JJ felt her heart speed up and breath catch at the name of her former teammate. She tried to push away the nervous flutter in her stomach, the way her heart pounded. It was surely a crazy coincidence, most likely one of the older women that was sat around a table with her friends, not the girl from the pool table.

“Will… what’s up?”

She knew that voice anywhere, though it had been years since she last heard it. JJ nearly gasped, whipping around to where the woman stood behind her, dark hair curled and falling around her shoulders — a little longer than she remembered it being, but it suited her well.

Her face was free of makeup aside from some lip gloss and mascara, her nose and cheeks dusted with light freckles. It was a side of Elle JJ could only remember from the few late nights they had spent in hotel rooms across the country together, curled up on the bed watching trash television and laughing at the men on the team.

“Jennifer fucking Jareau. I wouldn’t have thought in a million years…”

“You know each other?” Will’s lips were turned up in a smirk he couldn’t bite back, like he knew exactly what he had done.

“Know each other? This is the JJ I told you about… from my bureau days.”

“I had a feeling.” He smirked, nodded at a patron on the other side of the bar before turning back to the two women. ��I’ll leave you two to it.”

There was an awkward silence between them, and JJ was thankful for the dim lighting and quiet chatter of the patrons around them. She looked Elle up and down, a small smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards — she looked good, the lines on her face deeper and more permanent, but there was an air of overall happiness and peace to her that JJ couldn’t remember seeing before.

“You look good, Elle.”

“As do you. Still working for the bureau?”

“Yeah. What’re you doing now?”

She assumed that there would be a bit of residual annoyance from Elle about the fact that she was still with the bureau following the events that ultimately lead to her leaving, but she only smiled warmly at JJ and took a sip from her own glass. It appeared to be a mixed drink, not the straight tequila JJ remembered from years prior.

“I’m a therapist… I work primarily with domestic violence patients. If I can’t beat these sick fucks, I’m going to help everyone who gets out alive.”

It was exactly what she expected Elle to be doing — making a difference in people’s lives for the better — and the thought brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to her heart. It was hard, after Elle left, especially before Emily arrived, and the empty spot in the unit had closed but the hole in JJ’s life never had.

There truly was no one like Elle, and no matter how hard she had tried to forget about her or to replace her, the void remained.

“Are you married yet?” Elle quirked an eyebrow at JJ, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from their professions.

“No… never really found the right person.” JJ forced a half smile, remembered the conversations her and Elle used to have about life, love, and families. “You?”

“Dated around here and there, never found the one. My heart had been elsewhere for a few years.”

It alluded to their quasi relationship from Elle’s time in the BAU, and they both knew it. There was an awkward silence between them, both trying to pretend they weren’t looking each other up and down. JJ was as enamored by Elle as she had been all those years ago, but this time it was her maturity and calmness instead of her crazed enthusiasm.

“Did they replace me with a woman? Hotchner refused to tell me.”

JJ let out a breathy laugh at Elle’s words, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course she would care if her position was replaced by a male of female — she had always stressed the importance of having women in male dominated fields, was the one who taught JJ to shoulder past old white men and command a room with few words.

“Yeah, though the position has been a bit of a revolving door through the years. Emily first — my best friend — and then she left so we got Alex, then Kate, then Tara… Tara stayed, even after Emily came back.”

She made a noncommittal noise at JJ’s words, eyebrow cocked in an expression she recognized as satisfaction. Elle took another sip from her drink, leaning casually against the bar with a small smirk playing on her lips, something JJ was used to. Elle always carried herself with such confidence and professionalism, even outside of work, she wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t lost the swagger.

“Rum and coke?” JJ nodded towards Elle’s glass, trying her best to make small talk, though she wasn’t succeeding.

“No, just coke.” She took another sip out of her straw, and only then did JJ notice she lacked the glassy look of intoxication in her eyes. “I stopped drinking after I left… after it happened.”

Her words carried so much hidden meaning, and JJ knew exactly what she was referencing. Randall Garner and the way he attacked her, left her in such a state of disarray for so long, her PTSD seeping into every area of her life — ultimately ending when she shot the serial rapist and resigned not long after.

“Where did you go? After you left, I mean.”

“Around, for a while. Stayed with some family out of town until it stopped hurting me so badly to be here. Then I came back, got my stuff, moved to California for a few years. Now I’m back… and I come here to beat these assholes at a few games of pool.”

JJ let herself laugh at Elle’s flippant tone, smile turning into a somber one when she remembered the months after Elle’s resignation. She had left without leaving so much as a phone number or email address, only giving JJ a short goodbye before she walked out of the office for what was supposed to be forever.

She had never thought in a million years that she would find her here, in a small little bar on the corner of the street JJ walked down every night.

“I went by your old apartment for months, hoping to catch you out or to see you.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s really okay.”

There was an awkward silence between them, JJ bringing her glass of wine to her lips and taking a long sip. She couldn’t help the violent shiver that passed through her body, her clothes still thoroughly soaked and freezing despite the towel Will had offered her when she first sat down.

Elle pushed her drink across the bar, her eyebrows knit together into a look of concern. She took in JJ’s clothing for the first time — shirt clinging to her body and jeans sodden — before putting her card down on the wooden counter and motioning for Will to come over.

“I didn’t even realize, you must be freezing.”

“I’m okay, really. I just ducked in here to get out of the rain for a minute… I’m glad I stepped inside.”

Elle was biting her lip, nose crinkled as though she was debating saying something. She slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders, lips curved up into a nervous smile as she handed it to JJ, motioned for her to put it on.

“My apartment isn’t too far from here, you could come back and get some dry clothes… maybe stay for some takeout and a movie? Plus, I drove.”

The proposition was nice, and much better than walking the rest of the way home in the pouring rain. She nodded, slipping her arms into the arms of Elle’s jacket and could smell the familiar mix of gardenias and strawberry shampoo — found herself immediately falling into a familiar memory from over a decade ago when they were younger and stupider, and JJ had fallen into the lake on a case.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to Elle’s arms in her tank top, the way her shoulders were dotted with more freckles than she remembered — arms still as toned as they were a decade ago. She surely hadn’t lost the physique from when she was in the bureau years ago, still just as thin and toned as she was back then.

“I don’t want to impose on your evening.”

Elle took JJ’s hand with a surprising fierceness, a steely look in her eyes. She knew that look well, it meant not to test her — that she would ultimately get her way.

“You aren’t imposing if I asked you to come.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m doubly sure. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

#my writing #elle greenaway #jennifer jareau #will lamontagne #jelle #jj x elle

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waywardrose-archive · 5 years

Text

LUCKY ME LUCKY YOU | 2

logan lucky | clyde logan x reader | rating:e

You’d had big plans for your future. He’d had big plans, too. During senior year, you’d overheard him talking before class about joining the Army. You had thought about him in that service uniform and how handsome he would look.

Thirteen years later, Clyde was tending bar, sans uniform and missing part of his left arm. At the same time, you were working at the data-entry/call-center down the road from the house you inherited from your late grandmother.

So much for big plans.

note: I don’t have a Facebook. I haven’t had one in almost a decade. So, I have no idea how it works anymore. Just roll with me.

Once you'd gotten home Thursday night, you'd googled the lyrics from the song Clyde had requested. Turned out it was "So Into You" by Atlanta Rhythm Section. It felt like a message. You knew it wasn't. But it felt like one.

You were being delusional. It was wishful thinking.

You listened to the damn song too many times, anyway. You caught yourself staring into space while it played, thinking of Clyde. You wondered if he ever thought of you. Did he ever drive into work hoping to see you?

If you were in a rom-com, this would be the part where you'd lip-sync the song to an indifferent-but-adorable pet.

You talked yourself out of going to Duck Tape on Saturday night. You'd told him you came on Thursdays. If you changed the routine, you'd look desperate. And you might be desperate, but you didn't want him to know that. Also, he might not even be there for Saturday nights.

The rest of the week went by like molasses in January: slow as all fuck.

When plans had solidified for another Thursday at Duck Tape, you congratulated yourself for not adding too much to the discussion. You weren't designated driver this time. All you had to do was be ready by eight.

At 7:55, you were on your porch waiting for Kayla to pick you up. Your stomach was a heavy gordian knot. You knew that wasn't the right metaphor, but it seemed to fit all the same. You knew what you had to do. You had to be brave. You were going to face that big handsome problem and cut it in half.

No, wait. You were going to cut the knot in half. Not Clyde. The knot wasn't your stomach, though. You were not going to commit seppuku. No. You were going to face that dragon—

Hold up. Clyde Logan was not a dragon.

Fuck. No more mixing metaphors.

You were going to be fearless. Yes. You were going to flirt with Clyde Logan. He was going to flirt back. It was going to be awesome.

Kayla pulling up in her girlfriend's extended-cab Silverado shook you from your thoughts. You rushed across your minuscule front yard and got into the empty front seat. You were her first stop. The truck was peaceful—for now. The radio was on and tuned to a country station.

"You look cute," Kayla said as she used your driveway to turn around.

You thanked her with a smile. You'd been getting ready since you'd finished dinner at six. You had your hair up. You'd redone your makeup. You changed into a body-hugging, boat-necked floral knit shirt and a black stretchy midi pencil skirt. You decided to opt for your white Converses instead of anything high-heeled. You had on a petite cross-body bag with a chain-strap, too. It was just big enough for your phone, a little coin purse, keys, a tampon, and your lip gloss. It was all casual, but not too casual.

By the time Kayla pulled up to Duck Tape, the truck's cab was full of laughter and conversation. You had Tanya on your lap and someone's knee wedged into your kidney. You hardly cared, though. You'd put up with a lot more to talk to Clyde again.

As usual, Duck Tape wasn't super busy on Thursday evening. You and the group streamed in and headed for the billiard section. The middle table was free, and your group claimed it, settling their things in one of the booths at the back of the section.

You glanced at the bar to see Clyde there. He was wearing much the same thing he'd worn last Thursday. But instead of waiting for you, he was talking to a striking woman. Actually, she was beautiful. She had long, honey-brown hair and lovely, sparkling eyes. She tall and lean. She was smiling at Clyde and practically glowing. He was giving her a soft look you knew meant one thing:

Love.

Clyde Logan was in love. And it wasn't with you.

Your heart sank all way into your Converses. You detoured to the ladies bathroom to hide in one of the stalls. The song he'd requested last Thursday wasn't about you. It was about her. He hadn't been flirting with you. He wasn't going to start, either.

Your breath stuttered out of your lungs. You felt your eyes start to tear.

You were thirty years old and had nothing to show for it. No one loved you. No one even wanted to date you, let alone commit to you. You were overlooked.

On top of that, you were stuck in Bumfuck, West Virginia. Your job would most certainly end when the tax incentives the county had given Alorica expired, and they pulled up stakes. You couldn't even afford to redecorate your house because of your stupid fucking student loans.

How dumb to pin any hopes of love on a song and a free order of potato skins. Neither one had even been for you.

Before your makeup could be ruined, you tilted your face to the ceiling and fanned at your eyes. You would not look like shit for the rest of the night. No, you would dazzle and charm. You tore a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and blotted under your eyes.

You would not steal Clyde from another woman. That was low. Instead, you would prove to yourself you could be an adult. If prompted, you would talk with either of them. If not, you'd ignore them. It was no skin off your nose either way. You were here to have a good time with your coworkers.

You chucked the toilet paper into the commode and flushed it. You then checked yourself in the mirror to find nothing amiss. You rinsed off your hands, smoothed your hair, and walked out to join your coworkers at the bar.

You ordered your usual when Clyde came to you. He greeted you, beaming in that subdued way of his. You peeked around him to see the woman he'd been talking to watching you. You guessed she was his girlfriend. While you didn't want to cause any trouble, you still smiled back at him and leaned against the bar. This was part of your dazzle-and-charm plan. Your behavior couldn't be different. You had to act natural.

As Clyde filled the multiple orders, one of your coworkers, Jose, suggested you all take a group selfie. You volunteered to take the picture and fished out your phone. You got in front, angled your phone just right, and took the shot. Kayla asked for a goofy one for Facebook. You hammed it up along with everyone else for a few shots. You noticed Clyde's girlfriend in the background and you angled your phone to catch her perfectly.

You wondered if you uploaded the pictures to Facebook, if you could tag her in them. That is, if she had a Facebook. Didn't everyone have a Facebook these days? Did Clyde have one?

Nah, he didn't seem the type.

You ended up as the last one at the bar since you were the last one to order. You went through your photo roll as you waited, deleting the blurry or bad selfies while you waited. You observed Clyde's girlfriend from your peripheral vision. You tried to hide how hyper-aware you were of her and Clyde. When Clyde was finished, he topped your drink with three cherries lanced on a cocktail skewer.

He slid the drink to you. His voice was soft as he asked: "Would you like to open a tab?"

No one else had done that, or been offered that. Duck Tape was a pay-as-you-go type of establishment. But it would be nice to only have one charge on your debit card than however many drinks it was going to take to get you through the evening.

"Is that okay?" you asked.

"It is for you." He offered a shy grin. "I trust you."

Something unfurled deep in your chest. Maybe there wasn't a chance with him, but his offer made you feel special.

You nodded and smiled. "Thank you."

"Think nothin' of it."

You took a sip of your cocktail and hummed in delight, thanking him again. It was perfect. You complimented the drink and watched as the shy grin on Clyde's face transform to proud and pleased. It was a good look on him. You were glad to have put it there.

You snuck a glance at his girlfriend before joining your coworkers. She appeared unaffected by Clyde talking to you. She was watching a closed-caption disaster movie on the television and nursing a beer.

You were waiting on your third cocktail when Clyde's girlfriend introduced herself. Her posture was impeccable as she rounded the corner of the bar. Her clothes were crisp and far nicer than anything you could buy in town. You pegged her for a newcomer.

She offered her hand. "I'm Emmie." Her speech lacked the drawl you were used to hearing.

You shook it and introduced yourself. Clyde approached then, your cocktail in hand—with another three cherries. You looked at him to see a new tension in his shoulders. Something seemed strained about him.

"Has Clyde been treating you right?" Emmie asked.

It took a beat to understand her meaning. She was asking if he was giving you good service as a bartender. "Oh yeah!" You waved a casual hand, feeling all warm and happy to talk about him. "He's wonderful!"

Clyde was wonderful. And sweet. And generous. And handsome. You wanted to kiss his adorable face and wrap yourself around him. You wanted to have beard-burn from his goatee all over your body, too. You bet he would feel so good against you.

He mildly protested, "Well, I don't know about wonderful."

You and Emmie turned to him, speaking over each other with different assurances. Clyde looked between the two of you and held up his hands in surrender. You laughed and took a seat at the bar. Emmie sat beside you.

As the evening continued, you found out Emmie was from Alexandria, Virginia. She was doing some long-term consultant work for the refinery just outside of Uneeda. She said she'd stopped at Duck Tape one evening on her way to her motel. She'd liked it so much, she became a regular.

Which was funny. Because you'd never seen her before tonight. You kept that to yourself, though.

She asked about you, but there wasn't much to tell. Clyde was suspiciously quiet and made a point to linger near you and Emmie as he fixed drinks. You shared you were originally from the area and had family here, then what had gone on in Pittsburgh, and where you'd gone to college. Emmie seemed surprised you had higher education and yet still lived here. You tried not to be offended at her comment.

Before you could say anything, Clyde interjected, "Nothin' wrong with Boone County." He nodded at you. "Family is important."

"That's true," you said. "I took care of Granny before she passed."

"I heard about that. I'm sorry for your loss."

Emmie added, "My condolences."

Clyde grabbed two shot glasses and filled them with good vodka. He gave one to Emmie and held up the other one. "To your granny," he toasted.

You picked up your cocktail and tapped it against his glass and then Emmie's. Granny would've liked Clyde. You took a sip and smiled at them both. Emmie wasn't a bad person, but she just wasn't from around here. She didn't get how close most folk were to their kin. And that was okay. She didn't mean any harm.

Clyde told you about his granmama, Sylvia. She'd had a short temper. Especially if you got smart with her. He said he and Jimmy had learned to keep away from her stirring arm. He added that one time the only thing that kept him from getting a whoopin' was being able to run faster than his brother.

"What did you do?" you asked.

"We let in her porch dog. Granmama had just gotten a new big TV, and me and Jimmy were watching wrestlin'." He glanced at you. "We were horsin' around and the dog barked for us. We felt bad he was outside—it was a rainy Saturday afternoon. So, we got him in the house to enjoy Stone Cold Steve Austin."

"Oh no," you cried.

Clyde smiled and rolled his eyes at his younger self. "Yeah. His paws were muddy. Almost ruined her living-room rug."

"What did your grandmother do?" Emmie asked.

"Chased us, of course. The dog ran with us. Left prints all over the house. Me gettin' the dog outside earned me only one swat. Jimmy got three, because he shoulda known better, and then another for blaspheming and cursing."

You leaned forward. "What did he say?!"

He cleared his throat and did his best Jimmy Logan impression. "'But goddammit, woman, I love that dog! Shit!'" It was a good impression. His cheeks flushed, and he ducked his head. "Pardon."

You shook your head as you giggled. You had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. It must've shown on your face because he fondly smiled and bit his bottom lip. It came back pinker and glossy. You bet his lips tasted of vodka.

You hid your hot face by sipping your cocktail. Emmie was smiling, and she said something nice to Clyde. But you didn't pay their brief conversation much mind.

You excused yourself, telling Emmie it was good to meet her. You rejoined your coworkers and played the winner of the current pool game. You weren't any good, but neither was anyone else. It was all in good fun, anyway, and no one was keeping score.

When it was time to go, you paid your tab. It was suspiciously low, but it would be rude to point that out. When Clyde came back with your debit card and receipt, you thanked him for a good time.

"It was a better time on my side of the bar, I promise," he said.

You snuck a look around to see Emmie was missing. Fuck it, you thought. You got closer and put your hand over his. It was more of a paw than a hand—warm and smooth-skinned. Even his horseshoe ring was warm.

"I have missed you, Clyde Logan."

The corners of his golden-brown eyes crinkled, and he nodded. "I've missed you, too."

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

"I work Saturdays—if you wanted to drop by."

You smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." You skimmed your fingers over the back of his hand and took your card and receipt. "G’night."

"Good night..."

You tucked your things into your purse and followed the group out. Before stepping outside, you looked over your shoulder to meet Clyde's gaze one last time. You suddenly wanted to rush to him and kiss him, but Tanya called your name while holding the door for you. You walked into the humid night with a heavy sigh.

On the way home, you thought about Clyde's earlier tension and Emmie's... Well, everything. Now that you had some distance from Duck Tape, something about how they acted around each other didn't sit right with you.

If they were so in love, how come they didn't touch? Clyde didn't act like a doting boyfriend to Emmie. Maybe they weren't really together. Maybe they liked each other, but hadn't done anything about it. Maybe you still had a chance.

Once you were home, you uploaded the group selfies to the Duck Tape album on your Facebook page. You tagged your coworkers easily enough. You found the selfie with Emmie in the background and hovered over her face. A name popped up: Emmaline Schubert. You didn't add her tag to the photo. Instead, you searched for her.

Her page was practically blank. There was one photo: a selfie where she was outside in the afternoon sun. There were no albums and no friends. There was very little information. Maybe it was more of a professional page, but there should be something substantial populating it.

Still, it was weird.

You went to your laptop on the coffee-table and found her again through the browser. You saved her profile picture to the desktop and did a reverse image search. There had to be more than a meager Facebook page for her.

The results shocked you. Either Emmie had a twin or Emmie wasn't Emmie. One of the Google listings was for a FBI profile picture for a Sarah Grayson. You examined the picture, concluding it was definitely Emmie. You clicked on the page the picture was from to find it deleted. The cached version of the page wasn't any better.

You googled 'agent sarah grayson' to see one of the results was an article from The Charlotte Observer. The article was from last June about the Charlotte Motor Speedway robbery. At the end of the article, it requested that any information about the robbery be directed to Agents Grayson and Noonan.

You leaned back in the couch and stared at the screen. You didn't think it coincidence "Emmie Schubert" just so happened to be in the area. The speculation that the redneck robbers were from around here only fueled your suspicions.

You concluded Agent Sarah Grayson was using Clyde. She was lying to him. The snake. Maybe she was using him and Duck Tape as a front to investigate the locals. No wonder she introduced herself to you.

Clyde must've known something was fishy about her and her story despite his infatuation with her. It would explain why he lingered nearby when she was talking to you. You hoped he hadn't developed deep feelings for Emmie— Agent Grayson. Because once her investigation was over, she would leave and never return. You were sure of that. Even if she developed feelings for Clyde, she wouldn't stay. And probably couldn't stay even if she did, because of her job with the FBI.

That left you with one option: You would have to break the bad news to Clyde.

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan #logan lucky #lmly #waywardrose writes

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elfenbensord · 6 years

Text

chapter five // rain

I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!

FWAAF Masterlist / Masterlist / Requests

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL / CHAPTER FIVE / RAIN

Late Spring, 1980

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lupin, but I don’t think you’re suitable for this position anymore-”

“But, Mr. Kidlat-”

“You’ve simply not met the expectations put on this job, and I’m sorry-”

“But, Mr. Kidlat-”

“And with all this time you’ve been taking off, always at least a week every month, I simply cannot keep you in my business. You’re a good kid, Rasmus, but you’re simply not trustworthy enough.”

You never get my damn name right, he almost wants to laugh. Rasmus, Remy, Ralph. Remus leans forward, his hands clasping onto the wooden surface of the uncomfortable chair. He recognises a firing when he sees one, but he didn’t see this one coming. He’s been busy with things, with happy things, with dates and laughs and smiles. His pitiful job has been put to the side and forgotten about at times. Not entirely, but he’s pretty sure that what doesn’t bring you joy maybe isn’t always worth it. And she’s worth it, she’s worth it all…

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lupin.” A far too thin envelope is pressed into his hands.

He lets himself be shouldered and pushed by the crowds around him as he leaves the building. The streets outside are busy, the noises from cabs and buses fill his ears to the rim. Maybe a tear escapes his eye, he’s not quite sure about it. His hand goes to wipe it away, but they keep coming. A feeling of hopelessness pushes him down, he feels how breathing seems much too difficult of a task. The moments when he’s felt this helpless, this bitter, are few though his life has been filled with too much misery for someone so young. His life is, and maybe it always will be, a disastrous mess filled with anxiety, doubt and constantly decreasing self-worth. At this moment, the days of happiness are glosses over by the many days of hair-tugging, nail-biting despair. Another dangerous thought crosses his mind, Maybe I was never meant to be happy.

His mind has turned against him. Someone knows he’s filled with blood and love and wonderful thoughts, but he’s not that someone. To him, he’s filled with bruises, sharp fangs and twisted thoughts. The path he walks down is dark, he’s lost all fear. He doesn’t fear death anymore, he does not care for it. His ears ring, he can’t see straight.

Suddenly, silence.

An imagine appears in his mind; a yellow dress, red lips. His fingers remember the touch. A microscopic rosebud grows in the place he knows his heart to be. Air fills his lungs, fresh and cold. It comes to mind why world is blurry; he’s dropped his glasses. He finds them by his worn out shoes, waiting for him to pick them up. He’s filled with scars, uncertainty and a small bud of hope.

And his rosebud will grow bigger once he receives the message left in his answer machine in his flat at Parkside Street.

---

Pop’s Bar

An hour or so earlier

The sound of the white cue ball hitting the many colours satisfies her ears as she leans against the pool table’s polished shiny edge. The small pool table was never meant to be surrounded by more than two people; it feels almost crowded with just one extra. Laura, her fiancé Tom, and (Y/N) are used to crowded, they’re not bothered by it. Pop’s Bar is the place the trio has been hiding away late afternoons. Though the beer is always lukewarm and the light bulb hanging in a thin string from the ceiling flickers three times every five minutes, the bar has become a comfort and a hiding place. The world does not belong at Pop’s, so it’s best to leave it outside where it belongs.

“Score!” Laura shouts as she knocks another coloured billiard ball into one of the side pockets. She’s too good at this, neither (Y/N) nor Tom stand a real chance.

Tom brushes some of his curled hair out of his eyes, then reaches down to touch his lips to Laura’s freckled cheek. “Impressive, as always.”

His face is filled with something. That something the girl leaning by the pool table associates with the boy with a scarred face and calloused heart. Warmth fills her as she, for only a second, lets all thoughts of Remus fill her mind and heart. A shiver reaches her fingertips, where his hand touched hers on that magic night weeks ago. She shakes her head lightly to spend her afternoon focus on the good friends by the table.

“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?” Tom holds Laura, his arms clasped around her neck as he peers up at (Y/N). His chestnut eyes are soft, he recognises the feeling his friend glows. “What was his name… Rory?” She smiles, she knows Tom very well knows his name. Maybe it’s a game they’ve just started, maybe it’s a one-time thing.

“Remus”, the feeling of him grows back in her as she voices his name. “And yes, he might’ve crossed my mind once”, or twice or tens of times. The roses start to once again bloom beautifully full on her cheeks.

Laura hits her friend’s leg lightly with the long wooden stick, the smile on her lips shifting from soft to mischievous. “Go on then, it’s your turn.”

“Tom, hand me the chalk, will you?” As she’s about to grab the stick from her friend, it’s yanked away from her.

A questioning glance, another smile, “I didn’t the pool game, I meant the love game.”

The garden in her chest buds with colours once again, the stick falls from her hands. “You two finished the game, I… I have to make a phone call.”

---

A telephone booth, London

A few minutes later

… Beep

“Hi, Remus it’s… it’s (Y/N). This is an incredibly important phone call, because I’m calling you to tell you that I had a- a lovely time on the…”, dare she call it a date?, “on the date.” She has to take a breath to arrange her thoughts and her heart again. “Turns out Star Wars isn’t all that bad, after all”, a nervous laugh, she’s stalling. “And I’d like to… I figured it’s my turn to take you out. So -- God, I didn’t think this through -- So…”, just breathe, “would you like to go on a date with me this Friday? Or Saturday, or the day after that, or any or every day.” Any day spent with you is pure and dear and something. “Anyway, please call me as soon as you can, I-”, I miss your voice, your touch, your everything. “I miss you and I-”

A metallic voice scrambles, “Please insert another 25 pence to continue your phone call.”

---

That Friday

Almost afternoon

Is that him? her mind wonders. She’s sat on the stone steps to the entry of The British Museum, peering out over the crowd to find the well familiar face of him. The solid stone of the pillar she leans her body on cuts into her arm and hip. Her summer-speaking skirt waves in the wind like to an old friend, she wraps the cardigan closer around her waist. The museum is a building far too grand for its on good, the towers reaching vertiginous heights. There are too many windows for anyone to count. Is that him?

“Hello”, he approaches her from behind. Her shoulders move in surprise of his voice, something she wasn’t quite ready for. Maybe she would’ve needed a minute or two more to wonder, to search for him. But he had other plans, he didn’t want to be found in a crowd.

He wears the same tweed as that magic night weeks ago. A jumper and a shirt’s collar sticking up underneath makes him look so very kind. He’s newly shaved as well, he still smells of aftershave and joy. Maybe he whistled on the way here, maybe not. And good Lord, his glasses. He’s handsome, she believes and aches to hold him.

The way her skirt ends just below her knees does things to him. Her hair flows in the wind, her arms wrapped around her cardigan and herself. He catches a whiff of her perfume -- is it a new smell? -- as a breeze catches him. How beautiful she looks, he thinks and feels an itch to hold her.

“Should we get going?” he offers her his arm, his life. The fabric of her skirt isn’t smooth anymore when she stands up to gently hold him.

The bones of an ancient Diplodocus towers over them, its empty eyes peering over the room filled with few couples. Its bones could delight a thousand dogs, its neck stretch longer than any crane. Remus squints his eyes to get a glimpse of the big teeth of the great dinosaur, he presses his glasses further up his nose. When he finally catches a glimpse of them, he can tell himself that the teeth he grow every so often is nothing compared to those of this great creature. She’s noticed his squinting eyes for far too long now. Her brow furrows, a small smile creeps onto her lips. “Are you looking for the sun, because you will never find it in here.”

Yes, I will; she’s standing right beside me. He tries to contain his smiling heart, “No, I’m just admiring the Seismosaurus.”

“It’s a Diplodocus, you illiterate fool.” Something sparks in her eyes, a witful side takes place inside of her. He knows well how to reply -- his childhood was filled with James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, wasn’t it?

“Actually”, his hands placed behind his back, he leans in closer to her neck and ear, “Seismosaurus is a subspecies to the family of Diplodocus, and this jumble of old bones just happens to have previously been a Seismosaurus.”

She can’t snap back anything clever at that moment, her breathing needs to even out first. Her lungs were working perfectly fine all until he leaned ever so slightly closer. Roses bloom proudly on her cheeks and down her neck as his cologne reaches her. A thought crosses her mind. It’s a dangerous but sweet thought, and it would require her to stand even closer to him. She suddenly becomes so aware of herself, her mind and body. The length of her skirt, how the tag in her blouse itches against her skin. If he would lean in just a bit closer, it would give her a tingle of goosebumps. The moment he backs away is a time of grief for the roses in her garden. Some vines withers and dies, leaving imprints like skeletons for archaeologists to dig out later. Her heart soon goes back to boring normal, and she’s convinced Remus must’ve noticed not all, but some of it. She stretches her fingers to feel how the feeling of him disappears once again.

He leans back, not daring to think of why her cheeks glowed so red or why he could hear how her heart thunder in her chest.

---

Her eyes are glued to the paintings on the wall; his eyes are glued to her. He hadn’t meant it to be so, but how could he resist when her hair was slightly tangled by the way her fingers crooked through it, when her freckles could be counted? And she could never know, or could she, should she?

He pushes his glasses further up, it’s turned into a fumbling mannerism of his.

“Oi, watch the painting instead! These brushstrokes are sick.” She gestures at one part of one sky in one painting, and his eyes follow her hand. The way her fingers smoothly move, the way her nails are covered in two days old nail polish. It all does something to him.

She turns to him, eyes gleaming, a smile hiding in the reds of her lips, “I said”, she leans in closer, he can feel her breath on his neck, “watch the painting instead.”

“Why should I?”

She doesn’t recoil, the hairs where his kalufs ends in the back of his neck stand tall. Roses grow and blossom on his cheeks, “Did I buy us tickets to this incredibly fascinating museum just for you to look at me instead?”

“I don’t know, maybe you didn’t make the terms and conditions clear enough.” His hand travels up her arm, she’s glad she took off her cardigan earlier. The calloused skin on his fingertips against her arm makes her breath uneasy again. His hand continues its journey up, a finger gently brushes up her neck. A shudder, and her hairs stand up tall.

Silence turns the exhibition room into its home. The number of people residing with the painted works of strangers is scarce. The grand ceiling of marble arches allows sound to echo and navigate against the walls. A few splatters decorate the glass dome above them, the afternoon has decided to change its demeanor into something else. Cold breezes sneak into the room through the poor one-sided windows. She still believes the goosebumps forming on her skin are caused by him and only him. His hand is now situated just underneath her ear, a touch which does a great something to her. It’s lingered there for too long now, she’s afraid he’ll just let her go. She doesn’t dare meet his eyes, though she knows she finds them wonderful.

He can’t deny the roses on her cheek, still he doesn’t dare believe them. Could it all be because of me? Hardly!

Still, he knows his mind is of the lying kind.

---

The splatters of rain have turned into a full weather of its own mind; a heavy downpour embraces the couple as they hold hands and rush to find the nearest shelter. She holds his hand in her as she scans the street for a dry spot. The people around them pull up umbrellas, swift motions conjures up round, black splotches in the streets. Coats are pulled tighter, collars are tugged upwards. The cardigan she wears is too thin for this weeping weather, he finally remembers to lend her his jacket. They find themselves in the front door frame to some stairwell, sheltered by a small roof extension. Once their breaths are caught, they can properly look at each other.

His red cheeks, the rain stains on his glasses, she notices.

The rain on her eyelashes, her red lips, he observes.

“I can’t see your eyes”, it bothers her how the rain spots on his glasses close him off.

He would do anything for her, “Hold up.” His hands reach for his glasses, but she’s quicker. Carefully, she removes his frames. Once they’re off, she folds them and hands them back to him. “But now you can’t see me.”

“I’ll just have to lean in closer.” She’s not quite ready for it, but suddenly he rests his forehead on hers, catching her eyes. “There we go.” He smiles that one smile again. She can’t escape now -- there’s nothing more in her world than the boy before her for this one moment.

“Have I told you…” He didn’t plan this out in his mind.

“Yes?” She didn’t either.

A deep breath he needs desperate, but the breath is shared with her and that makes the gates to his garden insides open wide. “Have I told you that I-... How I really… really feel about you?” He might pass out soon, the breaths shared with her are too much for one afternoon to take.

“I… I don’t think so.”

His brows draw closer together, What am I doing?

“Well, I…” He can’t stop fumbling.

“Yes?” The hope in her voice sparks that something in him.

The streets are empty, the well-familiar couple in the doorway might as well be the only people left on Earth.

“What I’m trying to say is that… I-”, he grasps her hands in an attempt to calm himself down. It’s not a successful attempt; her soft hands make his heart thunder. “Meeting you and knowing you has been… incredible. Because you are wonderful.”

“I feel quite the same”, she holds his hands a little tighter just for a moment, “about you, that it.”

One of his hands let go of her to gently brush against her upper neck and the fragile skin by her ear and jaw. He can practically hear the deep breath she inhales, her chest moving up and down.

It’s probably just the cold that’s making me feel this way, she foolishly believes for a second. Or maybe it’s the way his arms are wrapped around me.

“You make me so much better.” His eyes close as he thinks of how she unknowingly saved him a few days ago. He doesn’t know if he should smile or remain serious; he’s never done this before. Well, he has, but never with someone like her. Somehow, it feels like the moment they just shared was something incredibly important.

The moment stops when his confident drains out of him, and his world goes blurry once again when he backs away from her, leaning against his side of the door frame.

“Oh, look”, she hides well how much she wishes he was still holding her, “it’s stopped raining.”

Remus retrieves his glasses, but he can still only sees her. She turns to him to meet his eyes, clear this time. They slowly move out of the doorway, both with their heads turned to the sky. “Hold up”, he searches his portefeuille for something. He finds it, and can’t contain his smile anymore. The folded umbrella in his hands spark laughter in the two, they don’t have to be shy anymore.

He unfolds it with a swish, making her chuckle. “May I?” he offers his arm to her, together they walk through the streets under their umbrella as the sun peeks out above them.

How does a moment last forever?

“Well, goodbye then.”

“Hmh. Goodbye.”

“I’ll… I’ll call you.”

Her face goes soft as he tell her. “Please do.”

“I- uhh- Goodnight.” His lips touch her cheek for the faintest second.

He realises once he gets home that she’s still wearing his jacket.

---

If he’d kissed her in that doorway, it had been a quick kiss. A simple touch of their lips, then a shy second. Maybe they’d done it again, the second time more confident.

If she’s kissed him in that doorway, she would’ve made it count. It’d been a sweet one, he would hold her as she rested her arms around his neck. Maybe he’d spun her around, exposed them both to the rain and then kissed her again.

---

Beep…

She already knows it’s him. The smile has been sewn onto her lips for far too long.

“Hello, Remus-”

He’s straightforward, for once, “Come away with me.”

“I’m sorry?” She almost has to laugh.

His mind is set, his heart is full. “Let’s travel somewhere, just you and me.”

You can practically hear her smile through the phone line, “Where to?”

“Do you really need to know?” He sounds tired, his voice croaky. She’s heard him like that before, on a night a long, long time ago.

“Well, I need to know whether or not I should pack my bathing suit.”

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“Rome.”

“Rome?”

“Hmh, Rome.” When did he get this confident?

“Well then, Mr. Lupin, I’ll have my bags packed and ready. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll see. I bet 50 pence.”

“Taken.”

---

i’ve got taglists:

FWAAF TAGLIST:

@wizardingworldwaitforme

@trashyemonerd

@maralisa124

@daydremus

@i-am-not-the-real-alice

@fuckedupamericangirl

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@rocking-like-a-ravenclaw

@kapolisradomthoughts

@siriusement

@electraheart-isdead

@classy-sith-lady

REMUS LUPIN TAGLIST:

@wizardingworldwaitforme

@serenefreakgeek

@spideyfan456

#remus lupin x reader #Young!Remus Lupin x reader #remus x reader #moony x reader #the marauders #marauders era #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #remus lupin imagine #four weddings and a funeral #fwaaf #elfenbensord

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arachnidsgamer · 5 years

Note

-Sn0wman said not a thing, her eyes never seemingly moving from the game in front of her, the clacking of billiards being her only retort. Whether her ignorance was on purpose, or a product of focus was unknown. All she could know was more details about her target as she glossed over her, taking in the eight and white circle on front of the wide rimmed hat, plump lips peaking under the tilted rim, and the towering height of this chess piece.-

Vriska really couldn’t get a good read on this woman, but hey, at least the anons seemed to be right about her, damn was she fine. She really wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not that this woman hadn’t responded to her presence yet. She absentmindedly pressed a hand to her own lips, noticing her host’s own very noticeable pair. However, uncomfortable silence didn’t really suit this troll, and she was more than ready to the break this ice. So after finally gathering enough courage to leave the safety of the bar she had just previously sought out, she approached the edge of the billiard table the game was being played on. Reaching forward, she placed her hands on the ridge of the table, drumming her fingers on it. She didn’t want to possibly disrupt the game, but she wanted attention.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

#Anonymous #sn0wman manor

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raggywaltz1954 · 7 years

Text

Most people probably wouldn’t recognize the name Vince Guaraldi, but most people would immediately recognize his music that ran as the soundtrack to numerous Charlie Brown ‘Peanuts’ television specials. From the classic Charlie Brown theme ‘Linus and Lucy’ to the Christmas standard ‘Christmastime Is Here’, Vince’s music is loved by many, even if they don’t know it. Before his fame as the Charlie Brown music guy, Vince Guaraldi was a respected (if not underground) West Coast jazz pianist, and after numerous sideman gigs in the 1950’s, including a high-profile stint in Cal Tjader’s group, enjoyed fame in the early 1960’s as the writer of a song named ‘Cast Your Fate To The Wind’. The album that tune appeared on also featured jazz interpretations of bossa nova songs from the 1959 movie ‘Black Orpheus’, and was appropriately titled ‘Jazz Impressions of Black Orpheus‘. In 1962, the same year that album was released, the bossa nova (Portuguese for ‘new trend’) craze was clobbering the United States. Everyone recorded bossa nova albums, many of dubious quality, many just trying to cash in on the latest fad. Yet, despite the over saturation of bossa nova albums, a few of those albums struck artistic gold. This 1963 collaboration between an American pianist and a Brazilian guitarist was one of those albums.

The Music

Recorded early-mid September(?) 1963

Vince Guaraldi: Piano

Bola Sete: Guitar

Fred Marshall: Bass

Jerry Granelli: Drums

I put a question mark by September because there is no definite recording date. As so often was the case with Fantasy Records, important information like recording session dates, sideman, even song titles were left off. If anything, the liner notes might elusively allude to some of those details. More on that later.

The music on this platter is easy, breezy bossa nova, recorded when it was still fairly new (if not tired). None of the tunes are faster than a walking pace, and features the authentic, non-amplified acoustic guitar of Bola Sete. Bola Sete, born Djalma de Andrade, was a Brazilian musician who spoke little English and came to prominence in the U.S. after a 1962 appearance at the Monterey Jazz Festival. His nickname, Bola Sete, means “Seven Ball”. The moniker arose from Brazilian billiards, where the seven ball is the only black ball on the table; Bola got the nickname when he was the only black member of a small jazz group.

The first selection is an original by an East Coast jazz pianist, the late, great Horace Silver, entitled ‘Moon Rays’. It’s a beautiful example of the synthesis of different idioms that happens in jazz, in this case a hard-bop standard from the East not only getting the light touch of a West Coast pianist, but then getting transformed into the bossa nova style. “Gee, I’d love to know what that sounds like”. Well, for those who asked that question, here’s Horace Silver’s debut of the tune from his 1958 album Further Explorations By The Horace Silver Quintet, for comparison and contrast. Interestingly, in the liner notes to this album, Horace Silver said that he wanted to get a Cal Tjader-ish vibe (pun intended) from the drummer during the melody by getting him to click on the sides of the snare. So, in effect, we have an East Coast jazz pianist synthesizing a West Coast jazz musician, only to have a West Coast jazz pianist in turn synthesize the East Coast jazz pianist while simultaneously synthesizing the Brazilian bossa nova. And you thought jazz was a structure-less free for all? HA.

The second is also an original, this time by Vince Guaraldi himself. In the liner notes, he explains that he wrote the song based off a poem sent to him by a man who worked for Pacific Gas & Electric. The song is simple but pretty. The drummer throughout gets a unique sound due to his using a wire brush in one hand and hitting a cowbell with a mallet in the other. All in all it’s a wonderfully relaxed outing.

The Cover

College Jazz Collector Rating: Cute But Significant

An integrated album cover in 1963?!?! Ok, this was the (supposedly) more racially tolerant West Coast, San Francisco to be exact, but it’s still groovy to see black and white people in a normal, relaxed environment. Vince Guaraldi was part of the late-50’s counterculture movement in San Francisco that later turned into the hippie movement of the late-60’s, and his style is clearly evident here, complete with t-shirt, handlebar mustache, slacks and tennis shoes. He could fit right in in 2017 without changing a single thing.

The Back

As I mentioned earlier, while Fantasy neglected to include the date of the recording session or a formal list of the musicians, the liner notes allude to both. Concerning the date, Ralph Gleason writes that this album was made shortly before the whole group made an appearance on his TV show. That episode was taped, and fifty years later found its way onto YouTube, complete with the very specific air-date of 25 September, 1963. So then, channeling my inner Charlie Chan, I came to the conclusion that this album must’ve been taped in early to mid-September of 1963. For those who want to see what this group looked like in action, or what they looked like period, I’ve included the episode below. As a bonus, we get to hear Vince talk! For the TV show, they perform two songs off this album, including ‘Star Song’. It’s neat to compare the version here with the version they did in the TV studio, and it’s cool to see and hear Mr. Ralph J. Gleason for a change. Now when I read liner notes by him, I read them in his voice. A word on the cover. It’s in terrible condition. The spine and top are completely torn, so it opens like a book. Add to that the wonderful pen doodles and an autograph by Al, and it’s downright dreadful. Such are the joys of collecting vintage vinyl.

The Vinyl

The different label colors are a result of different lighting. This album belonged to a radio DJ at some point in its 50-plus year life, perhaps the guy who autographed the album cover. It’s always neat to add radio/promo copies of vinyl to one’s collection, especially when they’re emblazoned with ‘NOT FOR SALE’. Oops. The vinyl looks fantastic, still retaining its shiny gloss, and the labels look brand new. Another Fantasy Records anomaly, the labels don’t say which one is side 1 or 2. Again, Charlie Chan sleuthing revealed that the record number on one side is lower than the the number on the other. Despite the beautiful-looking vinyl, upon listening to it, there’s evidence of slight groove wear in the form of lost fidelity on some of the louder/higher-pitched passages. The vinyl plays quietly however, with little to no noise. Interestingly, although Fantasy was famous for pressing their albums on brightly-colored translucent vinyl, this mono album was pressed on conventional black vinyl, making me wonder if Fantasy did that for all promo copies. This mono album sounds good, groove-wear aside, and its a deep groove first pressing, which is always nice.

The Place of Acquisition

That global marketplace, eBay. This album, appropriately enough, came to me from California. This album is rather expensive and in limited quantities on eBay and Discogs, which surprised me. In fact, despite the condition of this album, I had to drop about $25 for it, which is pretty expensive in college student terms. That was three years ago. I did a quick search for it today before writing this post, and was shocked to find that there are currently (as of 20 March, 2017) no vinyl copies of this album available on eBay, and only about four for sale on Discogs. Does that make this an affordable rarity? It sure looks like it. It looks like it’ll be a while before I replace my copy with a stereo copy in better condition. I guess I need to find the tape and count my blessings.

Vince Guaraldi, Bola Sete, And Friends // Vince Guaraldi (Fantasy 3356) Most people probably wouldn't recognize the name Vince Guaraldi, but most people would immediately recognize his music that ran as the soundtrack to numerous Charlie Brown 'Peanuts' television specials.

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