The Fairy Book,
The best popular fairy stories selected and rendered anew
by the author of “John Halifax, gentleman ”
Illustrated by Warwick Goble.
MacMillan & Co, Limited
St. Martin’s Street, London.
Inspired by @lunenn headcanon here:
Headcanon: Scully gave up William with a ufo onesie and the cloth doll Mulder gave her. In season 11 he still keeps that doll like a treasure. @markwatneyandensemble already wrote a brilliant piece HERE and a sequel HERE. The idea wouldn’t leave me alone so I wrote one, too.
There are only three things in his huge
backpack that he’s slung over his shoulder; his favorite book, a photo album
and that doll. His mother, Dana, Scully, call me what you feel most comfortable
with, looks at him as if he’s going to break any moment; maybe that’s why her
hand is always hovering around him somewhere, yet never quite touching him.
“This will be your room,” she tells
him, an uncertain smile playing around her lips; the room is sparsely decorated
with a bed and a desk, “We, well I, didn’t know what you liked so I
thought… you can decorate it any way you want.” Will nods once and steps
inside. He sits on the bed, puts down his backpack next to him as if it’s heavy
for his still small shoulders. He doesn’t know what to say, or do, so he looks
up at Dana, who seems equally lost.
“Uhm, why don’t you unpack? I could make
something to eat, maybe. Or we could go visit…,” she licks her bottom lip,
stares at the floor, “we could go to the hospital again.” And Will
just nods. Dana doesn’t move; what did he just agree to? Will realizes that he
should talk, say anything. His mother, the other one, the one he’ll never see
again, taught him better than this. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. She just
forgot to tell him how to act around his birth parents. It’s easier with his
father, with Mulder, because he does not have any expectations yet. Still in a
coma, as Dana explained it, he doesn’t know about Will. The boy prefers it that
way. He can spend hours watching the man. The nose looks familiar, the lips do,
too, and Will wonders what he’ll see once Mulder wakes up, looks at him.
Will opens the backpack’s zipper and the sound
is unbearably loud here in his room. Dana is still standing in the doorway,
neither inside nor outside. Carefully Will extracts the book of fairy tales.
His cheeks color; he’s 15 years old and he carries a big book of fairy tales
around with him. Dana’s eyes are on him, he can feel it, but she’s quiet; just
an observer. So Will continues. The photo album is next. He didn’t bring it for
himself. All those picture don’t mean much to him; it’s all in his head. His
mother never understood it when he said he can see it all like a movie behind
his eyes. She’d laughed joyfully (Will thinks he misses her laugh the most;
he’s yet to hear Dana laugh, or even giggle), almost always full of happiness
and so much love. There’s a picture inside this album, it’s the first one in
it, reading “The day we received the greatest gift”. It shows Will, a
soft tuft of reddish hair on his head, a fist in his grinning mouth, wearing a
ufo onesie. Later, much later, when Will knew he was adopted and he and his
mother went through the album together he’d asked her about it. He thought
maybe it had been his father, the only one he’d known then, had put him in it.
“No, baby, your other mommy put you in this. I don’t know why. It’s an odd
choice, isn’t it? But you were so cute in it.” One day, Will thinks, he’ll
ask Dana about it. Maybe, after all, it was his father’s choice after all; his
The last item he extracts is the most important
one: his doll. He’s had it all his life, held on to it tightly knowing it was
the only thing his birth parents had left him. He had slept with it as a baby,
as a toddler and even nowadays the doll needs to be close, even if Will won’t
admit to it. The doll, it must be old he thinks, is well loved; once an arm was
torn off by a friend and Will had cried for hours, until his head hurt and no
more tears were left. His mother sewed the arm back on, carefully, and Will now
touches the seam gently. He hears a gasp and turns to Dana.
“You still have it.” Her voice is
full of amazement as she comes closer, her eyes never leaving the doll. She
sits down beside him and they’re almost touching. Will faces her as she reaches
out tentatively towards the doll.
“I didn’t think you'd… keep it.” Will
glances at the doll. Did she really think he’d let it go? That he’d throw it
away once he knew his birth mother had given him up? She doesn’t know him, it
shoots through him, and she doesn’t know anything about the life he’s led. Not
“Of course,” he bites his lip and she
looks at him, her eyes a mirror of his own, like he’s a miracle; a wonder to
behold, “It was all I had… I mean. You know?” She nods, though he is
not sure she really understands. He would look at this doll sometimes in the
middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep and wonder about her, about his
father, too, and this doll. Why this doll? He had whispered into the night. Not
once did he receive an answer.
“When I… when I had to give you up, I
wanted you to have something to remember me – us – by. It seems silly now. You
were just a baby… but I wanted you to have the doll. You loved it so much and I
always felt like you sensed its importance. Your father gave it to me before
you were born. It was his sister’s once and… he didn’t tell me until
later,” she chuckles, lost in a memory that’s her own, and Will’s ears
ring with the new sound as if he’s just discovered his new favorite song,
“he made it for her after she broke her arm to cheer her up. He said that…
we weren’t really in a good place and uhm, he said he wanted me, and you, to
have something that symbolized his love and he… he told me that he spent night
after night working on this doll to make it perfect. But there’s more to his
doll, William,” she stops here, licks her lips again; he just watches her,
every reaction, catalogues it neatly in his mind, “the best gift, apart
from you, your father ever gave me was courage. Courage to believe, to follow my
heart, to love. That’s why I needed you to have this doll. I hoped… I hoped the
doll could give you at least a piece of that when I couldn’t give you anything
else. I’m glad you kept it.” She traces the faded face, a sad smile on her
lips, and Will can no longer take it. His hand, slightly sweaty, shaking just
the tiniest bit, lands on hers, and her head shoots up. Tears swim in her eyes
and he, he doesn’t know her well either yet, but he thinks not all of them are
“I’m glad I kept it, too.” Then,
without warning, she hugs him tightly, finally, and Will closes his eyes, sighs
in relief. He’s home.
Chapter 1 (Excerpt, the rest is on AO3- link below)
“Important encounters are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other”
- Paulo Coelho
There she is, Jughead thought to himself, his pulse quickening, as she walked towards him. Her hair, brighter than the sun, was tied back into a high ponytail and her lithe body moving gracefully in a light blue sundress. As she moved through the crowd, both tourists and the locals, gave her an admiring glance. And why wouldn’t they? She was stunning. In her right hand, she was holding what looked like a journal, or was it a diary? And a novel.
His observations this past week proved he was right. She preferred to wear her hair up and wearing shades of blue.
Today, she chose an outdoor table at Il Piccolo, three tables down from him. Jughead noticed that almost immediately after sitting, Antonio, a stout middle-aged server in this bustling Roman cafe approached her and asked, “Signora, your usual order? A cappuccino?”
She looked up and smiled, “You remember my order? Yes please, and thank you.”
Antonio smiled back, “Uno momento, signora.”
This cafe was one of his usual haunts, having discovered it shortly after arriving in Rome for his study abroad semester in January. The coffee was amazing, the staff friendly and welcoming. It was also a great place to people watch since it was only a few blocks away from the Trevi Fountain. Six months in, he was enjoying the Roman summer and the slower pace of a summer course load.
With fewer classes to take, he had more time to work on his novel and it was during a particularly bad bout of writers’ block that he had noticed her.
He was hoping to write the next great mystery novel when he got stuck on a new character he was developing- a romantic interest, for his protagonist. He must have read the same paragraph over and over again for a half hour when he was startled by a very loud and obnoxious ringtone. It sounded like a snippet of a Lady Gaga song.
Irritated he thought, Am I the only one that has consideration for other people?
The perpetrator was adding insult to injury by actually having a conversation on her phone. Of course, it’s an American, he thought hearing her accent. And as he turned around ready to glare at the offender, he felt the breath get knocked out of him.
Sensing his annoyance, she had lowered her voice and looked away- but not before he had gotten a good look at her: Lightly tanned skin, big hazel eyes, an expressive mouth and long, shapely legs. Always ready with a witty or sarcastic remark, he was knocked speechless.
Jughead was not a believer in love at first sight, but there was something about her that intrigued him- something about her reminded him of the sunshine and all the good things he missed at home.
Before he could collect his thoughts, she had ended her conversation, plunked some money down on the table and walked off.
He was about to run after her but then he lost sight of her in the crowd. Unsure of why he was so disappointed, he was immediately cheered by Antonio standing next to him and smirking, “Don’t worry, she’ll be back. That’s the third time she’s been in this week. She usually comes between 3-4 in the afternoon.”
So while this cafe was a regular haunt for Jughead, he usually varied his routine- sometimes stopping by before a morning class or for an after dinner coffee. But for the past week he made an effort to come at the same time every day and sure enough, this was the third day he had seen her since that fateful first sighting a week ago and he still hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk to her.
It was silly since he didn’t know anything beyond the superficial about her- but he felt an attraction toward her that he couldn’t ignore. It’s not like he hadn’t dated other girls before but something about her felt different.
On the first day, she sat drinking her cappuccino while writing postcards.
The second day she was sketching with pastels and wrote in her journal for awhile. It was during that visit that he noticed she was traveling with friends. A raven haired girl, named Ronnie and a brunette boy, Kevin- who by the conversation he had overheard, was definitely not either girl’s boyfriend.
On the third day, she was reading an autobiography about Grace Kelly. Jughead found this ironic given her looks reminded him of a cross between the former Princess of Monaco and a Hitchcock blonde.
While what she read was interesting, that was the day he learned what her name was. Ronnie had stopped by to walk with her to dinner and he had overheard her calling her Betty.
Betty, he murmured the name softly. That seemed to fit the beautiful blonde.
Funny how his new character, named Bella, had been gifted with long golden waves and large eyes with the power to intoxicate and distract his private eye protagonist.
After Antonio dropped off her cappuccino with an extra biscotti, Jughead noted, he moved towards him.
“Well, foolish boy,” Antonio said to Jughead in Italian, “what are you waiting for? Are you going to go and talk to her? This is crazy. Love is wasted on the young.”
Jughead rolled his eyes, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Antonio chuckled, “Please, your admiration for her is obvious. You are lucky that I’m not 15-20 years younger or I would give you a run for your money. I used to be what do you kids call it ‘a fox’ back when I was young. Do you need a sign?”
“Fine,” Jughead sighed. Who would have thought that he would be so nervous to talk to a girl? He had dated a lot of girls but he had never experienced emotions this intense and raw with someone he had never even spoken to. When he looked up to glance at her again, he finally saw the sign he was looking for.
A slow smile spread across his face as he watched her sipping her cappuccino. She had picked up her book and started reading. It was Alice and Wonderland, his sister, Jellybean’s favorite book. He wasn’t big on fairy tales or fantasy, but out of love for his sister he had read the book to her aloud countless times.
Slowly, Jughead stood up and walked towards the blonde.
Request: Can you do a Draco x reader where Draco gets sick and reader has to take care of him? ((Anon))
Warnings: Hospital, muggle-born reader, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, illness (not serious).
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggle-born!Reader (also American.)
He woke up coughing the first day. You were laying on his chest when all of the sudden you were jostled away by your boyfriend coughing into his arm. Oh god, you think, he’s sick.
And you were right, soon enough you had figured out he had the flu. You made him tea and gave him some meds but over all he was pretty sick. It was on the second day that you took him to Mungo’s. His temperate was over a hundred and you had decided that it was hospital time. Draco, naturally, hated hospitals. But he barely put up a fuss as you waited in line for the receptionist. He swayed where he stood and barely kept his eyes open.
“Draco, go sit down.” You whisper, motioning to a chair in the waiting area where no one seemed to be sitting.
“Mhm.” He mutters before swaying over to the chair and taking a seat.
“Y/n?” You turn around.
“Narcissa?” You don’t step out of line, you know enough about hospitals to know it’s a bad idea but you do lean forward to look at her.
“Him too?” She looks up at Lucius, he looks just as sick as Draco.
“Unfortunately.” He doesn’t wait around hear more, he just walks to the waiting area and sits down.
“Next.” The bored voice of the receptionist calls you forward.
After you check Draco in and get him in a bed he finally settled down with the coughing. Lucius and Narcissa end up getting the bed next to his but you keep the curtain shut tightly the whole time.
“Are they over there?” Draco asks in a whisper before coughing again.
“Yeah, but it’s okay, we don’t need to talk about them.” He smiles weakly at you and puts his hand on top of yours.
“Here’s something that’ll cheer you up,” You pick up your bag, “I grabbed it before we left because I know you like them..”
You pull out a book labelled ‘The Big Book of Fairy Tales by Gertrude Lucy’. Draco smiles and props himself up on a few pillows with your help.
“Can we.. open the curtain? It’s a bit stuffy in here..” Draco asks lowly and you nod, setting the book down to open the curtain. Narcissa looks up from her book and Lucius tilts his head but you try not to look at them as you sit at the bottom of the bed.
“Which one?” You ask with a smile. Draco holds your hand again as you flip through the pages.
“Beauty and The Beast.” He mumbles tiredly. You nod and find the page.
“There was once a very rich merchant, who had six children, three sons, and three daughters; being a man of sense, he spared no cost for their education, but gave them all kinds of masters. His daughters were extremely handsome, especially the youngest. When she was little everybody admired her, and called her "The little Beauty;” so that, as she grew up, she still went by the name of Beauty, which made her sisters very jealous.“ He listens as much as he can and you can even see Narcissa and Lucius tilts their heads to listen. You smirk and read on.
"The youngest, as she was handsomer, was also better than her sisters. The two eldest had a great deal of pride, because they were rich. They gave themselves ridiculous airs, and would not visit other merchants’ daughters, nor keep company with any but persons of quality. They went out every day to parties of pleasure, balls, plays, concerts, and so forth, and they laughed at their youngest sister, because she spent the greatest part of her time in reading good books.” You continue on, glancing up every now and again to make sure Draco was still awake.
“As it was known that they were great fortunes, several eminent merchants made their addresses to them; but the two eldest said, they would never marry, unless they could meet with a duke, or an earl at least. Beauty very civilly thanked them that courted her, and told them she was too young yet to marry, but chose to stay with her father a few years longer.” He squeezes your hand as you flip the page and you squeeze it back reassuringly.
“All at once the merchant lost his whole fortune, excepting a small country house at a great distance from town, and told his children with tears in his eyes, they must go there and work for their living. The two eldest answered, that they would not leave the town, for they had several lovers, who they were sure would be glad to have them, though they had no fortune; but the good ladies were mistaken, for their lovers slighted and forsook them in their poverty. As they were not beloved on account of their pride, everybody said; they do not deserve to be pitied, we are very glad to see their pride humbled, let them go and give themselves quality airs in milking the cows and minding their dairy. But, added they, we are extremely concerned for Beauty, she was such a charming, sweet-tempered creature, spoke so kindly to poor people, and was of such an affable, obliging behavior. Nay, several gentlemen would have married her, though they knew she had not a penny; but she told them she could not think of leaving her poor father in his misfortunes, but was determined to go along with him into the country to comfort and attend him. Poor Beauty at first was sadly grieved at the loss of her fortune; "but,” said she to herself, “were I to cry ever so much, that would not make things better, I must try to make myself happy without a fortune.” Draco smiles at you as you read.
“When they came to their country house, the merchant and his three sons applied themselves to husbandry and tillage; and Beauty rose at four in the morning, and made haste to have the house clean, and dinner ready for the family. In the beginning she found it very difficult, for she had not been used to work as a servant, but in less than two months she grew stronger and healthier than ever. After she had done her work, she read, played on the harpsichord, or else sung whilst she spun.” You shift on the bed before picking the book back up again.
“On the contrary, her two sisters did not know how to spend their time; they got up at ten, and did nothing but saunter about the whole day, lamenting the loss of their fine clothes and acquaintance. "Do but see our youngest sister,” said they, one to the other, “what a poor, stupid, mean-spirited creature she is, to be contented with such an unhappy dismal situation.
"The good merchant was of quite a different opinion; he knew very well that Beauty outshone her sisters, in her person as well as her mind, and admired her humility and industry, but above all her humility and patience; for her sisters not only left her all the work of the house to do, but insulted her every moment.
"The family had lived about a year in this retirement, when the merchant received a letter with an account that a vessel, on board of which he had effects, was safely arrived. This news had liked to have turned the heads of the two eldest daughters, who immediately flattered themselves with the hopes of returning to town, for they were quite weary of a country life; and when they saw their father ready to set out, they begged of him to buy them new gowns, headdresses, ribbons, and all manner of trifles; but Beauty asked for nothing for she thought to herself, that all the money her father was going to receive, would scarce be sufficient to purchase everything her sisters wanted. "What will you have, Beauty?” said her father. “Since you have the goodness to think of me,” answered she, “be so kind to bring me a rose, for as none grows hereabouts, they are a kind of rarity.” Not that Beauty cared for a rose, but she asked for something, lest she should seem by her example to condemn her sisters’ conduct, who would have said she did it only to look particular.“ Draco tilts his head and you know he’s going to fall asleep soon.
"The good man went on his journey, but when he came there, they went to law with him about the merchandise, and after a great deal of trouble and pains to no purpose, he came back as poor as before…” You trail off to look up at Draco, he was sleeping. You dog eared the page and shut the book.
“I didn’t even know muggles had fairy tales..” Lucius mutters in the bed beside Draco’s.
“What did you think muggles would tell their children at night? They really aren’t as boring as you think they are.” You put the book back in your bag and pull out your phone, hoping for reception so you could text your mom and tell her dinner tonight would need to be pushed back.
“What’s that?” Narcissa asks quietly as Lucius too falls asleep.
“It’s a phone. It’s a device you can use to send messages to someone, as long as they have a phone as well.” Having explained the use of a phone to Draco a million times, you don’t even have to stop typing to tell her.
“Like an owl.” Narcissa says. You shrug.
“Like an owl, I guess.” You finish typing and hit send.
“Did you two have plans?” Narcissa asks. She was a lot happier about you and Draco being together than Lucius was, a lot more interested.
“Yeah, with my parents. They haven’t met him yet so we were going to go to dinner with them but since he’s sick we can’t. It’s okay though, we can reschedule, not the end of the world.” Narcissa shuts her book and you take a small gulp, conversation with this woman always made you nervous.
“Were you going to fly over?” She doesn’t sound skeptical, just casual and normal.
“No, they’re coming over here tonight. Been a while since I’ve seen them. I saw them when the war ended, but I haven’t seen them since me and Draco got together.” You were still holding Draco’s hand, you didn’t know why, he was sleeping it’s not like he could tell you were holding his hand.
“A year? That’s an awfully long time to go without ones parents.” This time you think she’s talking down to you, but her eyes tell a different story.
“It’s not like they don’t have a lot of money just not we-can-buy-plane-tickets-money.” She nods even though she doesn’t understand the situation.
“We talk a lot, texting, calls. I usually send them wizard stuff on birthdays and Christmas. My mom likes lighthouses so I got her a lighthouse that changes colors and my dad likes model cars so I got him one that can drive itself.” She smiles, an uncharacteristic gesture that doesn’t make you feel better.
“Those are quite thoughtful gifts.” You smile back. You shift to the edge of your seat when Draco squeezes your hand.
“Talking about me?” He asks roughly.
“Always, baby. You’re the center of my world.” He laughs at the sarcasm but coughs near the end. You bring him some water.
“What were you really talking about?” He asks, going back to squeezing your hand.
“My parents.” His face fills with realization as the nurse walks in, carrying a tray of healing potions for him and his father.
“Your parents, we were supposed to meet them for dinner tonight!” He sits up but the nurse pushes him back firmly.
“Drink this.” She holds a cup to his lips and he drinks it. When she leaves he turns back to you.
“Are they still coming?” He asks with a screwed up face.
“Yes, they’ll be here for two weeks. They’re staying in a hotel in London.” He relaxes. He’ll be better in two weeks. The potion they’re giving him will have him better in two days.
“I rescheduled for next week. Chinese.” His eyes light up.
Beauty and the Beast. Illustration by Charles Robinson. The Big Book of Fairy Tales. Edited by Walter Jerrold. Blackie and Son Limited, 1911.
Charles Robinson (1870-1937) was a prolific British book illustrator. The Big Book of Fairy Tales holds true to the rule, that sometimes - the oldest fairy tales are the best. These stories are accompanied by a set of dazzling coloured illustrations from a true master of the Golden Age of Illustration - Charles Robinson.
You tried to find the house deep in the woods.
“OOOOWWWAAOOOHHH!” You heard a howell and followed the noise, seeing the silouhette of a wolf. Chills rushed through you at the beautiful creature at sight. You loved wolves, they were your favorite animal, you read about them constantly, watched live cams religiously, so now you were going to get as close as you can with your first encounter with a wolf after living in a modern suburb. It quickly disappeared into the dark house you had been dying to find.
The floor squeaked as he paced back and forth still. You remained silent, sitting as calmly as possible in the uncomfortable, oak chair.
“Tell me your name,” he broke the stale air of silence, still pacing.
“Ruby, but everybody calls me Red.” You pointed at your red hair and laughed trying to ease up.
“Red, huh? Aren’t you Georgette’s granddaughter? And what brings you to Beacon Hills?” He didn’t seem to notice.
“How’d you know? Well obviously, I moved in with my grandmother…” You couldn’t think about the painful past before.
“Why?” Ignoring the first question like it wasn’t even asked, as the painful word “why” stung.
“Why?!” He roared, you swear you saw eyes flashing a vibrant unnatural color, making you get goosebumps.
“My parents died…our house caught on fire, and they…died.” He stopped at the word fire and looked at you.
“So then what brings you all the way out here to my house in the middle of the woods?”
“This is your house? But it’s all…” You looked around and didn’t finish, he waited for an answer, and his dark stares cut right through you. “Um, right, to answer your question…I heard the story about what happened to the Hale family, from my grandma, it was so similar to mine….I just found a connection.” More silence. “So you’re Derek huh?”
“Yes.” He looked away and began to pace once more.
“Big bad wolf,” you said.
“What?” He glared at you, dead serious, almost offended, like you just insulted his whole family and honor.
“Um, you know like Red Riding Hood, goes through the woods to see her grandma, runs into the big bad wolf. It’s a joke, cause this is some what similar, and you’re all big and bad like a wolf…I know it was cheesy.” God why did I say that??? You thought.
“Oh, funny,” he said without laughing. There was more silence. The house gave you an eerie chill. Everything was broken and burned, soot covered. You noticed scratch marks on an old couch, like a dog scratched through, but the wolf you saw earlier was nowhere insight. You cocked your head to the side, but Derek tried to ignore it, he grew nervous. You realized it was getting late and time to leave, you promised your grandma you’d be home for dinner.
“So, um can I go now?”
He let you out without a word, eyebrows still furrowed.
You never went back to the woods, knowing better. Derek was pretty attractive and all but he was really intimating and gave you warning signs.
You walked home from school one day. The air picked up and swept some leaves around in a rapid circle and the sun shown bright. You shuffled along in no hurry, when you stopped to look up. Standing right next to your grandmother’s gate was Derek.
You stopped in your tracks, just feet away, “And what big ears you have grandmother,” you teased bringing up the joke. He didn’t flinch.
“How do you know?”
“About the big bad wolf.”
“Um, like every children’s fairy tale book,” you opened the gate hoping to get away, worry sinking in, but you refused to show it. He followed you anyway as you unlocked the door and into the house. You didn’t fight it, not wanting to seem nervous, but also a small voice in the back of your head kept reassuring you.
“Look why are you still on this?” You asked, “did I offend you? Cause it was just a joke…honest.”
“No,” he stood, picking up a book about wild dogs and flipped through it.
“You want something to eat?” You asked raising an eyebrow, annoyed that he wasn’t leaving.
“Sure, I’ll have a sandwich.” He out the book down. You tossed him a pre-made ham and cheese.
“What’s that smell?” He asked.
“What sm-?” The carbon monoxide alarms went off, you jerked your head towards him questioningly, and he yelled at you to get out, calling the firefighters.
You sat on the curb, feeling light headed. You drooped your head and felt a warm presence next to you.
“There on their way,” it was Derek.
“H-how did you?”
“Doesn’t matter, your grandma has lived here how long?”
“Um, forty five years…but what does that have to do w-”
“Do you know anything else about the fire?”
“What are you talking about? My house is full of carbon monoxide and you care about a fire that happened how many years ago??”
“A fire that killed my family!!” He shouted, he quickly regained composure and steadily said, “What-do-you-know?” Through gritted teeth.
“Um, I think some people she was close with..di-…did….” Your eyes became droopy and Derek panicked, scooping you up and started running. The wind whipped through your hair, like you were riding in a convertible on the highway. Everything was rushing by as you blacked out.
You woke up in a hospital bed with tubes in your arms. You looked around and found Derek standing in the window. You blinked, and he was gone. You turned your head slightly and found a note.
“Thanks for the help. Wanna grab a bite when you get out? Have fun reading! -The Big Bad Wolf”
You turned to find a book next to you. It was brand new, pages fresh and crisped.
You traced the letters on the cover, “California Werewolves”. You sat there for the next few days, as doctors came in an out reading about “werewolf” spotting a in the great state you call home now. The Beacon Hills section was highlighted and talked all about the woods where Derek lived. You didn’t think much of it. You learned a little more about the town and the rivaling sides, you found out your grandmother was a big supporter of the wolves and you laughed a little. She’s where you got the passion for the matter.
You finished it in your bed and looked out the window, seeing Derek walking in with flowers. You smiled, there was something strange about him, but you couldn’t help but like it.
Emma is so hell-bent on
not falling for Killian that she doesn’t realize she already has. That is,
until his New Year’s party when the heater is broken and she can see the sweat
in the hollow of his throat and he smiles at her across the room and she is not
handling this well – at all.
A very loose adaptation of
the prompt: Our christmas New
Year’s party turned into a tropical theme because the radiator is broken and
it’s hotter than hell in here - damn you look good without a shirt i never
noticed before asgdhfjgkhl. Heather posted hers when I was mid-way through this bad boy so I switched up the holiday. Basically fluff and smut.
What Are You Doing New Year’s (New Year’s Eve)
He sort of worms his way
into her life.
It starts at the little
coffee shop right off Sycamore Avenue - the one with the pirates in the window
and the hot chocolate made with honest-to-god chocolate shavings. The one that
Henry always begs her to take him to but she resolutely saves for special
occasions because there is something magical about the homemade whipped cream
and sprinkle of cinnamon that demands reverence.
It starts at the coffee
shop where she intends to meet her mark. His idea, not hers. If it were her
idea she’d meet him at the park and beat him over the head with a wayward log
because he left his wife and two
children with his garbage past and she has a bit of a complex when it comes to
that. Henry gives her a high five on the way out the door and tells her to kick ass around a mouthful of
cereal and she’s so hyped up on bringing this guy down a few pegs that she
doesn’t even make him put a quarter in the swear jar.
The monster daddy reaches for his son and pulls him back out of the path of Castiel’s approach. Sam’s checked them out already. They’re positive no one in this family eats people to stay alive and that none of them are an actual threat. They’re not here to kill anyone, but the case is related and they’ve gotta check ‘em out.
In dad’s eyes, though, these three, towering men present the biggest threat he’s ever come up against. As sure as he is that he’s done nothing wrong, with Sam, Dean, and Cas crowding into his apartment, it almost feels as if he has.
“Keep away,” he says low in his child’s ear as Cas approaches, “He’s a Winchester,” it comes out sounding like a curse, “you get close, he’ll hurt you.”
Cas stops a measured distance away and holsters his blade. “We’ve just got some questions,” he pulls his coat over his pockets and keeps his hands at his sides.
They go on with questioning both the boy and his father and then leave in peace.
Thank you @laschatzi for beta services rendered! Hope you all enjoy this fluffy fluffy fluff fluff…
Killian woke that morning to an empty bed, I could’ve sworn she said she had the day off, he thought. He yawned and stretched, rolling over toward her side of the bed, that’s when he saw the piece of stationary lying on her pillow. He picked it up and unfolded it to see Emma’s handwriting:
Let’s play a game of hide and seek
I’ve already left, so you can’t peek
Alright Pirate, here’s clue number one
For her calming effect, she’s second to none
Let’s see how good you are at finding hidden treasure
For 300 years this was your only place of pleasure
A huge grin lit up his face, his Swan was in a playful mood, not to mention he loved a challenge. He was up and out of bed with a bounce in his step. He hopped into a refreshing shower then dressed to go and seek his hidden treasure.