Hello my naughty cougars (WHIPLASH). It has been a while since I last wrote something, I know, I know. So here's a fluffy songfic, based on snippets of the country song, "Everybody's Beautiful to Someone" by Cole Deggs and the Lonesome. I'm actually good friends with Cole, his brother Shade, and his mom Carla. They're from Texas. Now I must warn you: this is my first Shelma mush. So if you do not like this kind of stuff, go away and stick your head in a bucket of pirahna fish. That is all, kill the squirrels and such. Goodnight, god bless, look after yourselves, and watch out for the carnivorous larch tree. Toodles! And yay for me for finishing another fic! Finally! Goodbye!
Disclaimer: Nope. Own none of them. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nein. Niet. Nada. Nope. Nietsch. Shi--oops, sorry. Bye bye.
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Everybody's
Beautiful
to
Someone
by
Wolfy the Ironic Ninja
&
Cole Deggs and the Lonesome
8----------------------------8
Velma sighed wearily as she glanced at the clock by her desk. 4:27. Just 33 minutes until she could see her husband's face again. That was the one thing that made it worth while to work at the museum seven days a week, doing endless paperwork for the stuffy old deathtrap that was part of her daily life. She remembered when she had gotten married to the man of her dreams six months ago. The wedding had been everything Velma had dreamed of. It had been held in mid-December, outside in a small, secluded clearing in the Maysfeld Gardens. only close friends and family had been there, and the ceremony was the most beautiful thing she had every known to be. Every moment was crystal clear in her mind, and, as she checked her papers for anything still undone, which there wasn't, Velma let herself drift off into her memories. No one would notice if she stared off into space; she wasn't exactly the type of girl a guy would daydream about doing anything with her.
Well, except for one guy. And he wasn't coming for another 27 minutes...
She's working at an office
Where no one ever notices a thing she does
She knows that it's because
She ain't the kind you see in a magazine
The bespectacled young girl walked by the break room, pulling her bag behind her. She had only recently gotten a tote bag with wheels on it, thanks to Daphne and her all-powerful knowledge of every single bag in existence given as a going-away present for when she had left Coolsville and moved here. Velma waved to Jason and Nemoy, two of her co-workers, who continued to sip coffee and ogle the Dallas cowboy cheerleaders, whose pictures were displayed quite lavishly upon the refrigerator surface; the articles about the team still within the Sports Illustrated magazine, which hung limply in the rack designated for such literature, half of its pages torn out for the use of arousing the horny nerds, young and old, who worked at the museum. Velma could still hear them arguing about the scores of the college baskerball championship series, when she stepped outside into the cloudy, grey misting rain that was summer in Seattle, Washington.
The men keep talking about
Basketball and coffee, never bat an eye
Whenever she walks by.
Velma remembered when she had had to move here. It was only on a temporary basis, her boss said, until the new branch of the Smithsonian had been settled in, and everything was up, organized, and running smoothly. It would only be for a year, at the most, and the experience would look very good on a resume.
Her husband had readily agreed to moving with her, and had even scored a job, in a most perfect position for someone of his trade. He was one of the new members of the U.S. Olympic Track team, which had been recruiting the week they moved into their new apartment, and was going to Athens in two months to run for the gold medal. Velma was hoping to go with him, to cheer him on, but with the amount of paperwork that she got every day, her chances were getting slimmer.
She scanned the parking lot, looking for the brightly, yet faded colored van, the rain pouring down even harder now. Her simply flat-heeled shoes clopped slightly as she ran, looking through the thickening storm for the car, her hair and clothes now sticking to her skin, and her feet now making a sloshing noise. It was only then that Velma remembered her pocket umbrella, and opened it up, relishing in the momentary dryness. She couldn't believe how wet Seattle was. And she had just thought it was an exaggeration.
She peered through her glasses, and, noticing how fogged up they were, took them off momentarily to wipe them clean. And when she placed them back onto her face, she saw him, standing almost right in front of her, if just a few yards away.
And he was soaking wet.
His dark green sweater (for he had taken to wearing one in the slightly colder climate) and his brown slacks were clinging to his thin frame. He was shivering, quite obviously having forgotten an umbrella, something which he was constantly forgetting to do, never having needed one on a daily basis before. His long, scruffy hair, now past his ears and halfway down his neck, was sopped, making him resemble a very wet, and very miserable wolfhound during a highly unwanted bath. He shivered, and shook the water off as best as he could, only to find himself once again drenched to the skin from the freezing rain. His eyes weren't visible from the longish curtain of hair that hung in his face, which made Velma a little sad; that was the main thing that she had grown to look forward to after a long and tiring work day. It was also one of the main reasons that she had fallen in love with him in the first place: his beautiful honey chocolate-hazel brown eyes, flecked with bits of green and gold. They were so unique, and no one else in the world had his eyes.
Velma walked up to him, and reached up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips, shocking him out of his cold, wet, and miserable trance, and warming him up all over, making him tremble with happiness. She pushed the hair out from his eyes, and gazed into them, immensely enjoying the limb-tingling spread of warmth that one could only feel on a beautiful sunny day. Both of them knew why this was, and by looking at the two, anyone could see why.
She lit up his day, and he shone for hers.
But at 5 o'clock in the parking lot
Her husband's waiting by the car
And she can't wait to see his face light up
A warm smile spread across his face, making him look like an angel, Velma thought. Her angel. He noticed her trembling, and looked deeply into her eyes, with a hidden meaning that only she could understand, heating up every single pore of her body, and making her tremble even more, if for a different reason. He reached down and placed a delicate kiss upon her lips, which she returned eagerly. He pulled away, and smiled again, dripping slightly.
"Hey Shag," Velma said. "Happy anniversary."
"Happy anniversary to you, too," he murmured, kissing her again, by the ear this time, before whispering into it, "Even if it's just been six months since we were wed."
Velma giggled lightly. "Stop that, that tickled."
"Like, so what? You never stop when you tickle me."
"Yeah, but you like it when I tickle you in certain places."
"Ahh, touche, my fine friend." He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing his long and elegant fingers across her rosy cheeks as he did so, getting her to let out a contented sigh. "And my beautiful wife, my lily-petal lover." He gently nipped her earlobe, and kissed her neck softly.
"Norville!" Velma blushed, and pulled away, even though she didn't want to. "I told you not to call me that."
"Ahh, but you said that I couldn't call you that in public, for whatever reasons I do not know, and probably never will. Now, with the magnificent power of vision, I can see that there is no one in sight. So I," he paused, "can call you any name that so exemplifies your beautiful soul without embarassing you in any way whatsoever."
Velma stared at him incredulously, then sighed. "I'm going to guess that you had that speech memorized, didn't you?"
"Like, how'd'you guess?"
She laughed. "Well, since you are calling me by 'my' nickname, I shall call you by yours, Shaggy."
He smiled at her again. "That doesn't bother me that much. I went by that name from when I was 8 years old to when I was 22."
"You were--you are--22 years old still. You just grew up a little."
"I shall be 23 soon, ya know."
"Yes, and you still act so immature by calling me these names."
"I just call you things that acurately describe how beautiful you are. "
Velma blushed, and gestured towards the van. "You know, maybe we should get going. It's getting kinda late."
"No it isn't, but like, alright," Shaggy took the umbrella and opened the door. "After you, m'lady."
"Thank you, kind sir," Velma sat down, and pulled the door closed, as she waited for her husband to get in.
"Like, no problem, my wonderful--"
"Don't say anything," she interrupted him.
"Like, why not? Why can't I tell you, my wife, just how beautiful you are to me?" He looked over at her, with a teasing glance in his eyes before turning back to the road. "Just what is so bad about that? And I thought every woman liked being complimented, especially when it's sincere. And true," he added.
Velma blushed a deep scarlet at his words. She had never known why she rejected his adorably sweet and kindly-felt nicknames and praises for her. Maybe it was because it was just so hard to believe that someone like him could think of little, scrawny, ratty old her as the most beautiful woman in his life. As she was thinking this, Shaggy spoke again, and, by what he said, it was almost as if he was reading her mind.
"You know that I'll never love someone else as much as I love you, Velms," he spoke softly. "I mean--Zoinks, I don't think that I could get someone else who was more perfect for me then you are. And how much I love you scares me a bit--more than anything else ever has in my entire life. I care about you so much, and-well, to tell the truth-it kinda hurts when you reject these little things, like I'm doing something wrong that I'm not supposed to do. So, if you want me to stop, I'll stop."
She looked over at him when he stopped talking, and she knew that this was something that Shaggy had not rehearsed. To tell the truth, Velma really did like being told this, but it just felt that she didn't deserve it, because of all of the stereotypes of beautiful women that were out there. She looked at him again, and saw his face. It was rare to see him without a smile, but the fact that she had caused it was what hurt the most. She had to talk about this.
"Shaggy, " Velma saw him look over to her, a bit confused as to what she was talking about. She continued. "It's not that I don't like this kind of stuff. I really do, it's just that--well, it's hard to believe that someone, much less you, is actually telling these things to me, and actually meaning what they say, too. Especially when there are women out there that have so much--more."
His smile returned to his face, lighting up her own in the process. "Trust me on this one, Velma. There is no one--and I mean no one--who has more of anything--and that includes beauty, both inside and out--who has more than you. And no one ever will in my life."
The van pulled up to the driveway of the small, two-story house that the two sublet from one of Velma's uncles. The beatnik, now almost completely dry, quickly rushed over and ushered his wife into the house, attempting to keep her as dry as possible, and failing miserably. The young couple fell through the doorway, crumpling into a damp heap of wet clothes and laughter.
"Close the door, quick! All the heat's being let out," Velma cried out, still giggling as her rumpled husband struggled to stand up and close the door without falling over laughing; again, something that proved to be impossible for him that night. Shaggy soon got the door closed, and, in a dramatic and utterly romantic gesture, he swept her off of her feet, and into his arms, where she rested comfortably.
"Jinkies!" Velma squealed, surprised. "Norville Chastain Rogers, you put me down this instance, or I'll-I'll--"
"Kiss you?" He grinned suggestively. "Or...maybe something more, tonight? Seeing as it is our anniversary and all..." At this, his cheeks reddened slightly; if it was from the suggestion, or from laughing so much earlier, she couldn't tell.
"Well, that depends," Velma looked up into his face. "Will you put me down?"
"Actually, I was hoping that I could carry you up the stairs into our bedroom in a hopelessly romantic and lovesick gesture...but if you really want to walk, I'll put you down."
"Now wait just one minute!" She gazed stubbornly into his eyes. "You've already told me about it, and it does sound rather nice. You can't just wave that under my nose and then threaten to drop me."
"Well then, like whatever shall we do about that?" He grinned down at her, and only then did Velma realize what game she had started. She smiled sweetly up at him, and his own smile grew even wider as he saw that she had recognized what he was trying to do.
"Well," she cleared her throat, "you could carry me up the stairs, and into our bedroom. Then you could lay me down on the bed, and lie besides me. Then, you could kiss me, like this." And at those words, she kissed him, long and soft and passionate and sweet. "And when we get to that point, then--well, I'll tell what'll happen next."
"Your wish is my command, m'lady."
"Well, then carry my onward, m'lord."
"As you shall say, I shall do." And, as Shaggy walked up the stairs, and into their bedroom, he kissed her gently.
And the two sank down onto their bed, still kissing, as the door clicked shut to give them their privacy as they became one, losing themselves to the passion that was their love for one another.
Everybody's beautiful to someone
Everybody's beautiful to someone
She may not do much for you, son
But you should see what she does for someone else.
--
The two lovers laid together on their wedding bed, exhausted, wearing only their wedding rings and a sheet over their sweaty bodies to mask the nakedness. The young woman, her glasses sitting by the bedside table, snored lightly, her arms around the thin man, who was still wide awake, thinking about his wife. She said she wasn't beautiful; what a lie that was.
Shaggy pushed himself up, being careful not to wake up Velma in the process, and looked down at her peacefully sleeping form. He couldn't ever imagine spending his life with anyone else; how she could think that he thought that was a mystery that he would never solve. Not like he was good at solving them in the first place. He was only good at running and playing jazz, the former of the two being what got him his job.
Shaggy sighed. Having to leave for Athens was gonna kill him, especially since he would be so busy practicing for the events, and rarely get to see Velma. Velma, who would want to take advantage of being in Greece to sightsee and explore. She always knew such interesting facts about...well, almost everything. And he would miss out on it all. Or most of it, anyway.
The beatnik continued to gaze at his wife. She still wore her old coke-bottle glasses, but she had given up the red skirt, the mary-jane shoes, and orange knee socks, for something a little more professional. She now wore a slightly more form-fitting sweater (which was not a turtleneck, for once), and dark blue slacks, as well as trouser socks and business flats (whatever those were). Velma never dressed up too much, and she rarely ever wore make-up that wasn't her chapstick/lipgloss stuff. Her hair was not in the old pageboy cut anymore, but it was still rather short, just barely going below her chin. He wondered what she would look like if she wore something that was a little lighter-framed when it came to glasses, and if she had longer hair, or even wore a little bit of makeup. She would look really good with her hair by her shoulders, Shaggy thought.
You're thinking to yourself
That she will look a little better
If her hair was long
Just a touch of make-up on.
But that's what I love about her, he argued with himself silently. The fact that she wears what she feels like, and doesn't do anything special to her appearance that makes her look fake, or like a manikin. Velma's comfortable with who she is, and no one that heever dated when he was younger was ever like that. And if she ever did change, he wouldn't care, because she would still be his wife, the woman he loved. His lily-petal, softer and more delicate and sweeter than anything else he knew of. Or ever wanted to know of.
But all that mattered to him was that Velma, the woman of his dreams, loved him. And he, Norville 'Shaggy' Rogers, would always, always, always, love her, until all things around him ceased to exist.
And he drifted off to sleep at that last thought, slipping in and out of dreams about him and the woman who lay by his side, their arms wrapped around each other, and never letting go. They were one of the few people in this world that had found their soulmates, their friends, and their family in only each other.
They were a love that would last forever.
9--9
She might not do much for you, son
Everybody's beautiful to someone
Oh, everybody's beautiful tp someone,
She might not do much for you, son
Oh, but everybody is beautiful to someone
Yeah, you got to know
Oh, you got to hold her and kiss her and touch her
'Cause she's beautiful
9--9
So, what do you think of my first mushy fluffy story? Should I write another fluff fic, or should I just stay out of it altogether? Please R&R, and tell your friends about Cole Deggs and The Lonesome. Find their songs and listen to them, they're really good. Oh, and they actually have a cd in stores like Target and such. So please listen! And review. One or the other. Well, Toodles! May be back later w/something else, but I dunno. Depends how I feel, and about reviews. Well, goodbye! And kill the squirrels, support the rabbits!