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mercedesamayajones · 3 years

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Hiking Fun || Samcedes

Who: Mercedes Jones and Sam Evans

What: Sam and Banner join Mercedes, Aiden and James as they go hiking and enjoy a picnic.

Notes: @sammy-d-evans

Mercedes zipped up the last sandwich and placed it into the bag, glancing out the window and smiling at Aiden and James ran around in the backyard. She went over her list of things they needed for the day, ensuring that she didn't forget a thing. Since they were going on a hiking trail and having a picnic, she didn't want them dragging coolers around, so she made each of them a lunchbox with sandwiches, chips, drinks, and a treat. Brownies were chosen by the boys. Grabbing the ice packs and frozen water bottles from the freezer, she loaded up each bag and smiled. Mercedes zipped up the last sandwich and placed it into the bag, glancing out the window and smiling at Aiden and James ran around in the backyard. They were ready, now all they needed was Sam.

Grabbing her hiking boots, she debated if she should go with tennis shoes but thought against it, then grabbed them just in case. Worst case scenario, she would leave them in the car. Throwing her hair into a messy bun. she glanced at herself once more, smiling at the oversized purple shirt that hung off her left shoulder and pair Capri leggings. There was a time when she would dress up to try and impress Sam, but he friend-zoned her one too many times, and she finally gave up any notion that they would be anything other than friends. No matter if she did still like him as more. Shaking off her thoughts, she called the boys in and smiled. They were going to have fun, she was sure of it.

As he made his way to the back of his truck, Sam couldn't help but smile as Banner greeted him with a wildly wagging tail. "Someone's excited to go on a hike," he spoke as he helped the dog out of the back of his truck. Sam checked if the backpack harness was still in place before he told Banner to follow him. Sam had bought Banner a backpack for hikes like this. The St. Bernard loved to work and help out, so he had him carry treats and water on most of their walks.

He reached the front door of Mercedes house and rang the doorbell, patiently waiting for someone to open the door.

Mercedes heard the doorbell, but Aiden and James ran to the door before she could get it. "Don't you boys open it unless you know it's Sam!" She yelled after them. They quickly looked out the window and yanked the door open. Smiling at Sam but going right to Banner.

Mercedes grabbed the bags and smiled, seeing the kids and Sam. "Hey, Sam! We are ready."

Sam grinned as James and Aiden forgot to greet him in favor of hugging Banner. "Be careful, he drools," Sam jokingly warned before turning his attention to Mercedes. His eyes wandered over her statue. He arched a brow in silent question when he noticed the bags. "Hey, hi. Are you bringing a whole restaurant with ya," he inquired as he reached out to take the bags from her. "I thought we could walk to the start of the trail; it's only like 10 minutes or so."

Mercedes cleared her throat. "Gentlemen! Banner didn't drive himself here. Say hi to Sam!"

"Hi, Uncle Sam." The boys said in unison, and she laughed at Sam's words. "Hardy har har very funny. It's just water and snacks and a picnic; you do realize these boys eat every five minutes, right?" She teased as she grabbed the other bag. "That's fine with me. And I am pretty sure the boys want as much time with Banner as they can get."

"Feelin' the love, guys," Sam snorted as he put his head through the straps of the bags and let them hang over his shoulder. "I know, I know, growing boys and all that... We should be at a great spot to take a break in like 40 minutes or so," Sam mentioned as he led Mercedes towards the boys.

She laughed as she gave picked up her phone and keys, putting them in her bag. "As long as we make it fun and take breaks for the boys, I think this will be great! It's the perfect weather for hiking too. Is it true that one of the trails has a waterfall?" She handed each boy their bag. "We have extra water just in case." She said, making sure they had everything.

Sam snatched the bags from the boys and put them in his own, nodding his head in reply. "There is, but that one is a lot longer than the trail I planned for us to follow today. Maybe another time?" Sam put Banner on his leash and handed it to the boys. "Alright, all ready for an adventure?"

Mercedes smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan." She locked the door as James and Aiden grabbed the leash. Taking out her phone, she smiled, taking a few photos of the boys and Banner. "Okay, so how are you doing? How are the store and everything." She asked Sam looking at him for a moment before looking back at the boys.

"I'm good, and so is the store. People really found their way there, and I managed to build a steady stream of loyal customers," Sam started as he led the way outside. Then, after telling Banner to follow him, knowing that the dog would keep the boys from running off, he turned his attention back to Mercedes. "Met up with Quinn yesterday; it was nice getting to catch up with her after all this time. But enough about me, how are you?"

"That is really great! I mean, your store is pretty impressive, so it makes sense you would have a loyal following." As they walked towards the trail, she listened to him speak. "Really? I am so glad she is back for good. We talk so much, but it's been a while since we lived in the same place."

"You've talked to her while she was away," Sam inquired, the surprise of hearing Mercedes say that evident in his voice. "But yeah, it's nice she's back." Sam looked over his shoulder to check if Banner and the boys managed to keep up with them. Then, satisfied that they were, he turned the corner, bringing them to the start or the trail. "And how are things with you? What's this thing you needed a second opinion about?"

Mercedes nodded. "Yeah, we try to talk at least once a week, sometimes more, but now that she is here, I am so happy." Mercedes let the kids move in front of them as they moved to the trail. "Okay, guys, do any of you have to go to the bathroom before we get started?" They shook their heads no, and she nodded. They did go before Sam got there. As they started, she worried her bottom lip. "Umm, well, it's pretty big, and I don't know if it's a good idea."

"I always thought she just disappeared without a trace and didn't have contact with anyone," Sam wondered out loud. The feeling that washed over him stung. He felt somewhat hurt and left in the dark about how his friend had been doing all these years by another one. He swallowed and decided to shake off the feeling. Sam looked at Mercedes. "Sounds serious... what's this big thing?"

Mercedes sighed. "To her credit, she tried, but like with you and everyone else, I made sure we kept in touch." She let them walk in silence, feeling the weight of his stare. Finally, after a few more moments, she cleared her throat. "I want to give Aiden a sibling. I am thinking of using a Sperm Donor."

"It's a little hard to keep in touch when you don't know their number," Sam thought to himself while he nodded in understanding. He almost stumbled over his feet as her words sunk in. "You... oh wow, yeah okay, that's huge."(edited)

Mercedes studied Sam for a moment and waited for his response. She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "I have even looked into possible donors, but it's daunting. What if I choose the wrong one? What will people think of me being a single mom with two kids? But I love Aiden and James, even if he is just my Godson. I am ready to have another one.

"I don't think they'd think any different of you being a single mom of two or just one now," Sam rushed to tell her, trying to take some of her fear of other people's opinions away. "Why a donor, tho? Why not adopt one? There are so many kids out there that need a good place to call home."

Mercedes sighed. "I thought about it, and I do want to adopt; I had always planned on doing it when Aiden got older. Like what my parents did with Cam. But for right now, this is what I want, what I need."

"What brought it on, this sudden need to have another kid now? Is it Aiden starting kindergarten," Sam asked, letting his eyes wander to the front to check if the boys were still walking along the path. "So you might still adopt in the future? That's cool." Then, remembering how Mercedes started the conversation, he circled back to that. "Have you looked at donors already?"

Mercedes chewed her bottom lip. "Honestly, it's been in the back of my mind for a while. We always..." She sighed. "The plan before Aiden... the plan was when he was three we would give him a sibling. When he was 8, we would adopt at least one child that way he could understand and help his sibling understand." She looked at Sam but then back to the boys. "I have felt so guilty for so long about moving on, but it's time to stop feeling guilty and start living again...love may or may not be in my future again, but at least I can have my family." She nodded. "Yeah, I could use some help, though."

Sam nodded in understanding. "Life can throw you a ton of curveballs along the way," he said. "I didn't really know Aiden, but I'm sure that he would have wanted you to be happy in the end. And if this is the way to do that, he'd totally understand that you're moving on. And still, kinda keep with the plans you two made when it comes to kids." Sam slightly tilted his head to the side as he looked at Mercedes. "What kinda help?"

Mercedes chewed her bottom lip. "He was a lot like you if I'm honest. Not as funny; he couldn't do impressions to save his life." She glanced at Aiden. "I know he would; I'm just sad about it. His parents didn't accept me, and so they didn't accept Aiden, and he will miss out on knowing that half of his family, he deserves to have us here." She stopped talking, not wanting to make things awkward if Sam was just being nice and not really wanted to talk about him. "It's overwhelming trying to find a donor."

"So he was ruggedly handsome, got it," Sam joked, trying to lighten the mood somewhat. "You know, it's their loss. Yeah, Aiden's missing out on knowing that part of his family, but they won't get to see what a great kid Aiden fathered. And they're missing out on getting to know their grandson. Maybe they'll come around one day when they realize what they are missing." Sam told Mercedes. "I bet it is. Especially if the donor wants to stay anonymous and they only let you know the basics."

"Oh, for sure!" She laughed. "So handsome." She sighed. "I know you are right, and I know that he is gonna ask, and eventually I will have to tell him the truth; it's just...sad." She looked at Sam, grateful that he let her talk about Aiden; it had been a while since she had been able to do that. She nodded. "All of them want to stay anonymous, which does suck, but at least Aiden won't wonder why the baby gets a dad, and he doesn't..."

As Sam listened to Mercedes, he couldn't help the confused look that washed over his face. "The baby gets a dad, and he doesn't...? That doesn't make any sense. Aiden has a dad, and he knows that. And the baby kinda will have a dad in the same way... I mean, the baby wouldn't know their dad, won't even have a picture of the dude. But, at least Aiden knows who his dad is and what he looked like."

Mercedes shook her head. "That came out wrong. I mean, if the donor wasn't anonymous and wanted to be in the baby's life, there is no way to guarantee that he would want to be in Aiden's life. And at this age, Aiden might wonder why the baby's dad is around, and his isn't. At least this way, all they know is me." She sighed. "I am sorry, I am just trying to make sense of all this, and I am afraid I am not making sense at all."

"Not really, no," Sam admitted, sounding as confused as he was feeling. "Do you want to know who the donor is, and you want them in not only the kid's life but also Aiden and yours, or do you want them to be anonymous? I think that's what you need to figure out first. And go from there. If you want to have a donor that is involved or at least one that you know, then go look for one that also wants that and wants to be in Aiden's life."

Mercedes watched the boys for a long moment, laughing and playing with Banner. "I can't be selfish, Sam. I am the one who wants this baby; I don't know any man who will gladly give me his sperm and want to not only be a father to our child but be one to Aiden, that would be like making this man have an instant family which isn't fair to him. It's not fair to want more than what I am supposed to get."

"So you want another kid, but you also want the whole family thing with the donor?" Sam asked. "You're not selfish; you just need to be clear upfront with whoever you end up asking. Because it sounds to me like you don't really want your donor to be an anonymous one."

She laughed. "I want the family, I want Aiden to have a dad, I want the new baby to have one, and I want a partner, so I don't have to do this alone." She looked at Sam seriously. "That being said, unless I find someone who wants to be with me, I am not gonna get the whole family vibe. Like this, this would be perfect." She gestured around the trail. "But it's not happening. So If all I can get out of this is a baby, then that is what I will take." She wanted more than anything for days like this, family walking together laughing; it would be easy to hold Sam's hand and pretend, but she wouldn't.

Sam scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, not sure how to react to all Mercedes just said. "I'm sure you'll meet someone that wants to be with you for all the right reasons one day, but yeah, that will take time. And if you really want a baby now, then a donor is your best option."

She sighed. "Yeah." She glanced at Aiden. "I may not be able to get everything I want, but I can do this. But you have to help me pick a donor; I could use the help."

"Who says you won't be able to get everything you want? Yeah, it will take time to find someone that wants to be with you and give you that family you so want, but in the end, that's the same for everybody that's looking for someone to spend their life with." Sam nodded. "I can totally do that. Set aside the ones that sound interesting to you, and I can look over whatever information you have about them."

She shrugged. "I am just not gonna focus on that. And focus on the things I am in control of. Looking for someone to spend your life with is too much a gamble." Especially when the only candidate in your life friend-zoned you. She thought to herself. She gave him a soft smile. "Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate that."

Sam looked at her, a frown on his face. "Never say never, love, find a way to sneak up on ya when you least expect it." He spotted the clearing he had in mind for their picnic and sharply whistled to get Banner's attention. "Break time," Sam called out to the boys. "So are you going for an anonymous donor, or do you have people in mind you might want to ask, so you at least know the person?"

She watched the boys running to keep up with Banner as they ran back to her and Sam. She didn't say anything because if it happened, great! If not, then she wouldn't get her hopes up. "I don't know. I mean, it's not like I can ask someone like you to be my baby daddy. That would make for an awkward conversation, and I would say we have had enough awkward times." Her mind went to when she tried to kiss him a few years back, and he firmly placed her in the friendzone.

"Why not? If you can't even ask one of your best friends something like that, who else would you ask. I'd need some time to seriously think about it and talk to Even and my folks if it ever came up because it's not a decision to take lightly tho." Especially since he hasn't even thought about having kids himself. Sam shrugged when Mercedes mentioned them having awkward times. He had a feeling that she meant the time when he friend-zoned her. Right when most people in town were convinced that they would end up together. Sam friend-zoned Mercedes because he couldn't give her what she wanted. He didn't feel the same as she did. "We managed to stay friends through it all, didn't we? And that's what matters most."

Mercedes spread out the blanket and sat down. "Sam, I wouldn't ask you that because I have never even heard you mention kids. Though you are great with them. I wouldn't ask you something this big and have you feel obligated to say yes." She sighed, wanting so much to push all her feelings for Sam away, but some lingered for sure. "Yeah, we remained friends, and I wouldn't want to lose that."

"Who says I'd feel obligated to say yes? I just told you that I would have to think about it and talk to my folks and Even about it before making any decision. So don't say I'd only say yes because I feel obligated to help out a friend." Sam sighed softly, letting his fingers run through his hair before he looked at Mercedes. "Look, this maybe isn't the time to talk about it; I mean, the boys are almost within hearing distance. If you want my help to find a suitable anonymous donor, I'm here for you. And it's up to you to make up your mind which of your friends you want to ask if you want the donor to be someone you know and who can maybe play a role in the baby's life. I think any of your friends would ask for time to think about things before agreeing to become your donor. It's not something you should rush into; that's all I'm saying. "

Mercedes nodded. "I know you better than that, Sam. I am just. I just wanted to get that out there. But you are right, how about we just table this, for now, you really have given me a lot to think about. And I do appreciate it." She watched as the boys came close. "For now, let's enjoy this beautiful day, which, thank you for doing this."

"If you really did know me better than that, then you'd know not to put words in my mouth or assume that I'd react one way or the other. You know I hate that." He gave her a slight smile. "No problem, it's my pleasure. I like spending time with you and Aiden and, of course, James as well."

She didn't look at him, sometimes she just said what she was thinking, it happened, but it was no point in dwelling on it. She nodded. "We like spending time with you and Banner, though pretty sure Banner is coming out on top right now."

"as usual, feeling the love," Sam chuckled as Banner sat in front of him. "I've got you, buddy," he said, opening one of Banner's backpacks and taking out some food and water for the dog. "It's a shame the weather is getting colder; else, we could do this more often."

Mercedes laughed, grabbing the wipes out for the boys to wipe their hands. "He's a dog, but trust when it's time to hear a story, they choose you." She nodded, looking around. "I know, but maybe there is some indoor thing we can do."

"We can always look into that climbing wall thing Billy is setting up," Sam suggested.

Mercedes smiled. "You know, Billy was saying he could set it up for Aiden's party; maybe we can check it out to see if it is something A and J like." She said, handing the boys their lunches. She reached in her bag and handed Sam his. "Made your favorite Sandwich and got your chips too."

"Yeah, we can do that.' Sam took the sandwich from Mercedes, setting it aside for a bit. "Thanks."

She looked at him. "Not hungry?"

"Uhh, oh no, I'll eat in a bit. Want something to drink first." Sam replied, digging up the bottle of water he brought with him.

She nodded, watching the boys laughing and whispering. She was glad James and Aiden got on so well; it would have sucked had they not. And it just made her want to give him some kind of sibling in the future.

Sam was actually enjoying the small hike and watching the boys play. It reminded him of the days where it was just Even and him running around all over their grandparent's farm. He finally took a bite from the sandwich. "This is good."

Mercedes offered him a small smile as she ate her own sandwich. "I know the boys are going to sleep very well tonight!"

"That's the outdoor air for ya; it totally has a relaxing effect," Sam told her. "Plus, by the time we're back, they'll have walked at least 3 miles. It's why I brought Banner along. If they get too tired, they can always climb on his back, and he'll walk them home."

She smiled. "I spent so much time on buses and in venues now I like to be outside as much as I can. Plus, it's a great way to keep Aiden entertained." At his words, she looked to Banner relaxing on the ground. "Thanks for that. I am sure at least one of them will need it."

"and that's why hiking would be a good hobby to have," Sam told her. He chuckled softly as his eyes took in Banner. "He loves helping; it's like in his DNA or something."

Mercedes smiled. Staring at the scene before her. This was what she wanted; she knew Sam just saw her as his friend. And she was okay with that on most days... But moments like these, she wished for more. Wished she could lean on him watching the boys talk and chat. Hold his hand. And that brought a look of sadness on her face for the briefest of moments.

#text #para #samcedes para #hiking fun

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walkerwords · 4 years

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“She Keeps Me Warm” F!Reader x Tara Chambler

Summary: You had lived in Alexandria for about six months when Rick’s group arrived. The first time you meet Tara, she is everything and more. When she offers to help you search for you father who had gone missing months before, you take her up on the offer, making some new friends along the way and maybe even finding your person in the new horrible world.

Word Count: 6948

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “She Keeps Me Warm” by Mary Lambert

Note: I don’t know why I am suddenly awful at summaries, but there you go. Essentially, I just love Tara so much and wanted to write an imagine with her. I miss her so much! I am in the process of filling another request but I wanted to post this one first. Love ya. ALSO let me know if you want to be added to my main taglist for all my stories!

-----

It had been nearly a week since you had been home.

You knew it was reckless and selfish for you to be away for so long without checking in, but any time you thought about going home, your father’s face would flash in your mind and you would tell yourself just one more day. However, as per usual, the world caught up with you and after taking a rather nasty fall and twisting your ankle, you decided to head home to Alexandria.

You could already imagine the look on both Aaron and Enid’s faces. It would most likely be a mixture of worry and disappointment. You weren’t sure how Enid was always able to say so much with just a single look. Perhaps it was all the time she spent on her own, just trying to survive. Whatever it was, you admired her even more because of it.

When you and your father had shown up at Alexandria with Aaron around six months before, you noticed that Enid was always alone. When you had asked Aaron about the teenager, he had explained that she had been alone when she came to the gates and that all she had said was that both of her parents had been killed by the Dead. You could empathize with her as you had lost your mother and brother at the start of it all. Then when your father disappeared, it had only tightened the bond between you and the girl. She was like the little sister you never had and you would die for each other.

As the gates of your home came into view, you breathed a sigh of relief. While you wanted to keep searching for your father, your bed and a hot shower were calling your name. As you rolled to a stop outside the gates, you honked twice, leaning out the window.

“Open the gate, morons!” you called. The disgruntled face of Nicholas appeared as he slid open the fence. You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes. The two of you had never gotten along and you really disliked the guy. He acted as if he was invincible to the new world, but you knew that if he was ever faced with a herd of the Dead, he’d turn tail and run. Pulling your car into Alexandria, you shut off the engine and climbed out. Nicholas closed the gate behind, latching it shut. “What’s new, Nick?” you asked, leaning against the back of the car.

“Aaron brought new people in,” he grumbled.

“And let me guess, ya don’t like them?” you said, already knowing the answer. Nicholas was never happy when people “invaded” his home. It was most definitely the reason he didn’t like you.

“They’re arrogant and proud and the leader is some kind of psychopath,” he spat. You considered his words, trying to imagine his face as this new group strutted through the streets of ASZ.

“They sound like my kind of people,” you grinned and he huffed, storming past you. Your eyes followed him, trying not to laugh at his immature nature when you spotted someone running towards you. You smiled even wider as Enid came jogging down the street. Her boots pounded against the pavement, her hair flew back behind her. Reaching you, she tossed her arms around you and you held her close, trying not to fall over. “Woah, easy there En, I’m operating on half a leg,” you joked.

Enid pulled back immediately, scanning you for your injury. “What’s wrong?” she asked, worried. You gripped her shoulder reassuringly.

“Just a twisted ankle. I’m all good. Few days of rest and I’ll be back one hundred percent,” you promised. Enid gave you a small smile as she relaxed. “Grab that other bag in the back, will you?” Enid nodded and went to fetch the backpack you had loaded up with some new clothes for the both of you. You weren’t looking for supplies, but when you came across an abandoned boutique, you couldn’t help but pick up some jeans, socks, etc for your communal closet back at home.

You hiked your own bag up onto your shoulder and then Enid was there, offering her arm as support. You gratefully slung your arm around her shoulders as you limped up the street. Enid looked at your shirt that was splashed with dark blood and wrinkled her nose. “Rough couple of days?” she asked.

“No more than usual,” you said, shrugging off your appearance. “I heard about the new people. Anyone interesting?”

“Haven’t really paid them any attention,” Enid said, looking at the ground.

“Meaning you’ve observed them from afar and you don’t trust them,” you said, easily seeing through her facade.

“They have a baby,” she said, looking back up at you, “and some of them seem nice, but I don’t know.”

“Well, Nicholas looked less than thrilled.”

“Not really surprising,” Enid scoffed. She hated Nicholas as much as you did, but she wasn’t as vocal about it as you. The two of you headed up the road, passing a few of the neighbors here and there. Since arriving, they hadn’t completely warmed up to you, but you weren’t a neighborly person before the Apocalypse and you weren’t going to start now. As you and Enid slowly made your way towards the center of town, you could see some of the new people. There were about seven of them milling around the gazebo talking to the Monroes. Deanna was explaining something to who you figured was the leader based on his stance and the way he stood at the head of his group. Aidan was by his mother’s side and Spencer looked as if he was trying to get the attention of one of the women, a pretty brunette who looked as if she’d rather lay in a pile of Dead than speak to him.

As soon as you were in his sights, however, Spencer pushed away from the woman and walked toward you, his arms spread wide. “Well be still my heart, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has returned to us!” he bellowed, strutting towards you.

“Gross,” Enid muttered under her breath and you had to bite your cheeks to keep from laughing. Spencer stopped in front of you and beamed down at you.

“Spencer,” you greeted.

“What’s wrong, you hurt?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Monroe. Enid makes a pretty great crutch,” you joked. Spencer laughed, earning a glare from the teenager at your side. He coughed awkwardly.

“If you need help, I could give you a lift home,” he said wagging his brows. Enid gagged and then started to pull you away from him.

“I think we got it from here!” You called over your shoulder at him. This time you did laugh, unable to keep a straight face anymore. “That is why we don’t have friends,” you whispered to Enid.

“We have Aaron,” she pointed out.

“This is true,” you agreed, pulling her tighter against you. As you passed Deanna, you gave her a salute. She then ushered you towards her and you begrudgingly nudged Enid over to your leader.

“(Y/N)!” Deanna greeted, “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too,” you said as you tried to keep the weight off your bad ankle. Enid stood next to you quiet as a mouse and you squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, knowing how uncomfortable she was in social situations.

“This is Rick Grimes,” Deanna continued, gesturing to the man in front of her. “He and his family came here a couple of days ago. They’re actually staying in the house across from yours.” She then turned to Rick, “(Y/N) is one of our best fighters and helps keep this place safe.” Rick reached out to take your hand and you met him halfway. When you let go, you glanced down at your red smeared palm.

“Sorry about that,” you said sheepishly as you wiped the dried blood on your jeans, “I think that was from either an accountant or a really bad dressed lawyer.” A laugh came from behind Rick at your joke and you saw a very pretty brunette woman. Her dark eyes met yours and she awkwardly smiled at you.

“Sorry,” she said to Rick, “it was funny.” Rick shook his head at his friend, clearly amused. “I’m Tara,” she said with a small wave.

“Hey,” you greeted with a smile of your own. Turning your attention back to Rick, you grabbed your backpack strap tightly. “I’d love to talk more, but if I don’t get off this ankle soon, I’m going down and taking Enid here with me.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Rick said and you nodded to him. Enid, gripped you tight and started to pull you towards home.

“Bye!” Tara said as you walked away. You shot her another smile over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

“I like that one,” you said to Enid who just rolled her eyes.

------

As Rick and the others watched you and Enid leave, Aaron jogged up to the group.

“I just made a complete fool of myself, didn’t I?” Tara asked Abraham who clapped her on the shoulder.

“Seems that way, sugar plum!” Abraham said. Tara hid her face in her hands while Glenn patted her back in solidarity.

“Was that (Y/N)?” Aaron asked, looking up the street.

“She just got back,” Aidan told him.

“How long has she been here?” Michonne asked Deanna.

“What would you say, Aaron? Six months or so?” Deanna asked, turning to Aaron who turned his attention back to the people before him.

“Yeah, I brought her and her father here after that big wind storm,” Aaron said, nodding.

“Her father is here too?” Tara asked and then the Monroes and Aaron got quiet. “What?”

“He’s missing,” Aaron explained. “He went outside the walls about a month after they got here and then just never came back. That’s why (Y/N) goes out there so much. She’s looking for him.”

“He was a cop,” Spencer added, leaning against a lamppost. “She found his shield not that long ago, but that’s all the evidence we’ve seen.”

“Didn’t nobody help her look?” Daryl asked, sizing up the older Monroe brother.

“We did,” Spencer shot back. “But we can’t chase ghosts forever.” Aaron then shot an annoyed look at Spencer and Rick caught it immediately.

“(Y/N) has been nothing but an asset to Alexandria since she got here,” Aaron defended. “She has saved your life twice, Spencer, not to mention how she puts everyone else before her, especially Enid.”

“Enid’s the girl?” Michonne asked, remembering Carl mentioning her at some point. Aaron nodded.

“Enid wouldn’t talk to anyone after she got here. The girl had just lost her parents and it was hard even getting her to eat some days. Then (Y/N) had shown up and those two bonded immediately. They’re like sisters now.”

“Aaron,” Deanna interjected, “nobody is saying she isn’t important, but you know we all worry about her.”

“And you also know that until she finds him or a body, she’s not going to stop,” Aaron said before turning away and walking up the street towards your house.

“Aaron is very protective of them both,” Aidan explained. Rick nodded, understanding immediately. You and Enid were his family.

———

By the time the sun set, you couldn’t take being on the couch anymore.

Enid had gone off to do whatever she did when she disappeared either between the houses or beyond the walls. You had been worried about her at first, but soon learned to trust her to keep herself safe. You figured if she had survived all that time alone without any issues, she could handle it just fine in the surrounding woods. The only rule you had was that she had to tell you she was leaving and then get within your sights when she came back so you knew not to go trekking through the woods to find her.

Looking around the living room, you began to get annoyed with the vacant walls and pushed yourself to your feet. Shoving your feet back into your boots, you headed to the garage. You could already hear Enid’s chastising voice in your head as you ignored her earlier command of staying off your feet for the rest of the day.

However, boredom was not something you coped with well. Pulling up the large garage door, you clicked on the light switch and began sorting through all of your supplies. Anytime you came home with food, medicine, or essentials, you always put it in the communal storage, but anything else you found that wasn’t necessarily vital to the survival of Alexandria, you kept it in the garage.

It was mostly things you found on your way out of a place. Old records, obsolete technology, books, or even parts for cars, bikes, etc. It was like having your own thrift shop in your house and the miscellaneous items always gave you a bit of comfort. You figured it was because they all reminded you of how things used to be.

You were sorting through an old box of punk albums when you heard a knock against the side of the garage door. You turned to see Tara standing there, a small smile on her face.

“Hi,” you greeted, setting down the record in your hands. Tara clasped her hands together, gently rocking back on her heels.

“Hi, back,” she said and then cringed at her own words causing you to laugh.

“I’d offer you a beer but I think all we have is half-empty water bottles,” you said, leaning against the workbench. Tara chuckled and then began walking around the garage, looking at everything you had collected.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tara said, gesturing to your task. You waved her off.

“Ah, I was just trying to keep my hands busy,” you said, “Couldn’t take any more of my walls staring back at me as I did nothing.”

“How’s your foot?” Tara asked, gesturing to the bandage peeking out the top of your boot. Enid had expertly wrapped it for you when you had gotten home.

“Bit sore, but I’ve had worse, you know?” She nodded. “And what about you?”

“Me? My foot’s fine,” Tara said, confused. You laughed again and she blushed slightly. You couldn’t help the thrill that went through you at the thought that you made this beautiful woman blush.

“I meant, how are you doing here?” You clarified, gesturing around. “How are you settling in?”

“Oh!” Tara exclaimed, “Yeah, it’s a bit of an adjustment. We were on the road for so long and I don’t know, this is all very alien. Though, it is nice not to be looking over your shoulder every few seconds to make sure there aren’t any Walkers nearby.”

“Walkers? Is that what you call them?” You asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, well, that’s what the others called them when I met them and it just sort of stuck.”

“I suppose it’s a lot easier than saying Dead people or those things,” you said with a chuckle. “Walkers. I like it.” You both were quiet after that and then you coughed awkwardly as she stared at you. “Uh, Enid, she said you had a baby with you guys, how’s she or he doing?” Tara brightened at the mention of the child.

“She’s great! Healthy as ever,” Tara said. “Her name is Judith, she’s Rick’s kid, well his other kid. There’s Carl too.”

“Two kids?”

“Technically three with Noah, but he’s not a Grimes. He’s just a teenager we met in Atlanta a couple of weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a couple of weeks,” you said, hopping up onto the table, crossing your ankles. Tara sighed as she walked over and leaned against the table next to you.

“You have no idea…” she said, her eyes a bit far away. “Any advice for livin’ here?” Tara asked, returning her attention to you.

“Stay away from Spencer?” You offered, causing her to laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s not my type,” said Tara.

“Good to know,” you said, staring down at your boots with a small smile.

-----

Once the two of you had gotten over the initial awkwardness, you found that you loved talking to Tara. She was kind, funny, and she always said what was on her mind. She had tried to walk back on some of the things she had said, but you encouraged her to never apologize for speaking her mind.

Along with Tara, you had begun speaking with the other members of her group. Glenn was the first person to reach out and start a conversation. You had been hanging out on your front steps when he had come out of the house across the street with his wife, Maggie, and introduced himself. Maggie was kind, but you had to admit that she intimidated you.

Then there was Michonne who had approached you about security measures. Deanna had made her and Rick constables for Alexandria. You weren’t sure why ASZ needed cops. It wasn’t as if any of the residents actually understood how the new world worked. You had explained that to Michonne, telling her that if the community was going to survive, then it’s original members needed to learn how it worked outside of the gates as well as in and breaking up petty fights and disagreements, wasn’t going to help their survival skills. She said she would take your advice to Rick and that was that.

The only other member of Grimes’ group you had somewhat of a conversation with was the hunter, Daryl. You hadn’t meant to talk to him, but Aaron and Eric had invited him over to their house to work on the motorcycle that had sat undisturbed since before the Turn. You had tried to figure out a way to fix the damn thing, but mechanics weren’t your thing. However, Daryl Dixon was all over it. He looked at the bike like it was the Holy Grail.

You had gone over to Aaron’s place in search of liquor when you found the redneck in the garage crouched down by the bike. “Finally,” you said, walking down the steps, getting his attention, “I was wonderin’ when someone was going to give that thing some love.” Daryl looked at you confused. “I’m (Y/N),” you said.

“I know,” he responded. “Aaron’s friend.”

“Is that what people call me?” you laughed making your way over to the cabinet at the other end of the garage.

“I don’t think it was meant as an insult,” Daryl said, getting to his feet.

“Never said it was,” you said, throwing him a wink over your shoulder. You opened the cabinet and pulled out a tucked away bottle of whiskey. Aaron and you had stashed them throughout both of your houses in places that both Enid and Eric wouldn’t be able to find. It had sort of become your inside joke, but you were pretty sure Enid knew about your hiding spots.

Cracking the top, you took a long pull. You then offered the bottle to Daryl. He hesitated for a second before shrugging and taking the bottle from you. He took a single sip and then handed it back. Daryl went back to the bike and you hung out for a bit longer.

It took you a bit to get him to start talking, but when he did, he wanted to know about ASZ and if it was what it seemed. You explained that it was safe and as organized as it could be, but you made sure to tell him not to drop his guard. “Nothing lasts forever and nothing is perfect,” you said to him. He said he'd pass along the message to Rick and the others and then you left, leaving him to his bike, figuring you had bothered him enough.

———

The next time you got Tara alone, she was sitting on the steps of Rick’s house. You were coming back from the armory when you noticed her. Her focus was on her feet as she played with a stray piece of grass. She looked up when your boots entered her line of sight.

“Someone is thinking hard,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Not really,” she said, smiling at you.

“Want some company?” You asked and she slid over, offering you space next to her. “But really, what is going on in that head of yours?”

“Glenn got into with Aidan today,” she said and you nodded. You had heard the commotion earlier, but you figured you should stay out of it and went to help Jessie fix lunch for Sam. You weren’t really surprised though, Aidan was a hothead.

“What was the fight about?” You asked.

“Aidan is an idiot and Glenn called him out on it,” she said, looking towards the setting sun.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Let me guess, Aidan and Nicholas were playin’ with Walkers again.” Tara smiled at your use of the word “Walker” and then nodded.

“So, that wasn’t the first time?”

“Nah,” you shook your head, “Found those two idiots doing it a few months ago. Playing with it like it was some kind of animal. I shot it in the head before they could screw with it any further.” Your firsts curled in your lap as you remembered. “They’re not just some thing, you know? They used to be people and the best mercy we can give them is to put them down.”

“Your dad?” Tara asked, guessing where you head is at.

“He was a cop, you know? A detective.”

“Yeah, I heard that,” Tara whispered. “Rick was a cop too.” That made you laugh.

“I can see that,” you said, playing with your fingers. “I’m not delusional,” you told her, looking into her dark eyes, near pleading.

“I know,” she said.

“I know he’s probably dead, but I just want to find him if I can. I owe him that much. I just want you to know that I’m not holding out hope that he’s still alive out there.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Tara asked. You gave her a small smile and reached over and squeezed her arm.

“No, I guess not,” you whispered.

“Well, next time you go out to look for him, come knock on my door,” Tara said, placing her hand over yours.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said.

“I lost my dad too,” Tara explained, “and my sister and my niece. I know what it’s like to lose people, but I know what happened to them. You don’t know and you deserve answers.”

“Thank you, Tara,” you said and you couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your chest as she smiled at you. Her dark hair blew in the slight breeze and with the sun slowly setting over the trees, she looked incredible. At that moment there was really only one thing you wanted to do, but of course, the universe had other plans.

Enid came jogging down the street and the look on her face was enough for you to pull your hand away from Tara. “En?” You called. She looked at you and the stress on her face had you turning to Tara.

“Go,” she simply said with a wink. You placed your hand on her shoulder quickly before crossing the street to Enid. You approached her and it looked as if she wanted to either punch something or lay in bed for a week.

“Let me guess,” you said, “Ron?” Enid just nodded and you took her by the arm and led her inside, ready to listen to her teenage drama and if needed, tear a strip off a teenage boy.

———

It was a couple of weeks before you took Tara up on her offer to accompany you outside the walls.

Enid was going with you this time as well. She had been trying to convince you to take her on your searches for months now. It was only after she made her case that she would just follow you anyways that you decided to let her tag along. When you two went to meet Tara, she wasn’t alone at the gate. Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne were all geared up as well.

“Are we havin’ a party?” you asked, approaching Tara. She smiled sheepishly.

“They wanted to help and I figured more sets of eyes are better than just three,” Tara said. “You don’t mind, do you?” Tara was looking at you with worry, afraid she had overstepped, but you were touched by the sentiment. Leaning forward, you kissed her on the cheek quickly.

“Not at all,” you said with a grin and moved past her to go open the gate. Glenn bit his lip to stop himself from laughing at the pure shock that had taken over Tara’s face. As Daryl went to get on his bike, the rest of you headed for one of the larger cars. You were going out a bit further this time. Closer to where your father had first disappeared.

You had been staying closer to ASZ in your search. If something had happened to him, you figured it was on the way back home and that you’d come across him, but so far there hadn’t been a sighting. “There’s a shopping complex about an hour North,” you said to Daryl who was going to lead on his bike. “It’s a straight shot up the freeway and turn off on exit 7B. The sign should still be there.”

“Alright, just hit the horn if ya need somethin’,” Daryl said as he straddled the motorcycle. He offered his fist and you tapped yours to it.

“Let’s get going before Spencer decides to show up,” you said, ushering everyone into the car. Daryl revved his bike and rolled out of Alexandria. You started the engine and the rest of you followed, waving to Eugene who was waiting to shut the gate behind you.

The ride was silent at first. Enid sat next to you in the passenger seat, reading one of her comics. Tara sat in the back between Glenn and Michonne, kicking her feet up on the center console. It was like a really weird scene out of a road trip movie. After a few more miles, Glenn started to ask questions.

“So what is up with that Spencer guy?” he asked, leaning forward.

“He’s annoying,” Enid commented.

“True,” you said, agreeing. “I don’t know, Glenn, he’s just the kind of guy that is used to getting everything? I guess the end of the world just made that impossible. Typical trust fund boy unable to be better than everyone else.”

“If he’s anything like his brother then he’s not going to last long,” Glenn said.

“At least Aidan is man enough to leave Alexandria. Spencer rarely leaves and when he does, I don’t think he’s ever fired his weapon, let alone killed Walkers,” you explained.

“He afraid?” Michonne asked.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “Though, to be honest, I don’t know him all that well.”

“(Y/N) mostly avoids him,” added Enid. You nodded in agreement.

“Also true.”

“And Deanna has been in charge the whole time?” Tara asked.

“Yeah as far as I know,” you nodded to her in the rearview mirror. “I think people just like to feel some sense of normalcy, you know?”

“Nothin’ normal about the world now,” Tara said.

“Don’t I know it,” you said, bumping her foot with your elbow playfully.

“Where were you before Alexandria?” Glenn asked.

“Here and there,” you said, “We moved around a lot. Never trusted people and it was always our luck that Walkers felt the need to herd up near us. I think the longest place we stayed in was an old movie theater just outside of Augusta. We were with a small group of people for a bit before we had to move on.” You could remember the look on your dad’s face when you had found that particular safe haven. He had thought it was a sign because of all the times you two had enjoyed going to the movies together. It was one of the last places you felt safe before Alexandria.

“Didn’t you sleep in the Aquarium?” Enid asked and you started laughing.

“That I did, En,” you said, remembering that particular night. “Word of advice my new friends, when the world goes to shit nobody is there to feed the animals and the tanks smell worse than an entire herd of Walkers.” Glenn howled in laughter at that while Michonne looked a little sick.

The rest of the ride to the shopping center was surprisingly pleasant. Even Enid was joining in on the random chatter that was going on in the car. As you drove, you kept your eye on Daryl ahead of you, easily maneuvering the broken up roads. You couldn’t believe that a bunch of strangers were willing to help you look for your father. It had been months of searching and you weren’t even sure if he was out there walking around. He could have easily fallen victim to the Walkers themselves. The thought that you were only going to find pieces of him made you feel sick.

Gripping the wheel tighter, you focused on the tail light of the motorcycle and just kept going.

------

Arriving at the shopping mall, Daryl suggested you all stay together.

Considering you didn’t want to be alone in the first place, you easily agreed. Walking through the many stores, you all took out Walkers that stumbled towards you. It was becoming routine to kill the monsters and it was as if your group was running on autopilot. Daryl always kept his bow loaded and Michonne kept her hand on her sword at all times.

You made sure to keep Enid close to you and if it bothered her, she didn’t say anything. If anything were to happen to her, you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. She was the only family you had right now and you were determined to keep her alive at any cost.

About halfway through the mall, you were getting more frustrated. Blood was splashed over everything and you knew that something horrible had happened in the mall at the beginning of the Turn. You could easily imagine the screams and all of the people running as Walkers converged on the building. It must have been something akin to a horror film, you figured.

Leaning against the railing of the second floor, you looked down towards an old sporting goods shop. With the smashed windows and blood trails, you knew it was probably one of the first places hit. Hell, even you and your dad had raided multiple shops on your way through Georgia. That thought alone made you straighten up.

Pulling your gun from your holster, you headed for the escalator. “(Y/N)?” Enid called, but you ignored her, nearly jogging towards the metal staircase. You could hear the others following you, but you kept moving. Slipping over fresh blood and the occasional body part lodged in the mechanisms, you flew down the escalator.

Approaching the sporting goods shop, you froze, staring at the entrance. Someone had barricaded the main doors with displays and random pieces of furniture. The way the chairs were stacked and how the tables were resting so the legs were faced outwards told you everything.

Your dad had been the one to set this up.

Emotions overtook you as you rushed forward, pulling at the barricade, your hands manic, and your breathing hard. More sets of hands joined you in dismantling the barrier. You kicked out at the different supports and finally made a hole big enough to fit through. You wasted no time in squeezing through and raising your weapon. Enid followed you with the others right behind. Walking through the aisles, you kept your gun handy, ready to fire on anything that came at you.

You could hear Daryl knocking his knife against the wall trying to draw any Walkers out, but all remained silent. That is until you reached the back of the store. It was quiet at first. It almost sounded like it was farther away, but as you moved closer, the groaning noise increased. A part of you wanted to turn and run and not look at whatever was behind the fishing rod display. However, you knew that if you didn’t look, you would never get the sound of the groaning out of your head.

You slowly handed your pistol to Enid and unsheathed your blade. It felt as if your feet were made of lead as you crept towards the noise. Keeping your breathing steady, you stepped around the broken display.

Your heart dropped out of your chest and your knees buckled at the sight. “No…” you gasped as your knees hit the floor. Sitting before you, half chained to multiple chairs with clouded eyes and a snapping jaw was your father. A sob escaped your throat as he struggled against his restraints. Based on how he was chained, you knew he had done it himself. Looking closer you could just make out a deep bite mark on the side of his neck. “Dad…” you whispered, reaching for him.

“Careful, (Y/N),” Glenn whispered behind you. You pulled your hand away and then dug into the pocket of your jacket, producing a detective’s shield on a chain.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” you said, letting the tears flow more. You moved closer to him, keeping an eye on his gnarled fingers that pawed at your clothing. You raised your knife and tried to see any of the colors in his long-dead eyes, but all that stared back at you were two empty white irises. He reached for you again and you shoved him back, trying not to think about his crumbling skin under your hands. “I’m okay, Dad,” you told him. “I have a new family now and remember Enid? She’s my person now, you know? We’re looking out for each other. I promise.” Your tears dripped onto his body as you held him back. “You can go be with Mom now and Tyler, they need you more. I love you so much.”

Lifting the knife above your head, you let yourself look at him once more before plunging it down into his brain. He went limp immediately in your arms. Removing the blade, you then took the shield and looped it around his neck. “I’m gonna be okay,” you whispered and then fell forward, sobbing. Enid was there in a second, wrapping her arms around your back and holding tight. All you could hear was your own crying and Enid’s soothing voice.

You stayed like that for many moments, trying to grasp what was happening. You finally looked up as Daryl came toward you with a tarp in his hands. “We can bring him back,” Daryl said, kneeling down to your level. “Bury him properly.” You nodded, unable to speak. Daryl then gestured to the others and Tara was at your side helping Enid get you to your feet as Glenn, Michonne, and Daryl unchained your father’s body and wrapped him in the makeshift shroud.

You watched as Daryl and Glenn lifted your father’s body from the ground and carried him from the store. Michonne followed, carrying the crossbow and her sword. Enid and Tara never let you go as you followed them. You didn’t even remember getting back to the car. You could hear Daryl starting his bike as the body was loaded into the trunk. You sat between Enid and Tara in the backseat while Glenn drove with Michonne in the passenger seat. Enid held your hand all the way home, but you could feel Tara leaning into you as well. Halfway home, your other hand found hers and she gripped yours tight. You were right, you had found your new family.

-----

When you returned to Alexandria, your mood was soured further as Spencer was the one to open the gate.

“You need to tell people when you leave, (Y/N),” he said as you followed Enid out of the car.

“Back off, Monroe,” Glenn said, pushing past him towards the back of the car. Spencer then noticed how you looked nearly dead on your feet.

“What happened?” he asked, but became completely silent as he watched Daryl and Glenn haul the body from the trunk. “Oh.”

“Where’s Aaron?’ you whispered, keeping your eyes lowered.

“Home, I think,” Spencer said. You nodded and moved past him. When Enid tried to follow you, you put out your hand.

“I just need to see him alone, okay,” you said and she nodded, stepping back. You didn’t say anything further as you headed towards Aaron’s house. On the walk over, you couldn’t shake the images out of your head. Walkers were not a rare thing. You saw them every time you left Alexandria, but you had never seen someone you knew turn. At least not anybody close. The fact that he chained himself up to keep from hurting people hurt even worse. Even in death, your father was trying to be a hero.

Arriving at Aaron’s, you climbed the steps and didn’t bother knocking. You moved through the house, finding him sitting on the couch in the living room. Eric was nowhere to be found. “Hey, you,” Aaron greeted, looking up from his book. He then saw the tears on your face and tossed the book aside. “What happened?”

“He’s gone,” you choked out and then fell into the spot next to him on the couch.

“Oh, honey,” Aaron whispered as you lay down, your head resting in his lap. You cried as he smoothed his hands over your hair.

“We brought him home,” you whispered. Aaron, gripped you tight as he mourned the man as well. He had immediately liked your father and the two of them had instantly fallen into comfortable conversations when Aaron had brought you back all those months ago. “We’re gonna bury him inside the walls.”

“I think that will be nice,” Aaron said. “Maybe we can ask Father Gabriel to say something. You mentioned your dad was really religious, right?” you nodded. “And I can as Rick to help with a small funeral.”

“Rick?” you asked, confused.

“Well, he was a cop so he knows how funerals for law enforcement work,” Aaron explained.

“Dad wasn’t really a detective anymore,” you whispered.

“Still, he deserves to have a funeral. You do so much for this place, (Y/N), let us do this for you. For both of you.” You nodded and then held him closer as the emotional fatigue finally took you over. It wasn’t long before you slipped into the darkness and fell asleep, dreaming of the good days with your dad.

----

It was night by the time you woke up.

Eric had lightly shaken you awake, mentioning Enid had been looking for you. He had kissed your cheek and told you he’d look after Aaron as always and then offered you his condolences. You hugged him and then headed home. After sleeping and your talk with Aaron, you were feeling a bit better, but you knew it was going to take some time. However, you were grateful that you had finally found him and gotten the answers you craved so much.

If there was anything good to come out of all this, it was the knowledge that he was finally at rest and you didn’t need to worry anymore. That thought alone made you take a deep breath and tilt your head to the sky, feeling the cool air. It smelled like it was going to rain soon.

As you approached your home, someone was waiting for you on the porch. More tension exited your body as you saw that it was Tara. “Hi,” she said softly. You joined her on the steps and smiled to yourself as this began to be a regular thing. “How are you doing? Or is that a stupid question?”

“I’m...managing,” you said. “I guess all the emotions took me by surprise. Maybe because I never expected to actually find him.”

“I’m sorry you had to find him like that,” Tara said.

“New normal, right?” you asked, wiping at your tears that never seemed to stop.

“I wish it didn’t have to be,” said Tara. You turned to look at her and in the moonlight, she looked...ethereal. Reaching up, you tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, letting your fingers linger on her skin.

“Thank you for being with me today. Meant a lot,” you said. Tara reached up and took your hand in hers, folding it between both of hers. She then raised your hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. You sighed at the contact.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she whispered, looking into your (Y/E/C) eyes, and then she seemed timid.

“You are really something else, Tara Chambler,” you said, leaning in towards her. Tara met you halfway and as you pressed your lips to hers, warmth spread from your head to your toes. The kiss was quick, but it felt right. Pulling back you smiled at her softly. Tara wrapped her arm around your shoulder and you fell into her embrace. Tara ran her hand over your arm as she held you.

At that moment as you mourned your father, you found something full of light to hold onto amidst all of the darkness and she was so beautiful.

TAGS: @thanossexual

#tara chambler imagine #tara chambler #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead imagines #twd imagines #twd season 5 #reader #reader insert #Daryl Dixon #Michonne #Glenn Rhee #enid twd #Aaron #walkerwords

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ohpretty-baby · 4 years

Note

oh my gosh. my babysitter's a quarterback was the best thing i've ever read. i need more athlete!jungkook and also maybe the classic nerd!y/n. ty ty

hi darling! i’m sosososo happy that you enjoyed mbaq!! thank you so much for reading it 🥺🥺 athlete!jungkook is quite a beauty.

here’s a little drabble for you as i’m working on a few more fics that aren’t really high school au’s, so i hope you enjoy! <3

it’s nice to write things that are a little more lighthearted shhdhshsh

901 words

a frown is painted on your face as you try to hide yourself under jungkook’s gaze, the embarrassment of it all being too much to handle.

if only you hadn’t dropped your stupid love letter before you left your 7th hour to go to your locker. if only taehyung, jungkook’s best friend and the person sitting next to you in that class, hadn’t seen the big “jungkook” scrawled in black ink on the pink envelope and picked it up with a mischievous grin on his face.

if only he hadn’t given it to jungkook, ruining what little dignity you had in front of your crush.

now jungkook stands before your locker door, forcing you to block out the distracting mess of students trying to pack up their things and leave the school building. you also ignore the strange looks jungkook’s friends are giving you, as it’s certainly weird to see someone like him talking to someone as “insignificant” as you.

he holds up the (now open) pink envelope, his free hand shoved in his pocket, as he stares at you. you can hear the excited, hushed whispers of the people around you as both you and them get ready to hear his rejection of your feelings.

“you, uh,” he starts, “you sure have got a way with words…”

he seems hesitant to speak, eyes not meeting yours. you feel your heart skip a beat, but not in the way you’d like. this wasn’t jungkook’s usual behavior.

instead of jungkook being the confident and direct person, now it’s you.

you had rehearsed this once you noticed the letter was missing from your backpack.

now it was time to bring it to life.

“listen, i really didn’t mean for you to see that,” you close the door in an attempt to seem level headed, but your clammy palms say otherwise, “it was stupid of me to even bring that to school, and you can make fun of me for it. it’s ok.”

you can still feel his friends eyes on you, and you wish they would just piss off and ask about him later. or at least if they could just be a little more subtle about it.

jungkook is still silent, visibly deflated by your words.

“can i have it back now?” you twiddle your thumbs against the straps of your backpack as you speak, “i can throw it away or something, so you can give it back now.”

you reach up to grab it, but a smile quickly spreads on jungkook’s face when he raises his arm up, forcing you to jump so you can reach it. your efforts are futile, however, as jungkook knows a thing or two about reflexes and dodging opponents.

after a few pathetic seconds of you pleading with jungkook to give it back and him being amused by how you just barely reach the envelope everytime you jump, you give up, a soft groan falling from your lips as you hang your head in shame.

this was the last you could handle of jungkook’s neverending teasing.

“jungkook, please,” you stomp your foot on the ground instinctively, “can i just have it back?”

“what if i wanna keep it?”

“w-what.”

“what if i like it?” he asks, tilting his head to the right, “what if i wanna have it?”

“jungkook, what-“

“would you be mad at me? if i kept it?” he continues, his questions getting on your nerves.

“why would you want to keep it?” you roll your eyes, reaching out for it again, “jungkook this is stupid, just give it back-“

“ah, ah, ah,” he wags a finger at you, “you didn’t answer my question.”

“which one?” you deadpan.

“what if i kept it?”

“i’d be embarrassed.”

“why would you be embarrassed?”

“because…?” you say, “that’s my letter?”

“but it’s addressed to me, see? jungkook,” he traces under the name.

“yes, but i wrote that.”

“well it’s for me.”

“i didn’t want you to see it.”

“that’s adorable.”

“no it’s not.”

“yes it is.”

“oh my-“ you almost tear out your hair, “jungkook, please.”

“no.”

“why not?”

“because i like it.”

his words blindsight you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. your hands become even clammier, and you’re certain that you’d be able to fill a whole glass with just the sweat of your hands alone. the confidence now reappears in jungkook, a bright, goofy grin plastered onto his face.

“what does that mean?”

“you really don’t get out much, do you, sweetheart?”

“i’m not-“

“it means i like you, dummie,” he shakes his head, and despite his words there’s nothing but endearment in his eyes, “i like you a lot, too.”

“huh?”

“you want me to say that again? want me to declare it to the whole world?” he sighs, the smile still present on his face as he raises his hands to his mouth so he can further project his voice, “everyone! i-“

your next words come out like lightning.

“ok, jungkook you can keep the letter, i’m gonna go home now! ok, see you later!” you squeak out, running away from him and briskly pushing past everyone so you can make it to the door.

with that, jungkook is left by himself, laughter bubbling from his lips as he holds the letter close to him, and he makes a mental note to text you right after practice is done.

(sorry lolz this was really cheesy i couldn’t help it!)

#bts drabble #bts fluff #bts jungkook fluff #bts jungkook fanfiction #baby drabbles <3 #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #i miss doing drabbles #asks #anon

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borkthemork · 4 years

Text

Comfort - Kaiju AU Fanfic

Summary: Connie wanted a moment to study at the Temple, and found a friend to pass the time.

Fanfic based off @reverse-monster-buddies!

Word Count: 2,696.

Reblogs are appreciated!

Ao3 Link

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Connie Maheswaran had work to do, a lot of it. It was the reason why she had counted her fingers on the bus, watched the horizon awaken through the windows, fog covering the corners of the panes. The morning was early, the skies painted in auburn amidst the blotched white clouds, and the silhouette of the town was prominent, the hallmark of it — the lighthouse on the massive green cliff — was a clear indicator that she was in the right place. The vehicle rumbled, shifting the backpack seated beside her a little. She had planned to stay in Beach City for a few hours. It felt weird to stay at home when the Maheswaran residence didn’t have anyone to occupy it except for her. Knowing her parents, they wouldn’t mind her being out and about on such a gorgeous day, welcomed by warm rays, beach sand between her toes, the secrets of this specific town hers and hers alone.

The rolled landscape from the glass started to slow down, and with it, Connie grabbed her backpack. The engine rumbled to a stutter as the town grew closer until, finally, they halted at the familiar stop.

The bus driver looked at her from his seat. He had a groomed mustache, hair grayed at the scalp, potbelly noticeable even with how far she was from the front. “Typical stop right, little lady?”

“Yep, right here.”

He nodded. Hisss went the door as it flung itself open. She stood up, grabbing her backpack before she forgot about it.

“Stay safe. Don’t want your parents to worry about ya’.”

“I’ll be careful, thank you, Mister Moriarty!”

He gave her a warm smile. “No problem Connie, have a great day.”

When Connie touched the ground she watched the bus drive off, seeing it recede into the size of a pinprick with the growing distance, and then into nothing when the first hillock swallowed its shape. Her eyes started to follow the horizon. She kneeled down to rummage through her belongings. Her laptop was nestled alongside the tied cables, a few thin textbooks bunched in with an Unfamiliar Familiar book. Everything looked to be in order, not a single item out of place. Connie zipped it back up. It was going to be a long day.

Connie made her way to Beach City. She held tightly to her backpack straps, not wanting to let go of the study materials inside. The buildings were covered in waking shadows, the streetlights beginning to flicker off with the rise of the sun. Connie didn’t have many friends in this town. She had always remained reclusive during her study sessions, where she read her books on the shores away from the bustling boardwalk or the shops nearby, hoping to be invisible from many who would possibly judge her or ask her questions. Lately, she had found herself leaning towards more secretive locations, away from the prying eyes of teenagers and adults, and she strode her way to the cliffside, following the crags that lined the beach.

There was the chain-link fence that lined from the ocean to the growing cliff face. On it were two signs, the typical ‘Keep Off Beach’ one would find authorized by police and the peculiar wooden plank with ‘Please’ written in thick black paint. She lugged her backpack over the fence and started to climb. Hidden below the lighthouse, away from the prying eyes of the Beach City residences, there was an opening into the cliffside. The entrance was bordered by delicate stone hands of a statued goddess, eyes void as it surveyed the ocean nearby. Crystals jutted from the rocks, a crystalline warp pad at the center of all this, the door encrusted with a bold yellow star — each gem on the tips of it signifying higher deities that humanity was probably not ready to behold. And somehow these beings, with more technological and physical advancement than the human race, allowed her into their ranks, to relax in their residence as if she was a hearty neighbor.

Connie spotted a few figures at one of the warp steps. A green gem with tufts of white hair was playing around with a twig in her hand. She noted the bundle of purple that wriggled and spun around the Crystal Gem with a yip. Spikes flowed down its back and head, eyes purple in a sea of inky black as it played around, following the direction of the gem’s hand.

“You want it, girl?” The gem cooed and watched the pup bark in glee, wagging its tail furiously. “You want to beat this poor stick up?”

An enthusiastic bark.

“Then here you go!”

She threw the stick out towards the beach, making eye-contact with Connie for a second while the beast sped past her. “Connie, hey!”

Connie walked over to them. “Hey, didn’t know I’d see you guys today.”

She noticed the purple creature come barreling back, its head whipping up at the sight of her. It dropped its stick and gave a joyous bark, bounding over to her without a moment's notice, licking her pant leg with the broad of its tongue.

Connie smiled and pet the corrupted gem’s head, feeling the critter’s scales at her fingertips. She knew who this was, no doubt about it. “Hey Kai, nice to see you!”

Kai nuzzled into her palm. She didn’t change one bit the last time Connie saw her — still happy and hyper as always.

“Connie, I didn’t expect you, at all,” Nephrite said. “Isn’t it six a.m. for you humans?”

“Were you expecting something more punctual?”

“A lil’.” Nephrite stood up from the steps and brushed the dirt off her jacket. For all Connie knew, Nephrite’s attire must’ve had a journey on its own from the scratches and loose ends from it; it wasn’t even hers, but something she found on her previous adventures. “But you’re Connie, you’re always going to surprise us somehow.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Like the time you found me reading behind the fence?”

“Yeah. You had a ‘follow the law’ aura goin’ on with you when I first found you. Didn’t expect to see you breaking one.”

“I wanted peace and quiet, so all I followed was my logic. The fence wasn’t even a certified one, so no law-breaking here.”

Nephrite snorted and ruffled her hair. “Attagirl.”

In their laughter, Connie peered at the cheeseburger backpack on Nephrite’s shoulders, noting how clunky and bulked it was. She raised an eyebrow. “Another mission?”

“A personal one,” she reassured. “Just need to check out something in The Great North.”

Connie went starry-eyed. “Oh! Like corrupted gem business?”

“Ehhh.” The gem shrugged. “Kinda. It’s dangerous though, Kai doesn’t like it when I go on this stuff without her.”

Kai whimpered in kind.

“See? Worries about me a lot. Been trying to get her to sleep or stay but she won’t budge.”

Connie smiled a little. With the current assignments she had, the idea of staying at the beach sounded better than being alone. Kai was like a puppy with the way she leaped at people and took comfort in the silence with them. Connie didn’t mind the idea of being next to her for a couple of hours. “I wouldn’t mind looking after her while you're gone.”

Nephrite’s fists tightened around her pack straps. “You’re serious?”

“Serious.”

She rubbed her chin for a second. “Alright then, I trust you. Kai’s food is in the fridge — just don’t feed her too many donuts or a stomach ache.”

“Wait, I thought you guys didn’t like to eat?”

“Some do. Amethyst does.” Nephrite shrugged. “Kai too apparently.”

After a few goodbyes, Connie and Kai watched the form of Nephrite dissipate in a pillar of light before it all died down back to sunrise yellow. Kai whined at the base of the warp pad, clawing at the facets in wait. Connie sat down near the steps and propped the laptop onto her lap. She clicked her tongue as the computer started up, smiling over at the small gem, who had her head cocked towards her in curiosity.

“Come here, girl. You like head scratches, right?”

The whine transformed into a happy yip.

Connie giggled. “Then come here!”

The hour went by without a hitch. Connie found herself relaxed into a studious rhythm, fingers occupied to the scales of her companion, who crooned next to her as Kai faded in and out from her naps. Connie would’ve found it relaxing if it weren’t for the algebra that plagued her screen, and how no matter how much she used the calculator extension — which promised accurate results, which was a big fucking lie! — the input stopped her with a huge ‘INVALID ANSWER’ box with each impatient mouse click. At this point she might as well throw the tech at a wall; she would have had a higher probability of it surviving than the garbage algorithm doing its work correctly.

Connie halted at the pressure at her leg.

She looked over to find Kai awake, pawing at her pants with wide, gleaming eyes. “Hey girl, you okay?”

Kai gave her a small bark.

“Are you antsy? Anxious? What’s on your mind right now?”

The gem kept her eyes on her and continued to bark at her for a few seconds before settling her head at the dip of the girl’s lap. Connie smiled to herself. Must be excited, but she didn’t know for sure.

“I guess you’re hyper. Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving for a while. I’ve been…”

Connie grimaced at her laptop screen. Even with the online assignments, a great deal of them had been hard to peruse and handle. She wasn’t the type to ditch or procrastinate, but the current circumstances of home left her to toil with the current workload, internet help limited to only her, a few website tutorials, and the math textbook.

“...Dealing with a lot of things, so you’ll have me three hours tops.”

Kai whined.

“Aw, I’m sorry girl, but three hours should be enough.”

Kai whined more.

“Hmm.” Connie frowned. “Are you sad about me leaving or is it something else?”

A bark.

“Oh jeez uh. One bark for leaving and two barks for something else.”

Two barks.

Wow. That actually worked. Connie placed the laptop aside and gazed at the puppy in front of her, who cocked her head again. “You’re smart, so I’m going to find a way to talk to you. I want to know why you’re upset.”

Kai kept going though. She started to bark more at her and nestled her head into Connie’s lap with a whimper. Connie had no clue why she was upset. Or even why Kai continued to act like this. Was this even a sign of being upset or is there something else entirely that she was missing?

Connie straightened her back. Kai still rested her head, now wagging her tail at her, Connie hearing it thump against the ground with dull thuds.

“Bark three times if you understand what I’m saying.”

Three barks.

“Bark twice if you’re upset and bark once if you aren't."

A single bark.

“One bark if it concerns the gems and two barks if it concerns me.”

Two.

Connie bit her lip. “So you’re worried about me.” She said it more to herself than anything, but the pup still responded in kind with an elated yip.

“You think I’m upset?”

Kai gazed at her, and yet it was enough for Connie to realize what was happening. The gem can feel how tense she was even with the relaxing crash of the waves, how her mind was scrambled with thoughts and too occupied to even focus on one thing. Kai whined and pressed her snout to her leg.

Connie rubbed her arm. “Okay, so you do.” She smiled softly at Kai, rubbing the gem’s head a bit. “It’s just me being frustrated over homework. You’d think first semester would be a breeze but I had the honor to get the work-extensive teachers, like, come on.”

She groaned, tensing up at how Kai whimpered next to her, swishing her tail more.

“What’s it like to be a corrupted gem, girl?”

A yip.

“I know you’re hyper all the time but it must be lonely from what Neph told me…”

Nephrite told Connie numerous times of corruption, of the bubbles detained and held in the core part of the Temple. She was never given a tour to the structure’s underbelly but Connie had heard of how frantic and scatter-minded prior gems became because of the war. Sensible warriors have worn down into flight-or-fight, and not one of them were able to be fixed and returned back to normal stasis. The idea of it made Connie’s skin crawl. If it was the same for the contained gems, then it must’ve been the same with Kai, who had proven to be smart like any other attentive being, but still brought to primal tendencies like a scared animal.

“It must be lonely to be in a world of strangers. It must be hard to even make friends.”

A confused yip.

The first time Nephrite told her of Kai, one detail stood out to her when it came to the way; the pup waddled around and growled at everything with incisors leaking of pink fluid, like the world was about to get her in any way she took. Nephrite spent hours trying to befriend and reassure the little creature that she was safe, and Connie couldn’t help but ponder how lonely Kai would’ve been if it weren’t for Nephrite’s compassion. If the gem didn't defend Kai against the remainder of the Crystal Gems then there was a huge chance they would've packed her back into a bubble, in a chamber that is full of her kind but yet so hollow and empty.

“You have freedom but you’re still trapped.”

Kai gazed at her, beady eyes taking in her face, at how she must’ve known how there was heat in corner of her eyes. Connie didn’t know why it was happening, all she knew was that she was thinking too much.

“And you’re limited no matter how much you try to make it better.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, this is getting to me. I’m supposed to be doing homework and here I am, crying about nothing.”

She hated crying. The feeling of it brought shame and left her disheveled in the aftermath every time, and it was hard to breathe when it happened. It struck hard even when she held her tongue and carried on, when she had a place to let go when her parents weren’t there to see her.

But the wet snout pressed to the base of her lap made her come back. Through the blur of her vision, Kai’s eyes were still fixed on her, big and round, a little yip building in her throat. Connie wiped the tears away. She was going to worry Kai too, and she didn’t want that.

“Sorry, I’m—”

What surprised her was the pressure that pounced on her and left her being tackled by the tiny gem, who was now licking at the excess salt, made her giggle at the onslaught against her face.

“Wait, haha stop!”

Another excited yip.

Kai lapped at her face, laughter filling the air as she endured the slobber on her nose. She felt lighter, a weight off her when the creature took great care at her tears. She’s going to have to get cleaned up later, but that’s okay. She needed a moment to breathe, to get away from the stress of daily life and the loneliness that accompanied it. Kai knew this, sensed it on her person, and took care to make her smile as a result.

When they settled down, Connie gave the creature a small boop on the muzzle. "I love you, Kai."

Kai responded like kind, pressing their snout to hers.

Connie embraced her in a tight hug and placed a kiss onto the gem's tiny forehead, the other licking her affectionately. Maybe...maybe it’s okay to not work on homework for a while. She needed a break.

#steven universe #su #suf #steven universe future #connie maheswaran #reverse monster buddies au #fanfic

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thirstyandbeautiful · 4 years

Text

lvl: the maybe after part nine: you find a restart button

-or- you try to get your professional life back on track (literally)

read part 8 here | masterlist

“Hey, you gonna wait for me?” Lance’s voice called from behind you.

“Keep up!” you yelled over your shoulder.

It was your first weekend back at a track, and your first weekend back at a track not as an FIA employee.

To say you were excited, was an understatement. You practically floated across the parking lot, the guest pass you had shining under the sun where it hung around your neck. You had some nervous energy too, but knew that there really was nothing to worry about. You were going to stay in the paddock, you wouldn’t give the FIA the courtesy of a friendly hello- no, you reveled in the idea of them finding out you were there and waiting the weekend for you to show up to kiss the ring.

Fuck them all.

You felt more powerful showing up as a WAG (you hated that word, but it was the truth now) than when you were an actual FIA employee.

“Babe,” Lance said breathlessly as his hand closed around your wrist. “never seen someone so excited to be back where they were let go.”

You hissed at his words, his face automatically going apologetic. He mumbled an apology and looked down. You swallowed down what you were feeling, you knew he didn’t mean it and you guys had just patched things up, there was no need for a small petty disagreement. You pulled your wrist from his grip before reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

Lance and you continued through the paddock silently, enjoying each other’s presence before a green clad man came running up to you.

“Lance, we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The man panted. “Did you just get here?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“We need you to come right now for an interview with SkySports, yours was moved up to first. We want to debrief first, you’ll have the interview and then straight into strategy.” The man spoke fast, emphasizing the lack of time they had.

“Go.” you told him gently, trying not to giggle at his annoyed expression while letting your fingers pull from his.

You lifted your hand to his face, cupping his cheek before popping up on your toes to give him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you after.”

And just like that, he was taking off after his rushing colleague, leaving you all alone in the paddock.

You took a deep breath, adjusting the straps of the mini backpack on your back. This isn’t new. You mustered the same confidence you had before, like muscle memory. You rolled your shoulders back and took a breath before continuing on your way, deciding you should take a little detour around and see who you run into. You hadn’t walked for another ten minutes before a familiar voice called you from behind.

“Hello, how are you?” The deep German accent never failed to make you smile.

“Hey, Toto.” You turned, giving him a look from under your eyelashes.

“I’m so glad to see you.” He told you, taking a sip of the coffee cup he had balanced in his hand.

“You know I’m always happy to see you.”

Toto smirked down at you, more than aware that he was the target of everyone’s flirting. It was impossible not to be drawn to the tall German.

“How’s life after hell?” Toto smiled into his coffee cup. “Honestly, I’m glad you’re out of that fucking shit, they never treat anyone right.” His facial expressions held back even less than his words, “It makes me laugh to think of all they done, but they get rid of you for far less.”

You nodded, a bit of your attitude simmering as you’re reminded of your unemployment.

“The more of you for everyone else now though,” Toto winked at you, instantly pulling you back to your happier mood. “which is why we should talk.”

“Oh?” You ask, your head tilting.

“Oh?” He parroted back. “Come find me later, okay?”

You nodded as Toto walked away, giving you one final wave over his shoulder.

Toto’s words echoed in your head, stirring up some eagerness in you. How soon was too soon to go find him? He said later, but not a time, which you always hated. You weren’t the most patient person, and the tease of Toto having something to share with you made impatience vibrate under your skin. It was like being out and hearing an annoying ring tone that you just wanted to answer but it isn’t your phone to answer. That was the kind of impatience you were dealing with. You tried to slow your steps, and knew you were dragging your feet down the paddock.

“Are you trespassing? Cause if you are, I wanna help.”

The familiar Australian accent and offer made you laugh as you turned your head.

“Hi Daniel,” you laughed. “As far as I know, I am not trespassing.” You leaned forward a bit to look around Daniel, “Hi, Michael.”

Michael waved politely and greeted you, a large bag in one of his hands that was most definitely shaped like a helmet.

“Is that this weekend’s helmet?” You asked, remembering how Daniel had swore at the beginning of the season he’d change them every other race.

“Maybe.” Daniel teased. “You want to see it?”

You eagerly nodded, not able to resist the Aussie charm with the offer of knowing something that was a secret. Even if it was a helmet design.

Daniel and Michael led you to the McLaren garage, your steps faltering slightly as you took in all the orange, and Lando’s face looking down at you on the wall.

“Come on,” Daniel’s warm fingers wrapped around your forearm. “I’ll sneak you in.”

You smiled as you let Daniel jokingly pull you along, ducking behind tire stacks while still passing a lot of crew. You tried to follow his movements, dodging people and tools, the garage a little bit of a mess since it was hours before the camera crews would get there.

You let Daniel drag you into his driver’s room. Michael settled in the corner and pulled out a laptop that must’ve been his own, judging from the MI stickers. You pulled your backpack off and laid it next to the door, hoping up on the physio table to sit.

“Where’s Blake?” You asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Daniel mumbled as he worked to open the helmet case.

“He’s getting breakfast.” Michael spoke without taking his eyes off his laptop.

You shot Daniel a look to tease him for not knowing where his own assistant was.

You liked Daniel from day one. He had been the person to make you feel welcome on your first day. He had been polite, friendly, and had helped point you to someone who could figure out where you had to go in the huge, intimidating paddock. His energy had really helped settle your first day jitters before going to face your new bosses. A few days later you met Blake when you were familiarizing yourself with the teams on the grid.

From that point forward, you’d always been comfortable with the Aussies. You hadn’t really gotten to talk to Michael much since he had joined Daniel, but he was always really polite, and something about him just kinda made you trust that he was as friendly and sweet as Daniel and Blake. All in all, the three made it felt like Australians must just be universally chill people.

“Here it is!” Daniel pulled his helmet out, rotating it to really give you the full effect.

“You’re gonna give someone a seizure.” You deadpanned.

Michael snorted in the corner.

“She’s beautiful.” He pulled his helmet towards his chest and began mumbling to the inanimate object about how he didn’t care what they had to say.

The helmet wasn’t beautiful, it was a mess. Chaotic and definitely not at all well thought out, parts of it were metallic, parts were iridescent, and there were about four different patterns all layered through out. It was a color theory nightmare.

“It really captures your energy.” you tried to say without laughing.

“Big dick energy.”

“Whatever you say.” You shot back.

Daniel looked at you, his face serious before he smiled, pressing a finger to his lips to stop himself. When his hand lowered he shook his head at you.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“Not anymore.” You shrugged before freezing, you’d meant for the words to come out as self deprecating, not suggestive.

“Big trouble, that’s what you are.” Daniel shook his head and chuckled, not at all fazed by your wording moments ago. “Are you ever not causing havoc?”

“Coming from you, that recognition really is an honor.”

Daniel laughed. “I’m, as the kids would say it, chaotic good. You’re, as the kids would say it, chaotic bad.”

You laughed at the Tumblr joke, “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You’re not that scary.”

“I’ll never be as scary as your stare.”

You laughed as Daniel looked at you wide eyed, obviously committed to staring you down like it was training exercise. A knock at the door disrupted the staring contest, saving you from the brink of losing. Daniel walked past you, still staring as he passed way too closely to you, still teasing you as you kicked him to get him past you.

“Rude.” He told you.

You didn’t have a chance to respond. Daniel moved to the side while opening the door in an attempt to stick his tongue out at you before facing whoever was at the door. His lack of blocking gave Lando a good look into the room, and his eyes instantly locked on you.

“Cozy in here, huh?”

His voice definitely had bite to it, and it made your brows furrow as you took offense to him implying anything. Daniel took it was a joke easily enough, and started joking with his younger teammate.

The two boys were making fun of each other, pushing each other back and forth. You shared a less than impressed look with Michael before the two of you laughed at each other.

“Hey, Lance know where you are?” Lando yelled towards you.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “He’s got obligations. I don’t need a guide.”

“Clearly,” Lando responded, “already snuck your way into enemy territory.”

Daniel, who as far as you knew was completely ignorant to the double entendre, scoffed at Lando. “My room is neutral territory. I am not a part of any rivalry with Lance.”

Your eyes narrowed at Lando over Daniel’s shoulder. You really hoped Daniel was talking about the on track rivalry and not the off track one. You would kill Lando if he told Daniel.

“You’re upsetting the vibe, don’t you have your own room to hang out in?” Daniel added before pushing Lando away from the door. “Go to your own room, this isn’t a babysitting service!”

You laughed at the mean joke as he slammed the door shut in his face.

“I swear, it’s like a mother duck, my little duckling just finds me wherever I am.” He joked as he turned back to you.

“Well, your name and face seems like a solid map for him.”

Daniel waved his hand at you, dismissing your logic. “Do you need to go to the Aston Martin garage?” His voice changed as he got serious.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, “Lance has media obligations I don’t even know if he’s there.”

“Come on,” Daniel pulled your arm as you slid off the table. “let me return you before I’m accused of kidnapping.”

“I am not a kid.” You whined.

“You’re younger than me.”

“Not by much.”

“Trouble, trouble, trouble.” He shook his head and offered you your backpack.

You turned to Michael, who had been deep in his focus on his laptop. You’re not even sure if he’d moved since settling down.

“Ah, he’s in the matrix, best not to disrupt him.”

You still yelled goodbye over your shoulder when you followed Daniel out.

“So, you and Lance?”

“Yeah.” You replied.

“Happy?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” Daniel pushed.

You defensively turned your head to Daniel beside you, narrowing your eyes at him. “I don’t know what Lando has told you-”

“He didn’t tell me anything, I just have eyes and ears and the paddock really is kinda cramped.” He frowned. “I don’t care what’s going on, I just want to make sure someone’s asking you if you’re okay.”

You stopped and looked at Daniel softly. Your eyes stung as his words sunk in. It really hit you that no one, including yourself, had asked you if you were okay.

“Yeah,” you responded truthfully, “I’m figuring it out. Getting there.”

“Good.” Daniel nodded before he nudged you to start walking again. “I can’t imagine the bullshit they put you through when they found out.”

“Besides firing me?” You joked.

“It’s always more, they can’t help but twist the knife.”

“Oh, that’s so fucking true.” You sighed, never having heard such a true statement. “But I guess I should consider myself lucky. I mean, they could’ve banned me from the tracks or whatever, even as a civilian.”

“You showing up here regardless is pretty gangster.”

“Do you mean that as kinda gangster or am I a pretty gangster? Cause I’ll take it either way.” You teased, trying to sway the conversation towards the lighter.

Years ago, you had had some late night, tipsy, existential crisis inspired discussions with Daniel, back when you were still trying to figure out your life and your place in the FIA and couldn’t help but end up at the hotel bar. Those conversation were always deep, Daniel’s serious side as thoughtful as his happy side was funny.

But this was broad daylight, and you couldn’t mourn your past life when you were still figuring out your current one. You filed away working on your friendships that your constant travel and working wrecked, putting Daniel at the top of the list.

“I’ll leave it up to you.” Daniel nodded towards the green portion of the garage.

“Not gonna walk me to my door?”

“Oh, I’m gonna walk you in.” Daniel said confidently, making you laugh. “I wanna see Seb, wanted to ask him his opinion on something.”

“Anything I can listen about?”

“When we’re in a place where I can explain it from beginning to end, sure.”

You nodded and let Daniel switch the conversation back to your banter. You began arguing over the best coffee flavors as you wandered into the green garage, and you were definitely winning when you heard your name being called.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Lance said, his hands roughly grabbing your face to kiss you right on the mouth.

“Sorry to keep her, mate.” Daniel told him.

You watched in confusion as Lance ignored Daniel. They had always gotten along.

“Where were you?” His attention unwavering from you. “In the McLaren garage?”

“Yeah, I was showing her the new helmet.” Daniel told him, forcing Lance to acknowledge him.

Lance nodded. “You two were hanging out?” He turned to look at you pointedly. “With all the McLaren crew?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You were standing here with Daniel, not Lando. Where was the trust? Where was all the improvement you thought you’d made?

“Ah, you know the only one worth seeing there is me.” Daniel joked, clearly picking up on a bit of what was going on. “She doesn’t like it, by the way, the helmet.” Daniel looked at you and shook his head. “I think it’s a work of art.”

Lance scoffed. “I’m sure, Daniel.”

“Oh, not you too.” Daniel whined. “The both of you suck.”

“You should go back to your garage,” Lance told Daniel, making you shoot him a look.

Lance froze for a second before he quickly added, “I think I heard them firing up the engines when I passed before.”

“Yeah, I will. Got some business to tend to first.” Daniel shot you a wink, looking at Lance one last time before he turned on his heel. “Trust me,” he yelled over his shoulder, “last place I wanna hang out is in this puke green box.”

When Daniel disappeared to the other side of the garage where Seb’s room was, you turned to Lance, stepping close to him and speaking low.

“What the fuck.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Lance snapped at you, his voice raising and some heads around the garage turning towards you two.

“Come,” you hissed, grabbed his hand and dragging him into his room. “go on.”

“Go on, what?” Lance asked, crowding you where you leaned against the wall. “I missed you.”

“You can’t be mean to my friends just cause they’re around me.”

Lance scoffed. “Daniel’s not your friend.”

“Yes, he is. If I say he is, he is.” You told him seriously.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, prompting you to bite your lip. You didn’t want to fight here, you couldn’t fight here. Not over something like this, not when things had been turning around. Not when you were finally striving towards normalcy in your relationship. You sucked down the resentment and the comebacks, each more insulting than the last.

“I am sorry.” Lance said robotically, turning his face down at you, giving you a tight smile. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You mumbled, imitating his smile back at him.

You leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. When you tried to pull away, Lance pressed you to the wall, his solid body pressed to yours. You whimpered into his mouth, instinctually wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Lance.” You whined, his teeth pulling your lip before working on your jaw. “Lance.” you repeated. “Lance!”

You ignored the warmth that pooled in your belly at his passionate display and pushed him away. He looked at you, his eyes still half lidded. He leaned in and kissed you again, softer this time, until his tongue slipped against yours and then it was hot and heavy again.

You moaned into Lance’s mouth, your shock shooting through you like lightening when he forced his hand down your pants, his fingers brushing against your mound. You widened your stance, spreading your legs for him.

Lance nipped at your neck, moving your head to the side. When you opened your eyes, you saw your phone peeking out of the little pocket outside your backpack. The ‘T’ visible on the screen made you work against Lance, whimpering loud as you pushed him away.

“What?”

Lance growled as you dropped to your knees in front of your phone. You ignored him and tried to take a deep breath before swiping across Toto’s name, answering.

“Hey Toto.” You said a bit too loudly. “Whatsup?” You tried again in a lower tone.

You heard Lance groan behind you and held up your hand to silence him.

“You still remember where my office is?”

“The motorhome that looks like a spaceship?” You joked. “How could I forget?”

Toto laughed. “Come. We can talk.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“See you in a few minutes.” You replied happily, already feeling a very different kind of excitement replace the one that was just energizing you.

“Where the fuck are you off to now?”

You hopped up on to your feet, jumping against Lance as you pulled his mouth to yours, kissing him hard before excitedly pulling away. You ran to the mirror next to the door, smoothing out your hair and trying not to look like you were doing what you just did.

“Toto. I ran into Toto this morning and he wants to talk to me.” You talked quickly, eager to get out the door. “I don’t know anything else, but he wants to talk right now so I’ll be back in a bit!”

You waved to Lance as you rushed out.

You rushed out of the garage, but stopped yourself as you reached the main walkway of the paddock. You took a deep breath and continued walking at a normal pace, trying not to look too eager. It wouldn’t do to show up out of breath and sweaty when you really needed to look good.

You focused on your breathing while you walked, pushing away all your thoughts and trying to focus on the present.

All too soon, you were in front of the large Mercedes AMG symbol, the large motorhome that housed their weekend operations looking every bit like the spaceship you’d joked about it being. You walked in casually, keeping your head up as you passed people and rooms, heading straight upstairs to where you knew Toto would be waiting.

“Knock, knock.” You called, walking into the already open room.

“Come on in, take a seat.”

Toto smiled and gestured to the seat next to him. He was seated at a snug conference table, the thing taking up the majority of the room beside his desk in the far corner. You pulled your seat out to a respectful distance before sitting down and leaning your side against the table.

“So?” You tilted your head, unable to stop the curious smile from pulling on your face.

“So, you’re unemployed,” You nodded along, “with an extensive understanding of Formula One.”

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Our team is in need of a travel coordinator, someone who can make sure we all have our visas, passports, travel accommodations, for us and for all our gear.”

Your head tilted, the point of the conversation you were sharing sunk in. “You want me to coordinate the movement of the team as a whole, not just the personnel.”

Toto nodded once. “If you were interested in such a position, we’d be happy to have you.”

You looked at him before looking at the table, rubbing the tip of your finger into the wood. You thought of being back on the F1 crazy train, and what that would mean. For one, you’d be on one of the most successful and tight knit team probably in the history of the sport. You’d be back in the place you’d called home for years, in the familiar setting. But that was the catch, you’d be back here.

“I know it’s a lot to consider.” Toto said softly, leaning forward in his seat. “So you can take time to consider it, we still need to write up a contract, so you can wait until then to give a solid answer.”

“Wow,” you laughed, rubbing one of your wet eyes. “I’m gonna get the Lewis Hamilton treatment? How honored I feel.”

Toto laughed.

You practically skipped back to Lance’s room. You felt like you’d just ran a marathon, like all the suffering had been worth it. Like things were finally turning around. You couldn’t wait to tell Lance. You could keep traveling with him, as a Mercedes employee, not as a WAG. You wouldn’t just be an accessory to his travel, you’d be useful, needed, your skills and knowledge utilized by a team that liked you. You grinned as you pushed the door open.

“Lance!” You called, diving into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Hi.” he mumbled, happy to have you back near him. “How did it go?”

He put you back on your feet lightly, and you pulled away, beaming up at him.

“So, so good.” You spun in a small circle before turning back to your boyfriend. “Toto offered me a job.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be managing travel coordinations for Mercedes.” You said, squeezing your fists in your excitement. “Isn’t that amazing? Toto just offered it to me.”

You started rambling about your conversation, recalling the nice things Toto said about you, your experience, your personality, while also laughing about the little jokes you’d had here and there. You started voicing your slight concerns, acknowledging that you were rightfully anxious about such a big job, but knowing you were more than capable of doing it.

You just kept gushing, and gushing. Completely oblivious to the way Lance stood before you, blank faced and entirely not listening.

He couldn’t put it into words, what he felt. He knew you needed a job. He knew that F1 had always been your dream profession, regardless of the capacity you could land in it, it had always been the goal for you. He’d listened to you talk about watching racing growing up and researching what jobs were useful to the traveling sport before landing on your college focus. He knew it was the place you’d always wanted to be, where you deserved to be and where you were happiest.

He just couldn’t understand why you couldn’t have waited. He felt like you were finally getting back to him, like he could finally have real time with you. Now that all your cards were on the table, you’d finally had the long awaited blow up that was overdue and you both could move forward together. And even though he knew you would’ve hated it, he wouldn’t have minded you traveling with him for a bit, being there when he got back to the hotel, coming with him to the paddock.

Being by his side with no other distractions.

The jealousy that had been kicked up inside his chest days earlier never left. He still felt it. He felt hyper aware of where you were, who you were talking to, what you were doing, and he didn’t want to stop. He felt like he had to keep you close. You were his. All he wanted was to take care of you.

And even though he could see how happy you were, bouncing on your feet like a little girl, he felt the bitterness completely sour any resemblance of mutual happiness in him. You would be back in F1, back in the paddock in a professional capacity, back around Lando.

You’d be right back to square one. He couldn’t focus on anything else other than that. Last season would repeat itself. It would never end.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this first?”

You stuttered to a stop when he cut you off.

“What do you mean?” You asked, your body coming to a halt in your confusion.

“Why didn’t you talk to me before accepting the job from Toto?” He tried to casually lean against the table behind him. “I just thought you’d want to discuss that with me before making such a big change.”

“A big change?” You questioned. “You’re joking, right?” You laughed. “Babe, this isn’t a big change, getting a job somewhere outside of F1 would be a huge change, this job is a solution. This means nothing changes.” You took a step forward, but Lance brushed past you to lean against the door.

“That’s the problem.”

You felt all your excitement drain from you, the dread seeping in as you realized that Lance was upset. He was upset over something that minutes before had made you unbelievably happy.

“I don’t-”

“Nothing would change.” Lance repeated, his face quickly reflecting the anger he felt as his voice got louder. “We would be back to square one. You would be back here, around him, it would all just happen, all over again.”

You looked at Lance in shock as you tried to grasp what he was saying. He scoffed at your confusion and continued on his tirade.

“FIA, Mercedes, what’s the difference? You’d still be hanging around the paddock, free to float around as you always do.” Lance could hear the little voice in the back of his head screaming stop, but he just couldn’t. “And what am I supposed to do? Hang out in my garage alone, wait for you to come back to our hotel room cause you’re out late with your new team? Wondering if you’re cozying up to Lewis like he’s some new and better version of La-”

“Do not finish that sentence.” You warned.

“Or what?” Lance yelled back. “You’ll run to Lando?”

“Fuck you, you called him.”

“What’ll be your excuse next time?”

You looked murderous for a minute before you exhaled, lowering your shoulders and looking down at the ground. You didn’t want to fight. You have to reassure him that you’re here for him.

“Lance, I don’t know how to convince you to trust me, but I want you to. We both have done some things, said some things, but I just want us to be okay. I don’t want to fight. Just tell me what you want.”

Lance sighed, looking away from you as your eyes got watery. Playing the victim was usual. He growled at the thought, banging his fist against the wall next to him, ignoring the way you jumped in his peripheral vision.

“Are you kidding me?” You yelled.

Well, fuck guess I said that out loud. He thought, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not playing the victim Lance. I’m trying to fix the fucking problem.”

“You’re trying to fuck everyone around you.”

“No, I’m not!” You yelled back, infuriated.

You had never fucked around with anyone aside from Lance and Lando. You never even meant to get in bed with Lance, and really he was all to blame for your eventual relationship with Lando.

“How can I trust you?” He asked you, getting into your space with his arms out.

You cruelly smiled at him. “I guess you fucking can’t.”

“You’re mine.”

“You don’t sound so sure of it!” You leaned on your toes as you yelled.

He turned towards you and cupped your face, roughly pulling you to him. He kissed you harsher than he ever had before. You gripped his shoulders, letting him take your weight as you pulled yourself up his body and wrapped your legs around his waist. Lance turned and placed you on the table in the room, roughly grabbing your hair to yank your head back. You only saw the ceiling for a moment before your eyes shut, his mouth on your throat making you moan.

“You are mine.”

Lance pulled you off the table, turning you around until your hips were pushed into the table, his fingers coming around you to unbutton your pants. You leaned back and pulled his head down by his hair, kissing him sloppily and moaning into his mouth as the cool air in the room brushed against your bare thighs and bare center.

You could hear Lance shuffling behind you, pulling your clothes down to your knees and his too. His hand fell heavily on your hip, the other still behind you leading himself to your entrance. He’d stroked himself a few times with his spit slick hand before pushing into you. You cried out at the intrusion of him slowly splitting you open with no foreplay.

You moaned as you heard the wet squish of your pussy sucking on his cock as he pushed his hips up into your ass, driving himself into you. Both his hands rested on your hips now, squeezing on your flesh a few times, his hot breath hitting the back of your head. You squeaked when his hand pressed on your lower back, forcing you down on the table as he began fucking you.

“You’re mine.” He growled.

“You don’t need any of them, you don’t need to fuck anyone but me.”

You closed your eyes to focus on the feeling of him inside you, rather than the angry words he said. The fucking was brutal, and if you weren’t sure you would’ve been able to take it if not for your experience with rougher treatment. You cried out with each thrust, and could hear and feel yourself hot and wet around his bare dick.

His hips snapped forward over and over as you both moaned, Lance’s possessiveness on full display as he dominated you and told you off for whatever he was believing in his head.

“Tell me you don’t want to fuck them, doll.” He grabbed your hair and pulled you up so you were leaning against his chest.

“I don’t want to.” You choked out, panting.

“Tell me you won’t fuck Lando.”

“I won’t!”

Lance groaned and shoved you back forward. You moaned and couldn’t help but bend your knees, letting your body weight rest on the table. Lance moaned at the sudden tightness as your body weight shifted with your movement.

“Fuck, so good.” Lance moaned. “Lando will never get you again.”

You bit your lip, wishing he’d stop talking about Lando so you could enjoy just feeling him.

“Baby,” you whimpered, “please.”

“I shouldn’t even let you cum.” Lance pulled you back up against him, making you both groan at the angle change. “Teach you not to fuck anyone else.”

“No,” you whined. “please.”

“Cum on me, doll. Cum like he makes you.”

Lance’s fingers traced down your body, spreading your lips and caressing your clit. You whined and squirmed against Lance as he held you to him, stilling his hips as he enjoyed the way your walls fluttered around him as he manipulated your sensitive nub. His breathing got heavier as your pleasure mounted, and suddenly you felt him pulsing inside you, cumming right into your clenching cunt.

This dreadful feeling of emptiness filled you even with Lance still inside you, his panting in your ear and his hands loosening on you. You winced as he pulled out of you unceremoniously. You froze for a moment, not feeling him but hearing him righting his own clothes. You squeezed your eyes shut as you heard him walk to the other side of the room, the zipping of his backpack letting you know he’d moved his focus to something else already.

“Let’s just go to the hotel.” Lance sighed, still sounding tired and annoyed even though he wasn’t just moments before.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. You cringed as you pulled your clothes up, Lance’s inability to look at you or say anything further as you followed him out of his garage towards the car making you feel smaller and smaller with each step.

You didn’t even know what you did wrong this time.

#w #hoe fairy #lvl: the maybe after #ls #ln

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collapsingintojupiter · 4 years

Text

Sunshine and Stormclouds: Chapter 15

Catch up: Chapter 1 Chapter 1.5 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Summary:

It’s Roman’s birthday. Though his biological parents may not be there for him, his friends are.

Characters: Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Scout (oc), Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, (baby) Patton.

TW: This is little more than tooth-rotting fluff. You’re good (though of course, message me if you’d like me to put something here).

---

It had been a long day; following an even longer night. Virgil slumped against the couch, eyes closed, his hoodie drawn up over his shoulders. Patton busied himself on the floor nearby, dressing up his bunny in a little blue doll’s dress. Several other stuffed animals that Remy had bought (though the pink bunny by far remained his favorite) lay scattered around him, and a few more assortments of doll’s clothing.

Remy said that Patton had a good fashion taste. Even Logan couldn’t disagree.

Virgil’s eyes were shut, but he was awake - unfortunate as that was - listening to Patton as he finished arranging the dress on his bunny. Once he was happy with it, he moved on to a puppy dog plush. This one he wrapped - awkwardly, with his chubby fingers - in a sparkly bit of pink cloth. Patton fiddled with that until he was content, talking to “Acha” as he arranged the scarf around the dog’s neck and body.

Then, a knock sounded at the door.

“Hrggyph,” Virgil muttered to nothing in particular, and slowly opened an eye. The bit of pale pink material he saw through part of the visible window was definitely not Roman’s, and Logan wouldn’t be caught dead in such a vibrant color.

So who...

Wonder if they’ll go away, Virgil thought tiredly. A few seconds later, however, whoever it was knocked again. Dammit.

He sighed. Slowly, he picked himself up from the couch, and Patton jumped up to grab his arm as he started for the door.

“Is Daddy home?” he asked, grabbing Virgil’s hand in one of his little ones. His dog plush dangled precariously from the other, the pink tip dragging on the floor.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” Virgil said. Patton turned and held up his arms; his father smiled to himself as he picked the boy up. He opened the door.

“Oh, you’re home!” The excited voice belonged to somebody Virgil had seen before, but he wasn’t quite sure who. It was a younger boy, about Roman’s age, with crooked glasses, curly hair the color of rust, and soft brown eyes. He wore a pale pink sweater, black jeans, and a bright smile. Behind him stood another kid, though the last time Virgil saw them, he was pretty sure they’d been a pirate. Now however, they wore wearing a button-up covered in stars, ripped jeans, and converse that had been painted in a familiar style. Over all that, a too-big camo jacket that clashed with everything rested on their shoulder.

“Emile?” Virgil asked at last. “And...Scout?”

“That’s us,” Scout answered with a nod. They nudged Emile, who started and blinked before nodding.

“Right! Uh, Mr. Virgil, I think you remember us from that time we were at your house back on Halloween?” Virgil nodded, and his smile somehow got wider. “Awesome! Um, so...this might be a bit weird, but Roman’s birthday is tomorrow, and we’re...uh, we’re trying to plan something special for him. And he talks about you guys all the time, um...do you think you could help us?”

...forget sleep. Sleep could wait.

“Come on in,” Virgil said. He turned, gently setting Patton down so he could pull out his phone. Scout and Emile quickly knelt down, keeping his son busy as he placed a call to Remy.

“Hey, I need you over here stat,” he said as soon as the barista answered.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing bad, Rem,” Virgil assured. “Um, Emile and Scout are here; they told me Roman’s birthday is tomorrow. We’re gonna need your help.”

Remy’s response was instant.

“Say no more, I’m on my way,” he said. Before Virgil could say anything else, he hung up.

“Who was that?” Scout asked as he put his phone back in his pocket. Virgil chuckled.

“You remember the Dragon Witch on Halloween?”

“Yeah?”

“He’s on his way now. Much better at this stuff than I am.” Virgil checked his watch, hid a yawn, then glanced at the two kids again. “My husband should be back in about an hour from school. He’ll also be more than willing to help. Don’t worry, we’ll get this figured out.”

“Yes!” Emile grinned widely, wiggling in excitement. “We’re gonna make Roman so happy!”

Virgil felt his heart warm as he sat down with the kids to wait, whereupon Patton came over and crawled into his lap. “Where is Roman now?” he asked, helping his son sit up.

“He said he had to help his mom with something,” Scout said. Their voice sounded tense; like they knew what he did - what he knew only because of the horrible nights he’d faced alone, with drunken laughter downstairs and his stomach cringing with hunger. Virgil shook his head violently, and a shiver twirled down his spine. He focused instead on staring at Scout’s shoes. They were black, spots of paint that looked like stars and planets. He bet it was Roman’s work.

Soon enough, someone knocked at the door again.

“The Dragon Witch!” Emile exclaimed, and jumped from his seat. The knock came again, before Remy flung the door open and strode inside with a grin and a wink.

“Well well well,” he said. “I hear there’s a birthday party we need to plan.”

“Hell yeah,” Scout said, and Emile grinned.

“It’s Roman’s birthday tomorrow, and we wanna do something special for him,” he explained. Remy nodded.

“Good. He needs good friends like you,” he said. He looked at Virgil. “I think it’s time to go shopping. We’ll get the supplies…” he glanced at Scout and Emile, “...when you two get out of school tomorrow, I’ll pick you up. We’ll set everything up then for Roman.”

“How will we get him over here?” Virgil asked.

“He’s your babysitter, you tell me.”

“That could work.” Virgil nodded, taking Patton in his arms as he stood up. “Alright, so…”

“We need to divide and conquer,” Remy said. “Decorations and preparation, and gifts.”

“Logan’s very good at that,” Virgil said. “-Decoration, I mean, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to do it for Roman.”

“I’ll text him. Scout, Emile - what do you two want to help with?”

“I’m good at decorations,” Emile said. Scout nodded.

“That he is. And I know what he likes.”

Alright - so Emile, you’ll be with me, then, and Scout will go with Virgil. Sound good to you?”

The two kids nodded.

“Excellent! Let’s get this boy of ours a birthday party!”

---

What the hell was so special about a birthday, anyway? Roman sighed, burying his head in his arms. At the front of the classroom, a history teacher droned on about something he didn’t remember; wouldn’t remember. Recently his mother had gotten a job, somehow, and was now even nastier than usual when she wasn’t drunk. Roman didn’t want to go home; he was tired; and everything ached.

At least...at least, he got to babysit Patton again today. Roman stared at his fingernails; at the chipped edges, and ignored his classmates. The teacher continued to drone. The clock was getting closer to three, but it wasn’t there yet.

Finally, the bell rang.

Roman let out another sigh; he got his backpack and slung it around his shoulder, and started tiredly for the door.

Outside it was frigid, and though his jacket was warm it wasn’t warm enough. He’d forgotten his warmer one. Roman wondered how the puppy was; how Emile was. Briefly, the thought allowed him to smile. Maybe Remy would be at Virgil and Logan’s house, and let him see Prince. That would be nice. He reached up, tracing the embroidered letters with his finger. Prince.

He didn’t feel like a prince.

He couldn’t feel much of his hands or face by the time he came to the street where the Sanders lived, kicking at stones as he passed Mr. D’s house. He saw the older man in the window, staring at him. There was something unsettling about it, that he couldn’t put words to. Roman shivered and continued.

He stopped at the familiar blue door, adjusted his backpack straps, and knocked.

“SURPRISE!” The enthusiastic shout ripped him out of his thoughts with a force that nearly knocked him sideways; as it was Roman jumped, letting out a startled yelp.

“Happy birthday!” Emile and Scout shrieked in unison, sharing excited smiles as they rushed forward to greet him. Roman’s eyes widened, and he found himself laughing as they hugged him - Emile’s gentle touch, and Scout’s bone crushing grip.

“You-you guys knew?” he asked at last, overwhelmed by the streamers and people, and Logan and Virgil smiling at him...and was Remy holding a cake?

“Of course we did!” Scout laughed and punched his shoulder, then grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. “C’mon, you gotta try the cake we made. Well, Emile made it. Either way it’s good.”

Something small and furry ran up to him, barking and wagging its tail.

“PRINCE!” Roman yelped. He dropped to his knees by the puppy’s side, and it leapt into his lap to enthusiastically lick his face. He cradled the pup in his arms, gently running his hands along its soft black and brown fur. Prince was already bigger than it had been when he’d found it, with floppy ears and a goofy smile.

“We think he’s a mutt,” Remy had said. Roman didn’t care - he loved the pup regardless.

“Happy birthday to you…” his eyes widened as the others started singing to him, and he scrambled to his feet with Prince still in his arms--holy shit, he thought. How did they all have such beautiful voices? Logan, the stiff teacher and Virgil...their voices swelled in a perfectly complimenting harmony, leading the group in the song. Remy’s voice followed, a pure tenor; and Emile - though his voice was softer than the others, he sounded just like an angel to Roman.

He tried not to cry but he did, and as the others stopped singing Scout grabbed him in a hug, letting him bury his face in their sweatshirt. There they held him until he was breathing steadily again, and they let go; the others had gathered in the kitchen and smiled at him.

“Hope you’re hungry Roman!” Remy announced, and gestured to the dining room table where several boxes of pizza and tubs of ice cream had been lined up in a neat row. Roman’s jaw dropped, and the others grinned.

“Everybody get your fill; then we’ll meet in the living room. We got a movie ready to play and presents ready to open.”

“Presents!?” Roman blurted, then slapped a hand over his mouth. Virgil chuckled good-naturedly, and even Logan smiled.

“That’s right!” Remy said. “Just for you, my boy!”

“Let’s get pizza!” Emile took Roman’s hand, and he felt himself melting into the other boy’s embrace as he pulled him towards the table. “Look, see? We ordered your favorite!”

“Olive pizza!” Roman’s face broke into an open-mouthed look of amazement, and after gently setting Prince down he reached out and piled several slices onto his plate. Scout and Emile joined him; Remy followed with a wide smile, and Virgil and Logan took up the line in the back. Balloons crowded against each other on the ceiling; their strings dangled down in front of him. Roman looked up, and shades of gold and white and red looked back. He smiled.

“Guess what movie we’re gonna watch?” Emile asked as they sat down. Roman raised an eyebrow at him, unable to contain the happy expression on his face.

“What movie?” he asked. Scout sat down on his other side, yawning and leaning against his shoulder. Emile leaned against his other side, and gave him a look to melt his heart all over again.

“Beauty and the Beast!” he giggled. “Your favorite!”

“How did you-”

“I told him,” Scout said, grinning at the look of dumbfoundment on his face. They took a bite out of their mushroom pizza (ew) as Virgil and Logan entered. They took the other sofa, seating Patton between them with his little slice of cheese pizza. Remy was the last to come in, pepperoni his choice of the evening. He sat down, and Virgil got the remote and started the movie.

It was better than Roman remembered. The colors seemed brighter, and better, and warmer. Maybe that was Scout and Emile, leaning against him as if to chase away the cold that had settled into his bones, or Emile’s laughter that was soft and sweet like bells; like sugar pastries and autumn mornings where the sun’s warmth is gentle on your back. Scout’s, on the other hand, was sharp, like dogs barking in the dead of night and icicles shattering on the sidewalk.

He loved them both.

Roman knew what Scout knew though, that he was hopelessly in love with the Picani boy. He loved everything about him - his soft curls, and big eyes, and round glasses that always sat crookedly on his nose no matter how many times he fiddled with the frames. He loved his smile, and his laugh, and his voice.

And when the other boy leaned against him, and gently reached out to hold his hand...Roman felt like he knew what Heaven was.

Scout glanced at him, chuckled to themself at his happy expression, and turned back towards the TV. Together they watched the story play out, laughing and joking and sharing goofy smiles with each other as they discussed the scenes. They all booed at Gaston, and agreed that the candlestick and clock were very much gay.

And then, all too soon, it was over. The credits rolled and Roman let out a soft sigh, feeling Emile’s chest rise and fall as he breathed - fast asleep against his shoulder. Their paper plates were stacked on the coffee table - the pizza long gone - and Virgil held Patton. The little boy had also fallen asleep, and slept contentedly in his father’s arms.

“I’ll go put him in his room,” Virgil said at last, his voice soft. “Then you can open your presents, Roman.”

The presents! Roman realized, suddenly, that he’d forgotten all about those. Remy noticed the look on his face and laughed, which startled Emile awake. He muttered something under his breath, yawned, and looked up into Roman’s eyes.

God he’s so cute.

Roman smiled at him, and Emile smiled back. Then he reached up, and lightly tapped his nose.

“Boop!” he giggled. Roman felt his face turn an embarrassing shade of red, and he ducked to try and hide it - which would’ve been fine, had Emile’s hand not gotten tangled up in his hair. The next thing he knew they were both doubled over with laughter, and Emile was attempting to squeak out an apology in between gasps for air. When they finally recovered Roman saw Scout, leaning back and shaking their head; they were laughing too, and Remy and Logan shared a look that was both amused and affectionate. Virgil came back into the room, saw the spectacle, and let out a sigh. He too, however, failed to hide a smile as he sat down.

Emile struggled to compose himself with the others, one hand clasping Roman’s shoulder. His glasses looked more crooked than ever; his messy curls tangled and dangling over the rims. Eventually, he pulled himself upright.

“Present time!” he yelped, and burst out laughing again. Roman and Scout joined in, as the adults brought out a small collection of somethings and set it on the floor and coffee table in front of him.

Once he’d finally calmed himself, Roman slid off the couch to kneel in front of his presents. Remy set Prince down and the puppy ran over to join him - his heart felt so warm and full he thought it might burst, looking over the shiny wrapping paper and the kind expressions in Virgil and Logan’s eyes. Gingerly, he reached out and took the first gift.

From Remy, it said. He gently pulled away the red and gold wrapping, and his eyes widened at the colors upon colors upon colors of nail polish he found packed neatly into a black and red nail kit bag. On the top of the bag, his name was embroidered: Roman, in swirling gold type.

“I love it!” he cried, and gently picked up one of the colors - a shimmering beetle green - before putting it back. He couldn’t wait to try it out.

The next present was...well, he knew Scout had tried, at least. Paper wrapping wasn’t exactly their specialty. Nonetheless Roman unwrapped it gently, and hugged the new sketchpad that revealed itself to his chest.

“There’s also some stickers inside for you,” they said - were they nervous? What a strange thought; but Roman couldn’t deny the slight tremble; the tingle of anxiety in their voice. He smiled at them.

“I can’t wait to draw in it,” he said. “This is the perfect size.”

From Logan, read the third gift, tagged neatly with a sharpie. The wrapping paper revealed something soft, and something not - new gloves, in his favorite shade of red, and a book. It claimed to be a fantasy book, and Roman felt tears stinging his eyes as he looked over the cover. He imagined Logan, standing in the fantasy section of a bookstore, with no idea of what any of the books contained.

“This one was rated very highly,” Logan explained matter-of-factly. “I do...hope that you enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” Roman said softly, trying to blink away the tears. The gloves and book he gently set aside - somehow, Logan must have realized that his old ones were worn.

Two presents remained. He picked up one of them; From Virgil, it said. The paper presented a box when he pulled it away; inside the box was a soft puppy plush that was black and brown just like Prince, with a red bandana around its neck. The word Prince was hastily stitched onto it in yellow, and as he looked up at Virgil the father glanced aside.

“I...I’m sorry you can’t keep the real one,” was all he said, in a terribly soft voice. There were tears in his eyes too, Roman realized. “I hope this helps.”

“It...it does,” he said. He hugged the plush dog close, and sniffled; with his other hand he gently petted the real dog. “Thank you, Virgil.”

“Of course.”

The last present was Emile’s. Roman hesitantly reached for it; he felt Emile tense as he pulled the paper away - it was a beanie. A soft one, with stripes of blue, yellow, and pink. Roman’s eyes widened, and he looked abruptly up at Emile.

“You...you made this?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. I hope it’s okay? I tried to make it as close to your flag as possible, and I-” he was cut off as Roman crashed into him, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s shoulders and hugging him tightly.

“I love it,” he whispered, and now he really was crying. “Thank you...thank you all so much.”

He felt the warmth of another body beside him, and Roman opened one eye to see that Scout had joined the hug. Then Remy came over, followed by Virgil, and soon even Logan joined the group. Though Roman sort of expected it to be awkward...it felt really nice, surrounded by everybody he loved and who loved him in return. He felt himself smile

Thank you guys, for the best birthday ever.

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #emile picani #roman sanders #remy sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #sunshine and storm clouds #sunshine and stormclouds

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lovelylogans · 4 years

Text

paper rings

i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings uh huh, that's right, darling you're the one I want i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this uh huh, darling, you're the one I want

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | other fics on tumblr | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, underage drinking, drinking, slightly tipsy/drunk adults, proposal, complicated parental relationship, this one is really mostly just fluff y’all but please let me know if i’ve missed any!!!

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 9,924

notes: okay. so, SOMEHOW, it is the first anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of where you lead, i will follow!!!!! i remember where i was when i uploaded the first chapter; i was studying abroad, and i thought that i may as well keep on writing during the trip, since i always keep writing, and this was the project i felt most passionate about, at the time. and now, a year later, the world certainly looks very different, and my life does, too. but this project is still going. i love this little universe, so much, and i’m so happy and proud and grateful that all of you keep reading it, and you’re cheering these characters along right beside me. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for reading. and happy birthday to this little universe.

patton’s been basically vibrating with excitement since monday, and now that it’s actually friday michel’s banished him to his office because “your happiness is scaring the customers,” but patton can’t help it!!!!

it’s labor day weekend, starting today, which means at any minute logan’s going to be coming into town, straight from yale, his first time being home since he moved into his dorm about three weeks ago now, which means logan’s gonna be home!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s due back in town any minute!!!!!! he’s going to be here for about four days!!!!! logan and roman are going to be in town for four! entire! days!

sure, patton has seen him at friday night dinners, but that’s not the same as him being home! patton can pester him about classes and how frequently he’s taking breaks and ask questions about how he’s settling in and any potential new friends, because sure, he and dee are roommates, but patton wants to ask questions about his other dorm roommates (suitemates? it’s technically suitemates, isn’t it?) because patton only got to see just a glimpse of them on move-in day, so he doesn’t really know much about them, and—

and patton has a lot of questions and a lot of things he wants to know, generally, and also, logan’s going to be here!!!!!

patton looks down at the paperwork on his desk, considering it.

yep. he cannot focus on this at all. it’s basically a lost workday, at this point. goodbye productivity, he hardly knew thee. it’s time to go and sneak downstairs under the guise of checking in on the guest’s dining room, but really to sneak a cup of coffee and maybe also a cookie.

he descends the stairs.

“no,” michel says, without looking up from the guestbook.

“i’m just checking on the dining room!” patton protests. “i’ll be out of your hair, in and out, you’ll barely even notice me.”

“too late,” michel says, then, “stop making that facial expression.”

“i’m smiling, michel,” patton teases. “i’m happy.”

michel grumbles something in french, and patton’s about to ask what he’s saying, when he hears the door open. he swivels to see—

logan.

he’s wearing the navy blue yale sweatshirt patton bought him when he made his college decision, part of the pack of “yay yale, go yale!” stuff patton had kind of went nuts on—he can see an unbuttoned shirt and a loosened tie underneath it, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers that host a couple of roman-penned doodles. he’s got cocoa’s leash wrapped around one hand, cocoa panting happily at his feet, and he’s holding onto the strap of his backpack with the other.

patton’s moving before he can even think about it; logan drops his backpack to the ground, and patton’s wrapping his son up in the biggest bear hug he can manage.

logan’s done growing now, and is still firmly stuck at taller than him, something that when he thinks about it too much still strikes him as strange and still makes him a little bit emotional. logan smells like the laundry detergent he and virgil bought in bulk for him, and something patton can’t quite pin down, maybe something Inherently Yale, and maybe he’ll never be able to pin it down, but patton crams down the wave of sadness at the idea of him and logan growing apart; kids grow up, that’s what they’re supposed to do, he reminds himself.

still. all of those complicated feelings aren’t quite enough to quell the wave of my baby’s home, my baby’s home!!!!!!! happiness and excitement that’s been building since logan mentioned over phone that he was going to come back to sideshire as soon as his friday class was over.

patton draws back, hands on logan’s shoulders, beaming.

“there’s my college-goin’ boy,” he teases. “how’ve you been, kiddo?!”

logan’s lips twitch up into a smile, and patton feels his heart swell up with fondness at the sight of it.

“good,” he says, then, “i have eaten basically nothing but dining hall pizza for three straight days.”

patton laughs, and claps him on the back.

“very collegiate,” he quips. “i’ll keep the secret from virge, if you want. i’m assuming you’re probably not going to want pizza, then?”

“like grandma and grandpa will serve us pizza tonight,” he says, adjusting his grip on cocoa’s leash; patton reaches out a hand, and logan hands it over as he picks up his backpack.

“true, true,” he says, and reaches down to pet cocoa, because she’s butting up against his shins in a clear ploy for attention. “i know, yes, you’re a very good girl—well, clearly you’ve been by the house, do you want to hang out here or—?”

“please get him out of here,” michel shouts from the front desk, and patton pivots, holding up the leash.

“but cocoa is here!” patton says teasingly. “you don’t wanna kick out cocoa, do you?”

cocoa wags her tail at the mention of her name. she loves michel; patton really doesn’t know why, but ever since patton had taken her to work for the first time, back when they were training her as a puppy and didn’t think she’d do well shut up at home all day, she’s always made a beeline straight for michel.

michel, also, is very much a dog person. he watches the westminster dog show religiously each year, and his two chows, paw-paw and chin-chin, probably eat better-quality food than patton’s parents. and ever since he’d discovered that cocoa’s part chow, well...

it’s moved him to look at least tempted to take back his continual askings for patton to get out.

“no, that’s okay,” logan says. “i was going to ask if we could stop by the diner, anyway?”

“hungry?” patton guesses, and smiles a bit when logan nods.

“didn’t have time to stop for lunch,” he admits sheepishly, and patton gasps, only a little jokingly.

“oh, well, we definitely have to get you right to virgil, then,” he says. “he’ll get you something nice and healthy and not dining hall pizza—we’re going now!” he calls to michel.

“good riddance,” michel says, perhaps a bit less enthusiastically than he would have if it was just patton and logan, and if cocoa wasn’t part of the deal.

patton’s about to head over to the inn’s parking lot, but logan says, “can we walk?”

“oh! yeah, sure!” he says. “wanna see the town, huh?”

“just—cocoa,” logan says awkwardly, and moves to take back cocoa’s leash. “and it’s, um. nice out today. have you taken your allergy medicine?”

“yes, no sneezing because of pollen from me,” patton says, not to be deterred, “and you missed the town?”

logan grumbles something, and then moves to check his phone, and patton directs his grin out toward the inn’s grounds.

it’s that sweet point between summer and fall, where all the sweltering heat and humidity has died down, but the fall chill hasn’t quite crept in yet; the leaves and grass are all still green, the sky still a perfect shade of cloudless blue, but there’s a slight breeze that tempers any of the heat of the bright sunshine.

it is very nice out today.

it’s the perfect backdrop for a walk with his son and his dog; cocoa eagerly plants her nose against the ground and spends most of the walk sniffing every little plant, weed, and patch of grass she can find, while he asks logan all about classes and dorm life and how his first quizzes and papers went; he knows most of this, from their daily phone calls, but it’s still very nice to hear logan say it without the distortion of the phone’s speaker.

it’s probably good that they’re treading old ground, conversation-wise, because people keep stopping them on the sidewalk.

dot and larry beam at logan and patton. babette and morey stop in the middle of a walk to enthuse over the pair of them. emile’s walking toward remy aserinsky’s café, and clasps his hands together and gushes over them. mrs. torres nearly starts crying at the sight of the pair of them.

patton guesses people are really happy to have logan back in town? which, like, fair, he doesn’t blame them, not one bit. logan’s the best, and his absence has been keenly felt during all sorts of town activities; mayor porter had even stopped him after the last town meeting, bemused, holding out a paper of pr-perfected answers that always frustrated logan about needing to include, asking where on earth logan was, he’d usually emailed the mayor’s office three times to get these answers.

except the occasional visitor seems like it’s almost nothing, when they approach the main square of town; there’s a veritable crowd.

patton, bemused, looks around at them: his neighbors, the business-owners in town, even a few of his workers—it’s like half the town has turned out, and patton turns to logan.

“is it a holiday or something?”

“hm?” logan asks, distracted by making sure cocoa doesn’t tangle her leash around a telephone poll.

“it’s just,” patton says, and jerks his chin out toward the crowd. logan seems to catch sight of all of them, and his eyes narrow, just for a moment, before his facial expression smooths back over into indifference.

“it’s not a holiday, to my knowledge,” logan says. “but who knows, with taylor involved?”

patton acknowledges this with a slight laugh. “i bet it’s double-coupon day at the store, or something. i can never keep track of all the promotional deals that he puts on. i haven’t seen any posters for festivals or anything.”

“that’s probably it,” logan agrees, still somehow distracted by cocoa, who has long since freed herself.

they draw closer to the diner, and his son lets out a laugh, and surges forward, and runs to hug a familiar face, also grinning from ear to ear.

“roman!”

patton watches roman rush forward, wrapping his arms around logan’s waist and picking him up off the ground, spinning him around with the force of his hug, and he can’t help but smile when he hears logan laugh; to patton’s knowledge, this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they went off to school.

“my love!” roman enthuses, setting logan on the ground but keeping his hands wrapped around his waist, “mi querido, my beloved, oh, i have missed you—”

“i’ve missed you too,” logan admits, barely above a whisper, and as patton’s politely averting his eyes from them kissing, that’s when he notices something strange.

the curtains are drawn.

virgil never draws the curtains, not even when they’re closing at night. the last time patton can remember that happening is when they painted the diner, nearly two years ago.

and there’s a CLOSED FOR BUSINESS, ONLY OPEN FOR DANES, SANDERS’, AND PRINCES on the door.

“do you think virgil’s doing something at the diner?” patton asks logan and roman, who have stopped kissing, but they’re holding hands.

“what?” he says.

patton gestures to the curtains.

“oh,” logan says. “maybe you should go in and check.”

“if he’s doing something—”

“he would have deliberated it for months at a time and argued the pros and cons with you,” logan says pointedly. “i barely managed to convince him to re-upholster the seats a couple summers ago, remember?”

patton does. “but still—”

“he specified that it’s open for us, go check,” roman insists, at a pitch barely below a squeal, and so patton slowly opens the door to the cheerful jangle of the bell.

and he’s overwhelmed by yellow.

there are bundles, heaps, mountains of yellow daisies; crowded in every booth, sitting at the center of every table, fighting for space among candles that definitely weren’t there before, clustered around the feet of the table. there’s the biggest daisy chains that patton’s ever seen, ringing the diner’s ceiling, brushing against the pride flags behind the counter, and pots of daisies sitting in every chair, every booth.

patton pivots slowly, trying to take it all in—daisies bundled up in mugs, daisies twining pillars, bouquets of daisies tucked into every spare surface, every spare nook or cranny, soft instrumental music that patton definitely knows, even if he’s never heard this particular version of it—and he knows, he knows something big is going on here, hovering just at the edge of his brain but refusing to click, and he hears footsteps, turning to see.

virgil’s stepped out of the kitchen, through a clearly designated path from all the daises, there’s so many daisies, and smiles at patton.

“hey,” he says softly.

“hey,” patton breathes out. “what’s—” he struggles for a word, still trying to search for what this is, what the sense of déjà vu is—“all this?”

virgil smiles at him. there’s something nervous, in his face, making his smile a little awkward, and virgil wipes his hands on his jeans. he’s wearing the homemade hoodie, the one virgil wears most often, the one patton loves best, and his dark outfit looks strangely out of place in all this brightness, these florals, all this cheerful yellow.

he has That Look on his face, the soft one, the loving one, that always makes patton feel like he’s melting into a sentimental, happy little puddle of goo.

“so, turns out,” virgil says, “a thousand yellow daisies sounds super impressive, but once i got them all piled in here i decided i needed, like, way more, so i’m pretty sure i’ve bankrupted the east coast out of all the yellow daisies it’s got.”

“i’m sure you did,” patton says breathlessly.

virgil’s smile quirks at the edges. “you don’t remember?”

“i—”

“i mean, you were pretty specific, but i don’t blame you, it was eighteen years ago,” he says. “and you were kind of preoccupied with a lot of other things, it being logan’s first christmas eve and all the rest of everything going on, back then.”

and then, very suddenly, it clicks.

“ but proposals… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right? it should be planned. it should be magical... it should be—it should be more. there should be music playing and romantic lighting and a subtle buildup to the popping of the questions. there should be a—a thousand yellow daisies, and candles, and—and more than just an oh, i guess.”

“oh,” patton breathes. all of a sudden, he feels very dizzy, and very warm, and the thoughts in his head could really only be described as the sound a kettle makes when water comes to a boil.

“yeah,” virgil says, “so” and he slowly gets down on one knee. patton is distantly aware of some clicking sounds.

“virgil,” patton says thickly, vision already blurring with tears, even as virgil smiles up at him, removing a small velvet box from his hoodie’s pocket.

virgil clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from sounding rough as he begins, “when i first thought about us being married—”

patton can’t help but let out a choked noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh of sheer delight. married. married!!!!!!!!!

“—i thought that maybe this part would happen like how we’d moved in together; we’d slowly come to the realization, and figure out that we’ve basically been married the whole time, and maybe go off and elope, with the kids in tow.

“but then, well, i kind of remembered something you said, and i realized i agree. this—us—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you are a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you and logan and roman—the family that you’ve helped make and bring me into—that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, one that i cherish, so so much. you let me into your life, you let me be a parent to your son, our son, and i can’t—i can’t thank you enough. for everything that you’ve done for me. i don’t know who i’d be without you in my life, and i don’t ever want to find out.”

patton sniffles, and hastily reaches his fingers to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, because virgil’s going blurry, and he doesn’t want to miss this. he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“you deserve the—the big romantic gestures, with the daisies, and the candles, and the music, and wedding with cake and cookies and flowers and dancing and—and everything you want, i’ll try my best to give it to you, because you deserve—” virgil’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat.

“you deserve everything, anything, that i can give. you deserve the very best in life. you’ve been through so much, and you’re the strongest person i know, and i just—you deserve everything good in life, everything you want, and, for whatever reason, somehow, you’ve chosen that you want me, and—and i’m so grateful for that, for you, every day, and i want to show you that, and i want to give that to you, because i love you.”

“i love you too,” patton manages to squeak out. his cheeks are wet, and aching.

“so,” virgil says, drawing himself up as straight as possible, cracking open the ring box, and patton lets out another sobbing laugh, like he’s so full of joy he can’t help but let it escape his body somehow, “patton thomas sanders. i adore you. i love you more than anything in the world. i—i am not sure how many times i can communicate i love you, i feel like i don’t have words big enough for how i feel about you, but. i want to spend the rest of our lives trying. will you marry me?”

“yes,” patton bursts out the millisecond the question’s fully out of virgil’s mouth, “oh, my goodness, yes, yes, a thousand-million times yes, virgil—”

virgil breaks into a relieved smile, and he fumblingly removes the ring from the box and catches patton’s hand, his own hand shaking. he holds onto patton’s hand to steady himself—or steady patton, patton thinks he might be shaking too—and carefully slides the ring onto his finger.

it fits perfectly.

patton lets out another sobbing laugh at the sight of it, the ring on his finger, they’re engaged, they’re going to get married, and virgil rises to his feet, smiling the biggest patton’s ever seen him, and—

“oh,” patton sobs out, and pats down his pockets, even if he knows full well he doesn’t have it. “oh, this is so silly, it would be so much more romantic if i had it on me—”

logan clears his throat.

patton had nearly forgotten he was there, but he whirls, and—

and logan’s smiling, just a little, but his eyes are wet enough that patton can tell he’s emotional over this, too; roman’s clasping his hands to his chest, practically bouncing up and down, clearly just barely holding in every comment he could possibly make.

and logan’s holding a camera in one hand, and the black velvet box that patton’s been hiding in his knitting supplies since logan helped him pick it out in the other.

“oh,” patton says, beaming. logan knew, logan knew about this, logan knew and he went by the house to get the ring box for him, and patton loves him, so so much, and he leans in and rocks onto his tip-toes to kiss his son on the forehead before he takes the ringbox from him, and spins to present it to virgil, opening it—

and virgil laughs, and this time he’s the one who’s crying, and patton can’t help but laugh, too, opening the box.

“virgil—”

“yes,” he says immediately, smiling so big, and patton is so in love with him, and patton lets out a messy, sobbing laugh.

"can i ask?”

“oh! sorry, sorry—”

“marry me?” and “yes” leaves virgil’s lips as soon as he asks, and patton manages to slide the ring onto virgil’s finger, and virgil immediately cups patton’s face in his hands and leans down for a kiss.

and cocoa’s barking at their feet, knowing that something’s going on and excited to get in on it, and he can hear the clicking sounds of logan taking pictures, and roman is hollering behind them.

and everything is perfect.

⁂

virgil feels so jittery with happiness that he thinks he might vibrate to another plane of existence.

patton had scooped up a discarded daisy chain fashioned it into a flower crown that’s nestled in the midst of his curls, and every time he looks at virgil he bursts into delighted laughter, eyes crinkling up with a smile, and he’s adorable, and virgil is so lucky, feeling the urge to reach out and touch patton, just to make sure that it’s all real.

they’re engaged. patton said yes. patton had also been planning on proposing.

virgil thumbs the ring on his finger—still new to him, even with the retro look it’s got going for it, still something to get used to, but the metal’s already warm. it’s fairly simple: a gold band with a single diamond inlaid in some kind of silver rectangle, flush set, ‘cause i read that lots of little stones are bad when you work with food, since you don’t wanna get anything lost in the dough and stuff, patton had explained, and then he’d bitten his lip and asked do you like it? as if that was even remotely in the realm of possibility, as if virgil could not like the engagement ring that patton got him to symbolize their commitment to each other for forever.

virgil had tried asking patton the same thing, though, and patton had spun his gold band around his finger—well, it looked more like two gold bands joined around several small diamonds—and said “you silly goose, of course i love it” so virgil figures that their emotions are the same on this particular subject.

they’re alone, just for a bit; roman and logan had dashed off to get the champagne that roman had apparently badgered his mother into buying for them on his behalf, so they’re sitting together on the floor of the diner, surrounded by their thousands of yellow daisies.

“i just,” virgil says, and fiddles with the ring on his finger, before looking at patton. “we’re almost married.”

patton giggles, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “we are,” he agrees.

“i love you,” virgil says, giddy and almost a little helpless, because he couldn’t think to say anything else, he couldn’t think of words big enough, but—but patton knows that. he’d told him.

patton twines his fingers into virgil’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss.

patton is an exceptional kisser; virgil has known this for years. but apparently, they get exceptionally clumsy when the pair of them are beaming so widely that they can barely even move their lips together, and they keep trying until patton laughs and virgil breathes it in, lightheaded with the euphoria of all of it, and they break apart.

“we’re so happy we can’t even kiss right,” patton howls with laughter, which gets virgil to start laughing, which means the pair of them are cackling like hyenas at each other as the bell jangles, roman calling out “who wants champaaaagne?!”

virgil tries to explain, but he catches sight of patton, flower crown gone askew from their kissing attempt, which just sets him off again.

logan sighs “dads” at them, which makes virgil even happier, which turns to him grinning even wider which means he’s laughing louder, and roman rolls his eyes at logan, grinning, looping an arm through his.

“they’re happy,” roman says.

“overjoyed,” patton offers, grinning.

“elated,” virgil tacks on.

“ecstatic,” a voice says, which is when he notices ms.—isadora, right, she’d told him to call her isadora, but it took a lot to break eighteen years of habit—and he and patton scramble to their feet.

after a pause, logan adds, reluctantly, because he cannot resist a word association game, “jouissant.”

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “that’s a ten dollar word right there, look at what you’re learning off at college!”

“from the french,” isadora says. she’s holding the champagne bottle awkwardly; virgil had learned on the day after both logan and roman moved to college the amount of times she had drunk alcohol could have been counted on one hand, then, but after that day it was escalated to two. patton moves to take it from her, looking at virgil, clearly about to ask for—

“i don’t have champagne glasses,” virgil realizes.

patton says, “i think mugs’ll work, it’s not like we’re going for class, here.”

virgil acknowledges that with a shrug, and, after checking with isadora, goes to gather five mugs.

patton’s the one to pop the champagne, and virgil quickly moves to put a mug underneath it to catch anything fizzing over—he just mopped these floors, before all the daisies had come in—and patton splashes a generous amount into it.

they end up splitting the bottle among five mugs, and roman lifts his, clearing his throat.

“to virgil and patton!” he declares. “we have seen this coming since i was five—”

patton elbows him jokingly, grinning.

“—and we wish you all the best together,” roman finishes. “salut!”

“salut,” they all echo, clacking their mugs together in a chaotic rendition of cheers, and patton smiles at up at him.

“aren’t we supposed to link arms or something?” virgil asks him an undertone, and patton’s smile widens.

“save it for the wedding,” he says, in the same undertone, with a sly grin that he barely hides with his sip of champagne, and virgil has to hide the silly grin that springs onto his face with his own sip of the bubbly, sweet champagne.

isadora sips at her mug with all the delicate class that he should have expected, but it’s still kind of funny to watch her lift her pinky and sip demurely out of a gaudy SIDESHIRE PRIDE PARADE branded mug, which has more rainbows on it than possibly anything else virgil owns.

roman breaks off with patton to start making his own daisy chain, and they tug logan to join them, too, so that leaves isadora and virgil standing alone together.

“congratulations,” she offers quietly, and virgil smiles at her.

“thank you,” he says, equally soft, touched.

a pause, and then, “remus would be thrilled.”

theres a prick of bittersweetness near his heart; not nearly enough to puncture the happiness, but enough to twist his smile, just a little bit.

“he’d try to pull a carrie at my wedding,” he says, and isadora smiles. it’s a very nice smile, one that he almost never sees.

“part of the reason he’d be thrilled,” isadora agrees. “still. regardless. he should be here congratulating you.” a pause, a sip of champagne, before she says, “he would be proud of you. as am i.”

virgil swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

remus had, almost always, relentlessly teased him, on the rare occasions he’d had dates as a teenager. the baby’s growing uuuuup! he’d croon, and then proceed to attempt to sabotage him, “lovingly,” with something that virgil could easily undo, but something that would distract him from any mounting anxiety over a date.

he thinks remus and patton would have eventually gotten along. it would have been a rocky road, to be sure, but. they probably would have bonded over fatherhood, over their sons being friends. maybe because virgil cared deeply about both of them. he’ll never know, though.

“thanks, izzy-dory,” he says.

isadora’s smile has its own bitter quirk to it, at the re-emergence of a nickname that no one but remus had had the bravery to use on her; but, somehow, it isn’t sad, even as they’re remembering their own shared grief.

because she’s right. remus would be thrilled.

⁂

patton feels like he’s filled up with helium and he keeps bursting into peals of laughter at absolutely nothing at all.

virgil had taken over driving, like he usually did when he came to friday night dinners. they’re a bit late, patton’s sure, because when he and virgil were changing into their suits patton kept giggling, because they’re almost married, and then he got distracted by trying to kiss virgil again, so—

so, they’re a bit late, but he got engaged today, sue him.

virgil’s holding his hand, the other one on the steering wheel.

“i wonder how they’re gonna react,” patton muses, because, well, it shouldn’t exactly be a surprise, they moved in together a while ago and patton’s been pretty gosh-darn clear that virgil’s gonna be the one he’s spending the rest of his life with. he really hopes they aren’t gonna be too... well. them about it.

virgil says, “i did ask your dad about a family ring, a while ago—”

“oh, shoot,” patton says, turning to face him. “i totally didn’t think to do that!”

“essie got the family ring,” virgil says reassuringly, “so you didn’t miss anything, there isn’t a male family ring, as far as i know, but—but they had some forewarning, at least.”

“well, good,” patton says decisively. “they’re gonna be happy about this, okay? they’re gonna pop open some cristal and say congratulations and they are gonna like it.”

“that’s the spirit,” logan says dryly from the backseat.

“that it is,” patton says, and squeezes virgil’s hand. “anyway, logan, you’re home! do you have anything you wanna do over the weekend?”

logan considers this, before he says, “virgil told me he was planning this for this weekend, so—”

patton turns slightly. “you did?”

virgil shrugs. “i knew you’d want lo to be there.”

patton beams, and presses a kiss to virgil’s knuckles.

“roman was planning on something tomorrow with all of us,” logan continues, “but otherwise—i think the regular things. the bookstore, the press, the diner.”

“roman’s planning something, huh?” virgil says warily.

logan smiles, and doesn’t say anything else. virgil grumbles to himself.

“he’s a journalist, he knows how to keep secrets,” patton says, and, teasingly, “especially if they’re from his boyyyy-frieeeeend.”

logan mumbles something under his breath, turning ever-so-slightly red, and patton grins.

they end up plotting out a loose plan for logan’s weekend: a shopping spree of all the latest books at the bookstore, topping up any school supplies logan might have forgotten at home, doing the laundry logan had hauled back from yale, and an investigation of the library’s most recent shipment, hanging out with roman, and lots of diner food.

they pull up to the sanders’ house, and patton takes a deep breath, squeezing virgil’s hand one last time before he gets out of the car.

as soon as he walks closer, virgil immediately laces their fingers back together, squeezing.

“if you want, if they end up turning on us, we can go,” he says, in a low voice. “this day’s for us, right?”

“right,” patton says, and lets out his breath. “and who even says that they’ll react bad anyway?”

virgil doesn’t answer that—probably a good choice on his part, since he’s most likely already overthinking and patton is nervous enough—and logan knocks on the door.

his mother opens it.

“finally, you’re here,” she says, and they file in after her.

“sorry we’re late,” patton says, smiling, “we got a bit held up.”

she sighs. “well, nothing to do to fix it, then—come in, come on, would you like a drink?”

“um,” patton says, “well—”

“now?” virgil says in an undertone.

they enter the living room, where his dad’s already fixing himself a scotch at the drinks table.

“why not?” patton says, equally quiet; if we don’t, they’ll be upset we didn’t say right away, patton tries to communicate with his eyes, and virgil seems to understand, squeezing his hand.

“hello, logan,” his dad says, turning. “how’s yale?”

“busy,” logan says.

“hey, dad, why don’t you come over and sit down?” patton offers. “we, um, we have some news.”

richard and emily exchange a glance, before they sit on the couch together.

“what?” his mother says, turning to face them.

“it’s, um,” patton says, and makes the mistake of looking over at virgil, who is giving him That Look which makes his heart burst into butterflies and he can’t help but giggle, “well—”

“we, um,” virgil says, trying to help, but he can’t help smiling, too, and patton covers their held hands with his own—hiding his ring from view, coincidentally.

“oh, my god, you didn’t,” his mother says, aghast.

patton blinks, and virgil squeezes his hands harder. “didn’t what?”

“oh, my god, you did,” she says, a look of horror blooming across her face.

“now, emily—” richard says.

“you eloped!” his mother fumes, slamming his hands on the couch cushion and standing, and patton yelps out “mom!”

“i knew it, i knew you’d do anything to keep me out of your wedding!” she rants.

“mom, that’s not—”

“well, that is just cruel, patton,” she continues, overriding his attempt to intervene, moving to begin to pace, “a mother waits and plans for this day, even your mother, and tonight you just waltz in here—”

“we’re engaged,” patton bursts out. “we didn’t elope, i mean—well, we’re going to get married. in the future. since we’re fiancés now.”

his mother stops in her tracks.

“oh.”

she slowly sinks down to the couch.

“mom...?” he prompts, because he can’t really interpret the look on her face right now.

“who proposed?” she says.

“i proposed, but he had a ring too,” virgil says.

“it was very romantic,” patton says, and he can’t help but smile at virgil, all soft and silly.

“i was there, it’s true, he was very romantic,” logan confirms.

“oh,” richard says, attempting to blink off whatever whiplash must come from expecting your son to have eloped only to figure out he’s gone about the thing properly, for once. “well, congratu—”

“when’s the date?”

“oh,” patton says, caught off guard, and looks at virgil. “um—”

“the venue, the florist, the registry?”

“we got engaged today, mom,” patton tries to point out.

“i know that in a million years, you would never let me plan your wedding,” his mother starts, sounding a little wistful, and oh, no.

“um, mom—” patton begins, because. well, he’d expected the “differing social classes,” protest, he’d expected the “he’s not well-educated enough” protest, he’d expected, maybe, the “we revoke every little thing we’ve done to signify approval,” protest, or maybe even “we will start openly attempting to sabotage your relationship now.”

he hadn’t expected the mother-of-the-groom version of bridezilla. mother-in-law-zilla, maybe?

“i gave up on that dream a long time ago,” his mother continues, putting on the full, oh, what could have been, i miss that dream so face. emotional manipulation, emotional manipulation, he chants to himself, trying his best to summon emile’s voice. “yours was going to be a russian winter theme—the romanovs.”

huh. that sounded strangely familiar, but patton couldn’t put a finger on it; his brain’s been doing that a lot today.

“before the firing squad or after?” logan asks, in a blank, studious tone that only barely masks the sarcasm, and virgil just barely manages to stifle his snort. patton elbows him in the side.

“snow white roses, trees with white lights and candles, snow everywhere—”

oh, well, that doesn’t sound too—

“—you arriving in a silver sleigh with white horses...”

aaaaaaaand there it is.

“wow,” patton manages to get out, and she deflates.

“you hate the idea.”

“no, it just—” patton says, and struggles with how to put this delicately. “it doesn’t seem very... us, mom.”

“yes, well, it would have been beautiful,” she sniffs. “what will it be now? burgers and fries for the dinner? you walking down the aisle with a ketchup dispenser in hand?”

“hey,” patton says, a little sterner.

“i dunno, pat, a diner wedding could be cool,” virgil says jokingly.

“what do you think of the romanovs?” his mother says, giving virgil her most withering stare.

“they probably had it coming,” he says, stone-faced, and patton elbows him again, a little harder.

“happy day,” patton says, and looks at his mother. “let’s celebrate the engagement now, and leave all the wedding planning for later.”

frankly, it had probably been kind of naive to assume that his mother wouldn’t try his best to butt her way into wedding planning; she had gone into raptures about the potential of his debutante gowns and future outfits enough when he was younger to ohhhh he’d forgotten about the wedding talks. that’s where he’d heard all the talk about the romanovs.

well. at least it isn’t a bad reaction, he figures.

“yes, yes,” richard says. “ah—champagne?”

“yes!” patton says eagerly, ready to get past his mother attempting to worm her way into wedding planning. “yes, let’s—let’s do champagne!”

“elsa!” his mother calls, then, undeterred, “you know, it’s tradition for parents to help pay and plan for the wedding, and if we could just get in touch with your aunt celine, i bet most of your father’s side of the family—”

“small wedding, mom,” patton says, “we’re probably going to want a small wedding.”

he glances at virgil. “right?” he checks.

“yes, small wedding, absolutely,” he confirms. “my family, your family, the town—”

“the town constitutes a small wedding,” his mother says, doubtfully.

“we were talking about champagne!” patton says quickly, as elsa comes into the room. “um, elsa, can i go help you find champagne flutes, preferably until my mother exhausts this topic of conversation?”

“you’re doomed,” logan says, and patton tries his best to glare at him.

he can’t really manage it, though.

because, well. he can’t really blame his mom. he’s very excited about his wedding, too.

patton decides to take this as a win, even if he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his evening trying to dissuade his mother from throwing money at their wedding.

⁂

“okay, spin, twirl,” roman says.

virgil sighs, but does so, awkwardly; he’s wearing a purple flannel and a pair of black jeans, very regular for him. like, not very fashionably forward of him, but very regular. roman surveys him, squinting.

“since when do you need to do outfit approval for an outing?” virgil grumbles.

“since always,” roman says happily, before he smooths his hands over virgil’s shoulders; he supposes the whole thing is semi-formal—he’s wearing a white top tucked into a red skater skirt, which he guesses passes for cute but semi-casual. “okay, but, hang on, what if—”

“how many times have i told you i don’t want a makeover,” virgil says wearily.

“and how many times have i listened?” roman says. “it’s not even that much, anyway, just—”

he digs out a jacket that pairs well with it, a black one, one that at least takes virgil’s outfit to i threw it on to i at least attempted to plan, which virgil shrugs on with a sigh, and roman immediately sticks his fingers in virgil’s hair.

“hey—”

“i’m not even doing that much,” roman says, correcting virgil’s bangs, before stepping back. “okay, now you’re set.”

“finally,” virgil grumbles. “why don’t you do this to patton and logan?”

“because patton is very set on his sense of dad-fashion and logan at least has some kind of officious-looking thing going for him,” roman says. “you are just helplessly grunge.”

virgil rolls his eyes, but gestures for roman to go ahead. roman skips down the stairs, catching logan’s hand, because they’re together, in the same space, where roman can touch him and not just see his face over grainy video call.

“hi,” roman says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “ready to go?”

logan smiles at him; unlike patton and virgil, he knows exactly what’s going on.

“we all are,” logan confirms.

“right!” patton says brightly. “what’d you have in mind, kiddo?”

“you’ll see,” roman says, instead of stating an elaborately crafted cover story he’s sure he could come up with on the spot—virgil not knowing what’s going on means he won’t be super surprised when roman leads him to, well. the thing.

he keeps a tight hold on logan’s hand as they walk, swinging it between them. they hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time together yesterday, with the engagement and logan’s grandparents and all, so roman is absolutely planning on capitalizing on logan time when everyone else is occupied.

it’s an easy walk, from patton’s house to town; the weather’s still really nice, and the breeze feels nice on his legs, and logan’s hand is cool in his, and the closest thing he has to dads are behind them, trying to be subtle about their reinvigorated lovebird honeymoon phase but failing miserably.

roman squeezes logan’s hand. “so, my big yale man—”

“nickname denied,” logan says.

“all right, eli-logan—”

“slightly better,” logan says, then, “wait, you researched yale nicknames?”

“of course i did, that’s four years worth of new material there,” roman says. “so, anyway, i have news for you.”

“news?” logan says, startled.

“um, yeah,” roman says. “i asked my mom and caught up on all the taylor gossip, i bet you could write an exposé over thanksgiving break. so, i’ve got common knowledge, and town meeting stuff, and apparently my mom’s got some info for you, so i managed to get her to tell me that so you know everything before everyone else—”

a little smile breaks out on logan’s face, and he leans in to press a kiss to roman’s cheek.

roman blinks at him, but smiles. “what was that for?”

“just,” logan says, and he smiles wider. “you look very pretty today.”

roman preens; he did put extra effort into his hair, and he’s wearing a bit of makeup, a fun little glitter look on his eyes, and he usually wears skirts on special occasions, he used to wear them more when he was a kid; he borrowed this one from charlotte.

this skirt would be pretty short on him, if it weren’t for the fact this skirt is too big for her. most ballet women are tiny; charlotte’s 5′5″, and she’s the tallest of his new friends.

“well,” roman says, and preens even more obviously, so that logan will laugh. “obviously.”

logan’s laugh buoys him all the way to the point where they’re nearly to the town square, and he can hear the rush of noise, and music.

“what’s going on?” patton says curiously.

“well,” roman says slyly, and moves aside. “go and see.”

patton breaks into a smile, probably remembering the last time that roman told him to go see something.

“roman,” virgil starts, and they turn just in time to see.

the town square’s decked out with all the yellow daisies that virgil had used to propose, and a banner that says PATTON AND VIRGIL’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY, and the gazebo’s twined with blue and purple ribbons and there’s stacks of presents, and there’s a cheer that comes from people gathered: his mom, and a ton of girls who go to the dance studio, and mrs. torres, and emile and remy, and dot and larry, and babette and morey, and even taylor, all here for—

“what’s all this?” patton says, delighted.

“well,” roman says. “since i’m a poor college student and couldn’t exactly afford an elaborate engagement present, i figured i’d do the next best thing and give you an engagement party.”

“roman,” virgil says.

“i—i made it so that there’s music, and dancing, and food and stuff,” roman says, gesturing vaguely, “so even if it’s a party for you, the attention won’t always be on you, since i know how you feel about—”

he gets cut off, though, because virgil cuffs him gently around the head and pulls him in for a sidehug.

“you’re a good kid, roman,” he says, gruffly, and roman can’t help but smile. he feels like his heart is glowing, from the happy look on patton’s face, to the outward expression of fondness from virgil, to the way logan’s looking at him all proud like he’s doing something super special.

“well, duh,” roman says, like he isn’t grinning so big that he’s sure it’s messing up his makeup. “go on, go, it’s time for the party!”

and so virgil goes to patton, who takes his hand and drags him straight for the throne-like chairs that are set up for them to start opening their presents, and logan bumps up against his shoulder.

“i still can’t believe you did this,” he says quietly; they’ve been facetiming a lot so logan could help plan it, so it’s not like this party is news to him.

roman shrugs, and leans into logan’s side in a blatant ploy; logan obliges him, and wraps an arm around roman’s shoulders.

“well,” he says. “they’re important to me, too. i wanted to do something special.”

logan presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “wanna get some cake?”

“hell yeah,” roman says, and so they go and get in line to get some cake.

⁂

the sun has set, there are twinkling lights on, the music is playing, the party is still going fairly strong, and logan sways to the music.

this mostly has to do with roman dragging him out to dance, and he’s obliged, mostly because of how happy it makes roman, how excited he gets, how beautiful he looks.

roman’s hair is sweaty and has long since become a bit more of a wreck than it originally was. the glitter around his eyes has smeared a little, and his sweat catches the light, making him gleam and glow in a way that is unfairly attractive, for his version of being a sweaty mess.

he’s never, ever going to be as good a dancer as roman—for one, he hasn’t been training for nearly fifteen years—but he’s perfectly content to dance with hm, so long as he can see roman look this great, be this happy.

the song ends, and roman whoops, putting his hands up in the air, before he fans at his face.

“want a breather?”

“yes,” logan says gratefully. he runs fairly frequently, but he also isn’t nearly as in shape with roman (again, training for nearly fifteen years) and his feet ache.

roman grins at him, grabbing his hand so that he could drag logan out of the crowd, and logan follows along, trusting roman’s sense of direction in a crowd far better than his own.

they pop out somewhere near the beverage table, and logan spies, somewhere deeper in the crowd, his dad trying to twirl virgil around and virgil awkwardly ducking his arm, to gales of laughter from his dad.

“they’re happy,” logan notes.

“yeah,” roman says. then, “do you think sookie’ll kill me if i steal this bottle of champagne for us?”

logan glances over at roman, who’s grinning, and holding up a recently-opened and not-very-depleted bottle of champagne.

“it’ll be worth it,” logan decides, and roman giggles, before taking logan by the hand again, dragging him to the exact place that logan expected.

they settle on the steps of the gazebo, stretching out their legs and beholding the crowd. roman sighs, pleased, and logan tries his best not to stare at roman’s tanned thighs and the way they look in that skirt.

he has been doing that quite a bit today.

“champagne, my good sir?” roman says, mockingly officious, and logan blinks.

“we forgot to grab glasses.”

“well,” roman says, and takes a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to logan. “i’m pretty sure you don’t have cooties, and if we do, we’ve definitely cross-infected each other by now.”

“well, who knows what kind of super-cooties you could have picked up in new york,” logan says, and tries his own swig; he’s less practiced than roman, and he gets a near-painful mouthful of fizz and bubbles that makes him cough, just a little.

“a joke!” roman says, thumping him gently on the back. “college really has taught you things.”

logan rolls his eyes, and bumps his shoulder against roman’s.

they technically both got drunk for the first time at the same time; patton had offered his house for it—you’ll both probably get offered to drink at college, and i want you to try it somewhere where you know you’re safe just in case, all right? patton had said, and so they’d drank candy-flavored drinks in glass bottles and roman had tried to experiment with bartending and they’d kissed a little but logan’s pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a dry mouth, draped over roman, on the floor of the living room.

he hasn’t drunk very much since; unsurprisingly, roman likes parties more than logan does.

they swap the bottle back and forth in mostly companionable silence, watching the party go on; patton and virgil get champagne flutes clanged at them a few times, making them lean in and kiss each other to cheers from the crowd; the music rumbles on, and roman dances in place, singing along quietly; they watch emile and remy dance, and kirk’s bizarre arm-flailing that might pass as dancing.

logan feels warm, and pleasant, and a little floaty, and he turns to rest his head on roman’s shoulder.

“this is nice,” he says.

“yeah?” roman says, amused.

“i—this is really nice,” he says earnestly, and roman snorts, adjusting so that he can cup logan’s chin in his hand and examine his face.

“are you tipsy?”

“moderately, i think,” logan admits, and roman throws back his head to laugh, before cupping logan’s face in both his hands.

“you’re adorable,” roman teases, and he leans in to kiss him.

logan hums happily into his mouth, leaning into it as much as he can. he’s missed this; he’s missed him, so bad. this is his first time living away from roman, his first time not going to school with roman there, to talk to him at the press or for logan to steal into the studio to watch roman dance. it’s been harder than he thought it would, to be away from him. from home.

but he’s here now, and he’s so happy, and he feels so warm inside.

his dads are getting married, and roman is right here, kissing him, and logan parts from him with a dreamy little sigh.

“i love you so much,” logan tells him, and roman’s face goes soft.

“well, i love you so much too, bulldog-an,” roman says, and brushes some of logan’s sweaty hair out of his face, ignoring the face logan made at the highly questionable bulldog logan pun. “like, so much.”

“oh,” logan says, relieved, “good,” and roman laughs, but not in a mean way, not at all.

“you’re a peach, baby,” roman says, and logan rests his head on roman’s shoulder.

the party’s still going; it’s a slow song playing, and his dads are dancing slowly, eyes closed, completely in their own little world.

“you know,” logan says thoughtfully, “when i propose to you, i wouldn’t mind something like this for us. i think that’d be nice.”

roman laughs, a little nervous, and he says, “what?”

“when i propose to you,” logan repeats. “or when you propose to me, i guess. however. i don’t care which way. but a party like this, then, it’d be pretty—mmph,” because roman’s pressed his lips against logan’s, hushing him.

and oh, logan has missed kissing like this; feeling like he was melting into it, hyperaware of every swipe of roman’s tongue and promising hint of the scrape of teeth and the taste of champagne on both of their tongues, roman’s hand a warm presence he can feel burning through his shirt that’s inching lower and lower, and logan twists his fingers in roman’s shirt in kind, dropping down to squeeze at roman’s bare thigh—

“this skirt,” he growls, “has been distracting me all day.”

“yeah, i know,” roman says, pleased, wiggling into the touch, flexing his muscles on purpose, “that was the goal” and how could logan not lean in to kiss him even more at that, spreading his hand as wide as he could to feel as much of roman’s soft skin as he could, kissing him heated and quick and desperate, and—

and there was the clanging of champagne flutes starting again, someone hooting and hollering, and roman and logan broke apart.

well. logan kept a possessive hand on roman’s thigh. because feeling up roman’s muscles was just very nice.

“we should probably get back to the party,” roman breathes, and he’s still close enough that logan can feel the breath on his face.

“i—yeah,” logan says. “we probably should.”

roman laughs, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “i’ll get you some water first, though. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” logan agrees, leaning back; well, as much as he can lean back, when he’s sitting on stairs.

roman giggles, and walks off, with more swaying to his hips than he usually would, looking over his shoulder to give logan an ostentatious wink.

logan can’t help but burst into a smile.

i’m going to marry that man.

⁂

"wait! wait, wait, wait, wait,” virgil says, frowning, wrapping his hand around patton’s wrist to keep him from going into the house, and patton bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

listen. patton knows he’s a lightweight. he usually plans for these kinds of things, so that he doesn’t end up drunk off his butt from what would usually get other people teetering their way from tipsy into drunk.

with that, it follows that he’s been around virgil drunk more than virgil has been drunk around him.

but the champagne had been flowing, and everyone had been eager to fill up the newly... affianced? newly fiancéd? the engaged couple’s drinks throughout the entire party.

and as such, virgil is frowning, almost over-exaggerated, clearly going through some kind of calculation that must make sense in his drunk brain.

“i gotta do the,” virgil says, and vaguely mimes something. “the carry-you-over thing.”

it clicks in patton’s brain, then.

“you want to carry me over the threshold?” he asks, amused. “honey, that’s what newlyweds do. people do that when they get married.”

“we’re basically almost married,” virgil argues, and patton tilts his head, considering this.

look, he’s not sober either, okay?

“all right,” patton agrees with a laugh, holding out his arms. “carry me over the threshold, darlin’.’

virgil beams at him and, carefully, gets into place.

“ready?” he asks, and, when patton nods, lifts him with a small grunt, and patton squeaks as his feet leave the ground, wrapping his arms tight around virgil’s neck.

virgil slowly ascends the porch stairs, patton beaming at him, until virgil comes to a pause.

“what?” patton asks.

“the door,” virgil says.

“oh, i can get—”

“i’m not putting you down,” virgil says, as if offended by this potential slight to his ability as a good fiancé, and scowls at the door, as if he’ll be able to open it with telekinesis.

“no, virge, i mean—” patton says, with a laugh, then, “hang onto me tighter?”

virgil obliges, and patton reaches over, twisting the doorknob.

“there,” he says, satisfied.

virgil leans ever so slightly to smack a kiss of gratitude to patton’s cheek, before stepping carefully over the threshold, making sure that patton doesn’t bump his feet or his head against the doorframe.

and patton expects that to be it, for virgil to set him down right there, except he keeps going, ignoring cocoa barking excitedly at their feet.

“virgil!” he squeaks.

“night, logan!” virgil calls to logan, who calls out a cheerful “night!” and moves past them, clicking his tongue for cocoa to follow him, for her to go out one last time before bed.

and virgil keeps going, moving up the stairs much more slowly than they usually would, a combination of the pair of them being tipsy and giggly, and virgil climbing the stairs with patton in his arms.

the door’s slightly ajar, and so virgil turns to bump it open with his hip, and carries patton across that threshold, too, and, at last, deposits patton on the bed, patton bouncing ever so slightly with his landing, bursting into laughter.

virgil immediately looms over him, crawling above him, and patton giggles at the sight of him, moving to cradle his cheeks in his hands.

“my big strong man,” patton purrs, “you’re such an amazing almost-husband—”

virgil dips and immediately moves to devour patton, and patton gasps into his mouth, snaking his arms around virgil’s waist. virgil bumps noses with him, and patton laughs, adjusting, before he surges up and kisses him again, and he feels so excited, all of the energy of the party resurging and making his blood heat and patton presses himself closer and nips at his lips and kisses him, and virgil gasps into his mouth, and—

“you’re drunk,” patton groans, and virgil sighs, resting his head on patton’s collarbone.

“but kissing,” he whines into patton’s chest. “and—other things.”

patton snorts, nudging virgil so he rolls off of him, and he does so easily, with no resistance.

“you’ve had to tell me to not get too eager when i’m drunk,” patton says, “and now i’m telling you.”

virgil pouts, and it is awfully difficult to not just dive right back in and kiss him, when he’s all rosy-cheeked, and he’s got kiss-swollen lips.

“nope,” patton says, and swipes a kiss across his cheek. “payback for that one time after my final final exams.”

“you were drunk,” virgil protests.

“and so are you!” patton says, laughing.

virgil lets out a long, weary sigh, and grumbles, “fine,” rolling away from patton.

“aw, lovely,” patton says, and puts his hand on virgil’s side, shaking him a little to get his attention. virgil pretends to mope—or maybe it’s not pretend, virgil can be a sulky drunk, and he usually is, until patton draws him out of whatever corner he decided to brood in, and then he gets all blushy whenever patton kisses him on the cheek or gives him gestures of affection or pays attention to him, generally—“hey, honey, we can still cuddle, n’stuff.”

virgil visibly perks up at that. he rolls back over.

“yeah?” he says hopefully.

“yeah,” patton says, “of course we can cuddle, just—we should get ready for bed, first, and then we can cuddle all you want.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and steals one last kiss before he ambles away to go brush his teeth, even as patton squawks after him, because that’s cheating, they aren’t supposed to kiss and stuff when they’re drunk, those are virgil’s rules!!!

patton ends up butting up against him in the bathroom, bumping his hip against his, and they brush their teeth together, making funny faces at each other in the mirror.

they tumble into bed together, patton letting out a relieved groan.

“the party was very fun,” he sighs. “but i am very tired.”

“seconded,” virgil groans, wrapping an arm over patton gracelessly; it’s like he wants to touch as much of patton as possible, hug him as close as he could, and patton smiles, burrowing closer.

a beat, then, “okay, i know that i’m the one who said we should follow the rules, but—”

“mm-mm,” virgil grunts, and patton sighs.

“yeah, i figured.”

“well,” virgil says, after a beat. “look at it this way. we’ve got the rest of forever to kiss and stuff before bed.”

patton hides his grin at the thought of that in virgil’s chest; he knows their rings are resting side-by-side on their nightstand table, their symbol of their commitment for the rest of time.

virgil’s right. they do have forever.

and that sounds just about perfect to him.

#my post #text #my fic #the sideshire files #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety #logince

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 5 years

Text

[checkmate] [2]

Summary: After ten years of fighting and surviving their way through the apocalypse in search of their son, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman finally find Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth and are ready to reunite with Louis.

Notes: I planned on having this posted yesterday, but then I ended up rewriting one of the segments which resulted in the rest of it being reworked so... yay for the writing process. Anyway, as I’ve said before, this is a part of the contest prize story for @bluebutterfly1. I hope you all enjoy it!

Read on AO3

---

--- 10 Years Later ---

Today is important.

It’s crucial.

Everything is riding on today.

Today is the day Tennessee proves himself.

And no matter how many times he rubs his hands against the dirty denim of his jeans, his palms remain unbearingly humid despite the chill in the air. They tremble in such a violent way that he can hardly hold his bow. He curls them into fists to control the shaking, mouth murmuring encouraging words meant only for his ears.

Today marks the first time Tenn will venture outside the walls of the school and hunt all by himself- well, Rosie will be with him since the number one rule is to never actually go alone, but Rosie’s a dog, not another person, so technically, it’s like he’s going alone. Sort of.

He’s planned for this day for months, nearly a year. Archery and gun lessons, hunting techniques and trapping, and overall, survival- with AJ’s help, Tenn now feels confident that he can go on a hunting trip by himself without any trouble.

He’s going to be smart and bring home dinner and make everyone proud.

He will make AJ proud.

Tenn swallows, though with how dry his mouth is, that only serves to make him more uncomfortable. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and counts to three, for forward then backward.

One, two, three… three, two, one… one, two, three…

“You’re okay,” he says, stretching out his fingers as he counts. “You can do this.”

He can do this. AJ believes he can do this, and so does Clementine, and Louis, and Ruby, and everyone else.

Well, Aasim had his doubts, but Tenn’s learned to not take offense to everything Aasim says.

“You can do this.”

Tenn grabs the arrows from his desk, secures a knife to his belt right next to the walkie talkie, and slips on his backpack. All ready to go, Tenn finds himself hesitating in the middle of his dorm room. There are several things that could go wrong, plenty that he could screw up, and like a tidal wave they all crash against the shores of his mind.

He knows he’s being dumb. It’s not like this is his first time hunting or scavenging. He’s gone with AJ and Aasim several times, and even a couple times with Louis, and nothing bad ever happened.

Unless he counts the time a trap malfunctioned and caught Aasim, but that wasn’t Tenn’s fault, and it was funny to see Aasim hanging upside down like that. No one got hurt, aside from Aasim’s pride.

“You can do this.”

Tenn leaves the comfort of his dorm room and ventures outside. The morning air is sweet, chilly, even. Frozen dew still sticks to the grass and covers the tables. When Tenn lets out a puff of air, it’s visible in a thick fog around him. Tenn swings his back around, unzipping and digging around for the hat Ruby gave him.

It won’t be like this later. They’re in the weird part of spring where it’s too cold in the morning, but come noon, the sun will heat the earth and melt all the frost.

Tenn looks forward to seeing the sun today.

Omar’s moving about, gathering chunks of wood to split. He waves over at Tenn but makes no move for conversation, instead picking up his ax. Tenn doesn’t mind, so he waves back and allows Omar to go about his business.

Louis is up on watch, leaning against the edge with a blanket wrapped around him. It’s odd seeing him up there. Usually, he talks his way out of the morning watch, opting for night shifts with Clementine.

His hands begin to tremble again, so Tenn tells himself in a low voice, “You can do this.” He repeats it even as he approaches the gates.

However, just as he’s about to push through, quick clapping from above breaks his concentration.

Louis grins down at him from his spot.

“Hey, Louis,” Tenn greets, voice wavering slightly. He clears his throat and tightens his grip on the strap of his bag. Louis waves to him before holding up his pointer finger.

Tenn moves around to watch Louis climb down with a huff. He nearly trips over his blanket, seemingly forgetting that he had himself tangled in it while in his hurry to get down. He pulls an exasperated face at the offending blanket, one that makes Tenn smile, which in turn makes Louis smile.

‘You leaving?’ Louis points to the gate.

“I’m going hunting today,” Tenn nods, quickly adding, “by myself. Just me.”

Louis hums, grinning. He reaches for Tenn’s trembling hand and pulls something from his coat pocket, placing it in his palm.

It’s a granola bar. S’mores, the kind with the tiny marshmallows in it. Tenn’s favorite.

There’s a sticky note attached reading, ‘In case you get hungry. Be careful and be SAFE. You’re going to do great, buddy!’ with a goofy smiley face beside it, silly enough to make Tenn’s smile grow. A warmth surges through him, confident and buoyant.

“Thanks, Louis.”

Louis tugs the beanie upon Tenn’s head down more snugly over his reddening ears before giving him a thumbs up. The urge to step forward and hug him overwhelms Tenn, but he doesn’t act on it. Sometimes Louis gets weird about stuff like that, and Tenn doesn’t want to make him feel bad after he did something nice for him.

“You’re out here early,” Tenn says.

Louis rolls his eyes, giving a sign that takes Tenn a moment to remember it’s meaning. He has a sign for each of them, all unique, but sometimes Tenn gets them confused. His sign isn’t as good as AJ’s or Clem’s, he’s embarrassed to admit, but he can usually pick up on enough to figure out what Louis is saying. If not, Louis always carries a pen and a small notebook to scribble on.

“Aasim?”

Louis nods, adding, ‘Ruby needs help.’

“That makes sense. Greenhouse?”

‘Yes.’

“Okay, well, I’m going to go now. To hunt, and maybe fish. I don’t know yet,” Tenn says, glancing back over to the gates. “Don’t get too cold, okay?”

Louis grins, soft and fond. He twists around and whistles, and barely a couple seconds later, Rosie’s trotting over to them, her stubby, excited tail wagging and ears perked. She barks, sitting down beside Louis as he pats her head and scratches her ears. Louis turns back to Tenn, a brow raised.

Tenn smiles, clapping his hands two times, saying, “C’mon, Rosie. We’re going hunting.”

At that, Rosie jumps to her feet and hurries to the gates. Tenn remains where he is, eyeing his companion and the daunting gates with a hesitation he wishes he could knock right out of himself. The wrapper of the granola bar crinkles when he tightens his grip.

‘You’re going to do great, buddy!’ the note reads.

He can do this.

Louis pokes Tenn’s forehead with a grin.

“I know,” Tenn says.

‘Be safe.’

With bow in hand and a nervously beating heart, Tenn leaves Louis and Castle Violet with a final, reassuring smile and heads through the gates. He’s greeted by the same woods that are always there, though this time they have this delicate frost covering their usually harsh and green features. Everything’s still, silent. The loudest thing echoing through the trees are his footsteps and his heartbeat.

“You can do this.”

Today is the day Tennessee proves himself.

---

These woods hold more than just walkers and animals.

Thomas discovered that last week when he spotted a couple of kids setting up traps. How they’ve managed to survive this long, he has no idea, but he does know that they gotta have a hideout. There’s no way they’re out here living in these woods. A walker would’ve nabbed ‘em by now.

There’s gotta be more of ‘em, too.

He still kicks himself for losing track of the two kids. If he’d been quicker with the walkers that came sneaking up on him, he could’ve followed those kids right to their hideout.

But maybe not all hope is lost.

Thomas watches the couple from afar as they mosey around the old, abandoned train station. They’re older, much older than the kids he saw. Usually, he’d ignore ‘em and go about his business, or take care of ‘em if he needed to, but then he overheard ‘em.

They’re looking for a school, and now, things are making sense.

This time, Thomas doesn’t let ‘em out of his sight.

This time, Thomas follows ‘em through the woods and down to the river, by the wreckage of an old, decrepit boat.

---

“Geoff says no.”

“Geoff doesn’t get a vote.”

“He’s apart of the group. He gets a vote and he votes no.”

“The turtle doesn’t get a vote because he is, as I’ve stated numerous times before, a turtle.”

“A turtle with thoughts and feelings and the ability to see that this is stupid and a waste of precious time.”

Hugo glances at the turtle and his dark, narrowed eyes.

Judgemental little shit.

“Funny how he always seems to side with you.”

“He knows I’m right,” Isabel smirks, offering Geoff a bite of her stale granola bar.

“When he learns how to hunt for us, or fight off the walkers, or do anything but take up valuable resources, then he can have a vote. Until then, Geoff gets to shut his trap.”

Geoff eagerly gnaws a piece off, a glare still fixated on Hugo as he chews.

He’d be lying if he said he was happy to see the elderly turtle survive ten years into the apocalypse. Bringing Geoff along has brought them -actually, mostly Hugo- nothing but distress, having to keep the turtle fed, lugging him around in moments of extreme danger. It’s a damn miracle they haven’t left him somewhere, or that he hasn’t died, or that they haven’t eaten him.

He suggested that once. Hugo’s cooking skills were admittedly lacking, but he’s confident that he could make a mean turtle stew and enjoy every minute of it.

Isabel nearly took his eye out for that one, so Hugo scrapped the idea.

Even now, he has nightmares about waking up one morning to find Geoff devouring his leg or biting his nose off. Still, Isabel insists that they keep him along for moral support, of all things.

That, and for Louis. For when they find him.

Louis…

Ten years.

It’s been ten years since they saw Louis, since they’ve spoken to him or knew if he was even alive. Once the first week of their escape from the bunker became a month, then six months, and eventually a year, hope for ever seeing their son again had plummeted.

“Listen to me. I don’t want to ignore this anymore- I can’t keep talking like this! It’s driving me mad and I just- ...what if we make it to the school and it’s… bad?”

“Don’t say that.”

“I need you to face the very real possibility that if we find Ericson-

“When we find Ericson.”

“...Fine, when we find Ericson, we might find Louis and-”

“Hugo-”

“-and he might not be-”

“I don’t want to hear it-”

“-alive. What if he’s not alive?”

“He is alive! He’s got to be alive! You said it yourself! Those people would keep those kids safe so Louis has to be safe!”

“Unless something happened. He might be one of them and we-”

“That’s enough!”

With the increasing amount of walkers, nasty people going rogue and killing more of the living than the dead, and limited food, water, and clothing resources, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman nearly gave up.

That wasn’t in the stars for them, though.

“I don’t want to think about it either, Isabel, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep going like this with this-this blind hope that he’s safe and sound and still waiting for us! What if he’s a walker? Or, what if the school’s abandoned? I need us to be on the same page! The odds of Louis still being alive? They’re slim. They’re so goddamn slim and if we keep going and eventually find the school? I need to know that we can still make it even if he’s not there. Or, if he is there and one of the dead.”

Hugo and Isabel survived, wandering through empty towns, killing walkers and hunting for their own food, despite Isabel’s protests in the beginning. Never did they think they’d have to skin and cook their own food, and without any spices to flavor the dull meat.

From New York, to Pennsylvania, to New Jersey, through Delaware and into Maryland, they’ve traveled. Sometimes with others, but rarely. Most groups meant trouble, they learned that one quick after they travelled with a group in the beginning. One of the men got bit and kept it hidden from the rest until it was too late. When more than half of them were dead, a couple turned on them, taking nearly all their supplies and running off in Hugo’s SUV, leaving Hugo and Isabel and two others to die.

At least they’d been decent enough to toss Isabel’s bag of Louis’ clothes and photos, seeing no use for them.

Dangers that others brought with them was something they needed to avoid as much as possible if they were going to make it to West Virginia, to Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth. After that first betrayal, they swore they’d never do it again. They had each other and that was more than enough.

So much death and destruction witnessed and experienced. The worst humanity has to offer, a world of kill or be killed. Just like with shooting a gun, Hugo never thought of a lifetime where he’d have to take another's life under any circumstances, but he has. They both have, more than once. A cruel, dark world they’ve ventured through in search of that one speck of light, of happiness.

Their son, Louis.

All the while, Geoff found himself a snug home within Isabel’s backpack, only ever emerging when they found a safe place to settle for the night and eat. Not a care in the world for the danger that lingers all around them. What a life that must be.

It doesn’t matter now. They’re close, and Geoff can fuck go himself, Hugo thinks.

“I have to know, Hugh.”

“I know.”

“I have to know what happened… even if he’s not there or not… not himself.”

“I know. Me, too.”

They’re so damn close. They have to be. After ten years of searching and getting held up, they crossed the border into West Virginia, one more step closer to finding Ericson.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Isabel leans down, tilting her head towards Geoff. “We should make him sleep outside tonight?”

“Belle,” Hugo warns.

“I know he’s a mean, old man, but that’s no reason to be so cruel, my friend. He’ll freeze to death.”

“You and that damn turtle,” Hugo sighs.

Lifting his binoculars, he can see the wreckage perfectly. Remains of a boat scatter across the shore, seemingly untouched. A few walkers roam around with little purpose, nothing they can’t handle. Hugo’s become well acquainted with the hatchet on his belt and the handgun in his bag, skills he never dreamed up picking up years ago but thankfully, he’s a quick study.

“Looks abandoned.”

“Of course it’s abandoned. No one’s going to mess around with a shipwreck like that. Looks like someone blew it to hell.”

“I mean, I don’t see any signs of anyone around. Some walkers, but that’s it. Part of it’s washed up on land. It’s worth looking through.”

“For what? Soggy supplies?” Isabel sighs. “It’ll be dark soon. I say we loop around and go back to the train station for the night.”

“It’s barely afternoon, and that place is picked apart.”

“Yeah, but there’s a mattress,” Isabel says. “And a crib for Geoff to sleep in.”

That gets Hugo’s attention.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Isabel rolls her eyes. “Geoff’s sick of sleeping in the bag, and I’m sick of sleeping outside. And your leg-”

“My leg is fine.”

“It won’t be if you keep overworking it,” Isabel says. “All jokes aside, I’m not carrying your ass back.”

“So you say.”

Isabel sighs, glancing around. With his back still turned to her, Hugo can feel the anxiousness wafting off of her.

“Look,” she says, “if we’re as close as you think we are, then we gotta find a map or something, get our bearings and go from there.”

“I agree,” Hugo says simply. “After we check out the boat, we’ll do just that.”

“Ericson is our number one priority, not that boat.”

She’s right, but the main problem they’ve run into is actually finding Ericson. Going based on memory alone, Hugo believes they’re close, but can’t decipher just how close. There are no signs leading to the school, nowhere to lead them in the right direction. Finding the train station was a stroke of luck out there. It gave them a starting place, and surely, it had a map that could lead them to Ericson’s gate.

However, who knows how long it will take to locate and travel there.

“It could still be days before we actually find it. We still need food to live, so unless Geoff is on the menu for the next few nights, we’re searching the boat. It’ll only take a minute.”

The warmth of her glare burns into his back, but Hugo’s grown used to conflict like this with her. Along with many of the things he never thought possible within this world, he and Isabel actually sticking together through it all still manages to surprise him.

He loves that woman with every fiber of his being and he’d die protecting her, and he knows she feels the same way. Somewhere along the journey, they no longer stuck together with the only purpose of survival and pursuit of their son, but because that love somehow rekindled, despite everything.

Different. Hardened, even. But, love all the same.

“You’re sleeping outside tonight.”

“Come now, love,” Hugo smirks back at her. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It ran off with your prudence.”

“Scandalous.”

Despite herself, Isabel smiles.

“We’ll be quick?”

“Quick as lightning.”

Popping the final bite of granola into her mouth, Isabel scoops Geoff up, saying, “C’mon, buddy, maybe we’ll find you a fishy friend down there or something.”

“We should let him roam for a bit. I’m sure he misses the water.”

“Nice try, but no,” Isabel says, slipping Geoff into her bag. He protests little, happy to fall into another slumber or do whatever it is that he does in there.

Hugo doesn’t care what he does. The only thing he cares about right now is finding food and other supplies that may bring him one step closer to finding Ericson, and if he has to dig through the debris of an old, wrecked boat, then so be it.

---

Clementine runs her thumb over the defeated, black pawn in her hand, finding a chip in its head. The fingers of her other hand tap along the table, anxious and rapid. Perhaps the soft noise will serve as a distraction.

Louis isn’t bothered by the tapping in the slightest. No, rather he seems amused with that small smile of his as he glances over the board. Opposite of her, Louis sits relaxed, leaning forward with his chin in his palm and a light hum vibrating in his throat.

It’s almost infuriating.

Here she is waiting in great anticipation for him to checkmate her, silently hoping that by some miracle, this won’t be her third loss in a row. Clementine tries to follow his gaze to see where he’s planning to strike, but it becomes obvious rather quickly that he’s teasing her with that faux stumped expression.

Louis looks to her and grins, quirking a suggestive brow as he picks up his queen. With a wink, he makes his move.

It takes everything in Clementine’s power to not toss the board across the room when he gives her his signature ‘checkmate’ sign.

“How?” she exclaims exasperated, slamming her hands down on the table, startling Rosie from her afternoon nap beside her. “That wasn’t a legal move!”

As she’s complaining, he’s already jotted down his reply, twisting his notepad around for her to see.

Someone hasn’t learned anything from the last two games, have they? And yes, it was 100% legal. You’re just a sore loser, my darling.

“I am not!”

Louis shoots her a look.

“I’m not!” Clementine insists. “I- you are cheating!”

‘Me?’

“You!”

Louis places his hand over his heart, pouting his bottom lip out as far as possible and knitting his brows, sniffling. He’s such a sad sight that the corners of her mouth twitch disobediently, defying her attempt at a scowl.

“Careful, Lou. You could trip over that lip.”

That makes him smile.

With a sigh, Clementine leans back to look over her defeat, arms crossed and pride only slightly wounded. The walkie talkie beside her falls over with a soft clunk.

She thought she’d be good at this game full of strategy and thinking ahead, but her mind can’t get a grasp of it no matter how many times Louis tries to explain how to play and win.

Marlon never beat me either, he once wrote to her. One time I felt so bad for him that I threw the game so he could win, but it backfired. He figured out what I did and we had to play another 3 rounds before he gave up. Wanted to beat me fair and square. Never could.

He tried something similar with her once, but Clementine could see what he was doing, too, and called him out on it. He sighed, checkmated her within two turns, and as usual, she threw a weak tantrum. He then laughed at her, placing yet another check next to his name on their scoreboard: Louis - 7 , Clementine - 0

Louis plucks his winning piece from the board and grabs her hand, placing the Queen within her palm and closing her fingers around it. He kisses the back of her fist with a warm smile, something he does every time he beats her. She’s come to learn that it’s his way of saying, ‘I’m sorry you will never beat me at chess, but for what it’s worth, you are my queen.’

Such a thing shouldn’t make her skin flush as much as it does.

“One day I will beat you.”

Louis nods, but it’s not as much convincing as it amused. He kisses her hand again before moving to clear off the board. Three games are enough for one day, and that she agrees with. As they clean up the table, Clementine catches him grinning to himself. She wants to ask what he’s thinking about but decides against it.

She wasn’t sure they’d ever have moments like this after the raider’s attack, after what they did to Louis. For a while, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get to see him smile like that ever again.

Clementine still has nightmares about it. A warped world full of Louis’ sobs and Lilly’s snickers, blood all over the floor and her hands. When she tries to pry the door to Louis’ cell open, her fingers slip. The blood never goes away. She does eventually get the cell open and Louis is there, curled up in a corner, violent trembles wrecking his body as blood and drool drips from his mouth.

Then she wakes up and Louis is beside her in their bed, alive and healed. Well, physically healed, she supposes. Those internal wounds- the mental and emotional- would scab over, but every once in a while, that scab is torn or completely ripped off and the pain comes flooding back. Never fully healed. She knew all about those scabs.

For weeks after they escaped the delta with their friends- well, most of their friends- Louis secluded himself away to the darker parts of Ericson. He wouldn’t look anyone in the eye, he wouldn’t eat in front of anyone, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him. Not Clementine, not AJ, no one.

Clementine thought anything they had between them- the feelings, the quiet, tender moment they shared in the piano room, their first kiss- was gone, that Louis wouldn’t want her after what happened, that he wouldn’t ever forgive her. She blamed herself, even if he didn’t.

A few days after she woke up, she asked Louis to be honest with her.

“Do you hate me?”

And he shook his head, ‘No.’

“I’m so sorry, Louis, really I… could you ever forgive me?”

And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t nod, he didn’t shake his head. He averted his gaze, stood from his chair, and pulled her blanket up to her chin. He brushed stray curls from her forehead, and then he left.

But, he came back the next day, and the day after that. He came to see her every day while she was stuck in bed.

The strangest part was that he would smile, but more often than not, it wasn’t real. No, it was forced, a way to trick everyone into believing he was okay, that everything was fine.

She saw through it. Sometimes, she went along with it because it’s what he wanted. Other times, she’d confront him about it and the facade would drop and she would see him in his true state. Then he would leave, and she couldn’t follow. She couldn’t walk, and she didn’t call after him.

After that torture, the mutilation, Louis lost a chunk of himself that Clementine wasn’t ever sure could be filled again. On top of it all, Louis lost two of his best friends within weeks of each other and nearly lost Clementine herself.

Even she’s surprised she survived the impromptu amputation performed by AJ in that walker infested barn. She woke up hours later without a leg and a sense of relief that she was actually dead and at peace, but the pain swelling in her knee and burning through her body told her otherwise. If that wasn’t convincing enough, AJ and Louis’ hugs and cries were.

It wasn’t easy getting on with their lives; dealing with Violet’s death, thinking Tenn was dead, the loss of Louis’ voice and her leg, it all added up and waking each morning became a chore.

Then Tenn came home, and Clementine got out of bed.

Louis helped her walk to Violet’s grave to pay her respects in the form of freshly picked flowers, and as they stood there, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. It was the first time he reached out to her since she first woke up, and what was more surprising, he sat down at the table with her and everyone else.

He ate little, whether it was due to the pain he still felt while healing or his self-consciousness about the whole thing, Clementine didn’t know. She didn’t ask, she was just happy to see him eating something after weeks of not knowing if he was or if he could.

Then he smiled. A real smile, right at AJ, before smiling at her.

Even now, Clementine can remember it as clear as day. Louis smiled at her, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He handed it to her, and she read it.

Clementine,

Do you know why lobsters never share? Well, it’s because they’re SHELLFISH!

Sorry, I wanted to lighten the mood before I got serious.

What happened wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for anything and I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am that you are alive. I was so scared after you and AJ came back and what happened to Vi and Tenn. I will do everything I can to help you through this, Clem. You’re my best friend and I need you and everyone here. We need each other.

I’m not okay, but I will be. I want to be, but it’s hard. I want to be better.

I was also hoping that maybe you’d be my girlfriend? We never really made it official before, but seeing you wake up after thinking you were dead, I know that I still want to give this a try if you’ll have me.

-Louis

That was years ago, and everything’s better.

Not perfect, but it’s home.

The school no longer went by Ericson, but Castle Violet, in dedication to their friend who sacrificed herself to save Tenn’s life. They rebuilt several parts that burned down in the past, cleared out restricted areas for use, and now have a thriving rabbit farm next to the well-working greenhouse.

Ruby and Aasim are still together, living in the same dorm room now. While they don’t necessarily have a “leader” these days, Aasim is the closest thing they have to one of those with Clementine as his second in command.

Ruby, believe it or not, has spent a vast amount of her time working on a proper prosthetic for Clementine since Willy and AJ’s left a lot more to be desired.

Omar still plays his role as the main chef, though he’s also taken to caring for the greenhouse and rabbit farm alongside Aasim and Ruby. All the while, he’s the one who found old sign language books, tutoring Louis, himself, and the rest of them to help further Louis’ communication process. For that, Clementine will always be thankful.

Willy took on all the repairs around the school, as well as bomb preparation- in case of emergencies, he claimed- weaponry, and fixing up a set of four walkie talkies for them all to use to keep in touch throughout the school and outside the walls.

As for AJ, he’s grown up. It’s hard to look at him and remember he’s only nine-years-old. For so long, Clementine worried about who he was growing up to be, whether he could make good choices or not, if he knew when it was right to pull the trigger or not. He’s proved himself to her time and time again, and learned to trust him.

Then there’s Tenn, who now knows how to shoot a gun properly thanks to careful training from her and AJ, and he’s capable enough to handle himself out on hunts and scavenges. In fact, today’s his first day out by himself. Well, him and Rosie.

Clementine glances at the walkie talkie beside her. Now that she thinks about it, Tenn hasn’t radioed her all day. God, she hopes he didn’t forget to take the other one with him. The whole point of Willy fixing these things up was so that they could have a line of communication from outside to the school.

She’s sure he’s fine, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying. It is Tenn, after all.

Louis hums, slipping the cover over the box containing the chess game and tucks it away. Clementine recognizes the song, one that he does when he’s content. Standing from his spot, box in hand, he kisses her cheek as he moves past her to put the game away.

Clementine snatches his free hand, pulling Louis back for a proper kiss. He smiles against her lips, a chuckle building in his throat. The grin remains even when they pull away, even as he rolls his eyes and gives a playful pinch of her cheek.

“Stop,” she giggles, smacking his hand away.

He laughs, leaving her to put the chess game back where it belongs.

Clementine shifts and the walkie talkie beside her falls back over on the table. Static breaks through, stuttering, but loud enough for her to take notice.

“Clem? Clem? Are you-”

“Tenn?” Clementine speaks into the walkie, thumb pressed painfully against the red button on the side. “Tenn, are you okay?”

“I-” a break. “I-I have wounded- they-”

Maybe it’s the effect of the walkie, but Tenn’s voice stutters with a dreadful alarm.

Louis grips her shoulder, leaning down to hear the walkie better. The worry that furrows his brow matches her own.

“Tenn, where are you?”

“Fishing shack- We’re in the fishing shack. There are walkers-” his voice is clear now, but there’s something behind his voice, the voice of another speaking. “There was a man- I-”

A pause.

“Tenn? Who’s with you? Are you okay?”

Silence.

“Tenn?”

#[checkmate]#twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg clouis #clouis #twdg louisentine #louisentine #twdg tenn #twdg aj #twdg aasim #twdg ruby #twdg omar #twdg violet #twdg marlon #twdg willy

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discopiratetanis · 5 years

Text

In a Earth where magic exists, an immortal lineage of noble wardens is responsible for protecting magical creatures from humans.

Jaskier, the young grandson of Queen Calanthe, Poland's ancestral guardian, arrives at the small town of Blaviken, a refuge for magical beings who do not wish to have contact with humans, to complete his training as a warden.

There, in that haven of peace and safety, he'll meet strange but good people who will help him to learn and understand the true importance of his heritage and what really means to be a warden.

magical town!Geraskier AU. Sets in a not historically accurate Poland during the eighties, specifically 1984. So there will be a little bit of socialism (but decent socialism) here and a few references to WWII in a good way.

This is solely for my pure personal pleasure, so it will have an erratic update dates, sorry. But I hope you like it! Likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciate and encourage me to continue, thank you! ❤

Rating: M (for the moment)

Words: 6888

Chapter: 1/of many

Characters who show up in this chapter: Jaskier (of course, is his POV), the pack of wolves, Filavandrel as a humbled lumberjack, Yennefer, Renfri and Regis. Honorable mentions to Queen Calanthe, the Seven Dwarfs, a sleepy greyhound and a happy old woman on her rocking chair.

N/A: There will be Valdo Marx X Jaskier during the course of the story, but obviously Geraskier is the endgame pair!

You can also read the chapter on AO3!

If you want to support me I have a ko-fi!

It was raining when Jaskier got off the bus, a silent drizzle, a faint curtain of mist that you couldn't see if you didn't pay attention. But the air was wet.

Very wet.

Surprise, Jaskier, water wets! the boy thought, moving away from the road so that the bus would not soak him when it marched over the puddles in the ditch. He stepped on the mud beyond the asphalt. The bus stop was a simple wooden post, marked with a blue metal rectangle on which the number fifty-eight had been painted white. The road had two narrow lanes, one southbound, the other northbound. And everything else around was wilderness. Green, silent, lonely, deep woods. Jaskier grunted, hung better his duffel bag over his shoulder, and pulled a small piece of paper and a compass out of the front pocket of it.

"Alright," he said aloud, before reading what it had written on the paper, already getting wet because of the rain.

From the sixth stop of bus number fifty-eight, walk west until you find a big gray oak tree. Once you have arrived, pass underneath and continue straight ahead, Blaviken will appear before you.

If you encounter the wolves don't be afraid, they'll smell your magic and probably leave you alone.

The directions were simple but not much revealing. He knew it was for safety but. Jaskier clicked his tongue, crumpled the note into a ball, put it back in the pocket and opened the compass. Tiny dips blurred the glass, but the needle pointing north indicated the direction the bus had gone, so he looked on both sides of the road, crossed to the other side, and walked straight ahead, into the trees. Soon his silhouette was lost in the mist as if he had never been there.

The leaves crunched under his feet with an eerie noise at every step he took. The rain seemed to drown out the sounds of the woods, but Jaskier could still hear the peep of the boldest and bravest birds not scared by a little water. The wind was weak but sharp against the boy’s wet skin, who tried in vain to dry his cheeks and forehead every few moments with his also wet sleeve. It had been stupid not to grab an umbrella, despite his grandma's advice before he had parted his way, but it had been hellishly sunny in Warsaw for being September so he had felt rebellious and had dressed up with cotton trousers and a linen shirt with a lightweight wool jacket. Now he was starting to think that he was an idiot. The weather could be part of Blaviken's protection, yes. No traveler would want to get lost in those woodlands, in the middle of nowhere near mountains full of wolves and bears. But he also could be just a silly boy who had not taken an umbrella because he thought it would be sunny all over the country at the same time. At least he had his mountain boots.

It didn't take long for Jaskier to reach the tree that said the note, a huge gray oak in the middle of the forest. The boy stopped in front of it, noticing immediately that the rain was no longer drenching him. He checked the compass one last time before closing it and putting it in the bag. Then he took a deep breath. Yes, the tree was enormous. His trunk was so broad that Jaskier would need the help of ten more people to encircle it with his arms completely. It was covered with moss and tiny mushrooms everywhere and its branches stretched in all directions high in the sky, coating all the smaller trees within meters with their leafage. And then there was the hollow, the passage. It looked like an enchanted path, like those described in fairy tales.

Jaskier stepped into the entrance and looked up, tightening the strap of his bag. The way under the oak was not very long so he could see the other side of the tunnel perfectly. He walked slowly through that natural corridor of wet bark and lichen, fascinated, still looking up and around, amazed with all the magical static in the atmosphere. When he reached the end of the tunnel and came out into the open air again, the sun was shining and a cool, pleasant breeze shook his hair, playfully, and dried his clothes. A huge knee-high grassy clearing, sprinkled with yellow and white flowers, opened up before him. He reached the clearing with renewed energy, making his way through the grass and flowers under the sun, suddenly feeling that he was breathing much better, that his lungs were filling up with clear, clean air. There the birds sang louder, stronger, more beautifully.

Jaskier smiled.

He was in the middle of the meadow when he heard the rustling of a branch, the brushing of bushes and leaves on his back. Jaskier turned around, feeling his heart racing.

His throat went dry.

There, by the entrance to the oak tree, stood an enormous grey wolf. The animal was easily two heads taller than Jaskier himself, who was about five feet and nine inches tall. Its fur was streaked with darker flecks, and their dark green eyes glared the boy with interest. Jaskier didn't make any move and repressed a whimper, as if he feared the animal would jump on him with the slightest hint of activity. Then a new crackle made him look, this time to his left, and see another wolf, only one head taller than Jaskier. This one had murky brown fur and its right ear torn and ripped, probably by another wolf or a bear. It was wagging its tail quickly, staring at the boy. Jaskier blinked, feeling an awful and cold sense running up his back. A third wolf equally tall as the second one, with light hazel fur, appeared near the dark brown one. Both had intense green eyes.

Then, Jaskier remembered the note.

And it hit him.

It was weird. Even having been born and raised in the court of one of the great queens of the wardens, among magic and elements of all kinds, even though he had to know that these wolves were not merely wolves, Jaskier felt that he was an intruder.

The third wolf growled, low.

Jaskier swallowed.

“Uh, okay, alright,” he said, not sure if for himself or for the wolfs. “Uh, I… !” he tightened the strap of his backpack again as if that could calm him. “My name is–" he hesitated only for a second. "Jaskier! I came to Blaviken to train as a warden, Queen Calanthe told me to come here!” he paused again, looking at all the wolfs successively as he stood still, anxious, knowing that probably the animals were smelling his nervousness. He licked his lips, feeling his throat cracked and tight and, of course, still dry. “I’m… I’m sorry if I have bothered you stepping into your territory?!

The animals did not react to his words, except for the arrival of a fourth wolf, which emerged slowly among the bushes and foliage next to the big one and the oak tree. Its fur was white as freshly fallen snow, the cleanest, purest, most beautiful white that Jaskier had ever seen. It was slightly bigger than the smaller wolves, but not as large as the one in front of the tunnel. Its eyes were golden and gleamed bright and luminous, like the sun, like an endless field of mature wheat. Jaskier held his breath, looking directly at the white wolf, feeling dazzled and astounded.

It was as if time had stopped.

But then the grey wolf let out a hoarse bark, making Jaskier feel a chill, and the other three left immediately, disappearing just as they had appeared: from nowhere and in silence.

Jaskier exhaled all the air he was holding back, without taking his eyes off the animal. The wolf wagged his tail once, turned around and went into the trees next to the oak. The sound of paws scratching the ground, rustling leaves and twigs echoed for two seconds in the sudden silence of the clearing. Then that silence was broken by the joyful chirping of the birds and the breath of the wind.

Jaskier blinked, confused, still a little scared. He turned around as well, facing west, and ran. He did not look back even once.

* * * *

Blaviken was a little town located next to a lake nestled in a small valley between two arms of the mountain range. Jaskier discovered that because he not only had to go through the forest that hid it from the west, but he also had to go up the slope of the mountain to the entrance of the valley, where the river that drained the lake emerged from the ground a ran down the woods and the steep hills. By the time the boy reached the entrance of the canyon, the sun had already passed its zenith and was approaching the first hour of the afternoon. He stopped to rest near the road, a path full of grass that must have been carved by the wild animals.

Or the wolves.

Jaskier took a canteen out of his bag and took a sip of water. From there he could see the lake, so long that he almost couldn't discern its birth at the west; the mountains still with snow on their peaks, and the town itself. Jaskier had seen Blaviken's engravings and photographs. It was a picturesque, bucolic village, which did not seem to have changed much in centuries. It had the look of a medieval town, with a main street that was connecting the goat path and the entrance of the valley with the first houses, and was leading through the village to a central square where there was a fountain with a statue. Its houses, made of wood and stone, had two floors with smoking chimneys, orchards surrounded by small wooden fences, small sheds, barns... The more distant shacks were surrounded by larger fields of crops and fruit trees. A few horses and cows were grazing in the pastures that surrounded the village.

Jaskier took another sip of water and inhaled deeply. The air smelled and felt pure, fresh and lighter, healthier, than in Warsaw. In the distance, he could hear the squealing of the pigs and the rumor and echo of Blaviken's life. It seemed very peaceful... Jaskier bit his lips, put the canteen in the bag and stood up to continue the march. He knew that even though the village seemed to be close because of the slopes, the nooks and crannies, in reality it could be at least another hour's walk downhill.

He wasn't wrong, it took him an hour and a half to get to Blaviken.

There weren't many people at the entrance to the town. The first houses looked more like huts and storage sheds than real houses. A man with long blond hair tied in a ponytail and dressed with thick work pants and flannel shirt, was cutting wood near the main street road, next to one of the shacks. A pile of perfectly cut logs was piled against the wall of the shed, along with other smaller pieces made into more manageable firewood. A few hens with their chicks were pecking at the ground, paying no attention to any passers-by. A black dog, a greyhound, with a collar made of a leather band was lying, merrily asleep, not far from the log cabin. Jaskier took a deep breath and approached the man, being careful enough not to do it from behind.

"Excuse me?" he said.

The man, who had just finished splintering the log he was busy with, stopped, stood up with his axe in his hand and looked at the boy. Then Jaskier saw his pointy ears and noticed his strangely beautiful features, halfway between roughness and delicacy, and his so intense raven eyes. Jaskier blinked. The man, the elf, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, narrowing his eyes a little.

"You're the kid, aren't you?"

His voice was melodious, like thick honey sliding down a wooden spoon. Jaskier cleared his throat.

"Uh... yes, I suppose?" he frowned, confused. "Could you tell me where Renfri lives?

The elf nodded and turned a bit towards the main street.

"Go straight on to the square, the house with the red roof is hers, you can't miss it," he said.

Jaskier peeked out a little. The road, even though it was the main artery of the village, was not very wide. From there you could see the fountain with the statue, but not much more.

"Thank you, uh..."

The elf smiled warmly.

"Filavandrel,"

Jaskier looked and smiled back at him.

"Jaskier,"

Filavandrel nodded again. He was watching Jaskier a bit curious, inquisitive. Jaskier parted his lips, feeling as the elf knew something he didn't quite understand. He was about to ask if there was something wrong when Filavandrel turned around to clean the supporting trunk of the pieces he had cut off and put a new log on top. He picked up the axe and cut it cleanly in half. Jaskier made a tired sound and headed for the square.

"Thank you again,"

Behind his back, Filavandrel continued with his task and responded:

"See you around!"

Jaskier advanced step by step down the street, trying not to look around too much as if it were the first time he had set foot there. It didn't matter anyway because every person who crossed his path gave him an odd look, except for a few groups of random kids who were more interested in his current games than in a stranger. The village was tiny, Jaskier knew that one glance was enough for everyone to know that he was the new face.

The new toy

The toy

Jaskier flinched and made a grimace at the thought.

The square was wide and long as four houses together, surely buildings for more important things than storing wood or food. The central fountain was an oval structure, made of very old stone eaten away by the years. Several springs of water flowed from the pipes rooted in the pedestal of the sculpture that adorned the fountain. Jaskier stopped for a moment to admire it. It was made of bronze, already rusty with green, and depicted eight figures, five women and three men. Seven of the statues were smaller than the eighth, located in the center of the pedestal, and they held up both rifles and swords with a defensive, dignified, and heroic attitude. They wore clothes that were at least forty years old. Jaskier held his breath for a second. The eighth figure was a young woman whose impressively realistic expression denoted loneliness and sadness. She also wore old-fashioned clothing from decades ago, on which she had a hooded cloak clasped with a fancy brooch. She carried a spear and a gun in a defeated stance. Jaskier looked down and saw a plaque, made of degraded bronze too, which read:

In memory of the brave men and women

who protected Blaviken from the nazis

The boy blinked. And then his eyes started to sting. He contemplated the memorial for a long time, in silence, unaware of the people, both those who were passing by and those who were quietly at the doors of their houses chatting with their neighbors or simply resting, that were staring at him more and more curiously.

"Hello,"

A soft, gentle voice drove Jaskier from his thoughts. As he looked at, Jaskier saw a deformed hunchback girl with black, wavy hair, pale skin, and absurdly beautiful lilac-colored eyes. She was wearing a brown woolen dress and a blue apron with a pocket from which hung a bouquet of flowers and several colored rags, and carrying a large earthenware jar in her arms which she started to fill it under one of the pipes.

"Oh, uh, hello," Jaskier replied. Then the girl looked away from him to see how much she was filling the container. Jaskier contemplated her with genuine interest as if her task was the most interesting thing in the world. "So it's potable, the water, right?" he said a little awkward.

She giggled, still not looking at him, attentive to her chore.

"Yes, it's from the mountain, "

"Ah,"

"The pedestal also has a purifier,"

"Oh," Jaskier glance at the pipes. "Oh, yeah, right,"

The boy was silent then, not exactly uncomfortable, and certainly not quite sure if the girl wanted something from him or she just had greeted him because in little towns everyone greeted everyone whether they knew them or not. Jaskier wondered what kind of creature she was. It was, and it would be, very rude to ask that to someone you had just met, and Jaskier didn't have enough experience or expertise to guess the nature of a creature by sight alone yet. His grandmother could do that even with her eyes closed, only by analyzing the magical pulse and the auras around someone.

"So... can I ask your name?" Jaskier said, watching the water pouring into the jar, again as if it was terribly interesting.

He knew he only had to walk away with a 'see you later' to go and find Renfri, but he was going to live there all year round, so it was all right to have a little chat with the rest of the locals if he has the chance. And she had been kind enough to address him without pointing out that he was new around even if it was something so obvious.

"Yes, of course," she looked up, with those stunningly beautiful purple eyes that were smiling even if she wasn't. A warm feeling ran down his back and he felt much better, less nervous and more relaxed. "I’m Yennefer, but you can call me Yen if you want, is what my friends call me,”

“Oh,” Jaskier raised his eyebrows. “That’s… Are you sure? You have just met me, I'm not exactly your friend,”

"Right, but you're going to be our warden, so..."

"Well, technically I'm an apprentice–wait, how do you know?" Jasper arched his eyebrows.

"Oh, I just know," she smiled and raised the jar to the thick edge of the fountain. Then she embraced it and lifted it with some effort.

"H-Hey, do you want me to help you?" Jaskier took two steps towards her, almost extending his hands to help her hold her load.

Yennefer shook his head without being bothered by the weight at all.

"Don't worry, I can handle it myself,” she said, cheerfully and definitely not annoyed, and starting to walk away. "See you later, Jaskier"

Jaskier blinked without answering and watcher her until she disappeared around the corner from the southbound street.

What the hell has just happened?

When he looked to one of the nearby houses, he saw an old woman sitting in a rocking chair, who chose that exact moment to wave jovially at him. Jaskier blinked again and waved back, perplex. Then he shook his head and headed for the red-roofed building.

It was like every other house in the village, made of stone and wood with two floors. Its windows were half-open, with curtains of floral motifs full of patches. Jaskier looked up in case he saw anything through the windows, but the curtains were flapping with the breeze and blocking the view, so he went to the door and raised his hand to knock. He stopped at the sight of the heavy, corroded iron knocker shaped like a sun half-hidden by a moon. He touched it, lost, feeling that the shape was familiar somehow. But he didn't think much more about it and knocked three times with blows that sounded hard and cavernous.

He waited.

And waited.

And when it was clear that nobody was home, Jaskier pouted for himself and turned around.

"If you are looking for Renfri she is in the tavern right now!" The old woman on the rocking chair exclaimed without stopping its swing.

Jaskier looked at her, feeling dumb.

"Oh, oh, thanks!" he said and asked immediately after. "Errrr, sorry… where's the tavern?"

He saw the smile spreading on her wrinkly lips.

"Across the square, that building with the little cute drawing of a tankard hanging over the door!" she replied.

Jaskier nodded, trying then to appear confident, and bowed too much pompous and grandiloquent.

"Thanks, nice old lady!" he said.

"You're welcome, young man!"

Jaskier snorted, hung better his bag, and walked towards the aforementioned edifice. It was another house almost indistinguishable from the others except for that sign hanging over the door like in the soap opera stories about Robin Hood. He could hear voices coming from inside. Jaskier took a deep breath and walked in as if he were putting his hand into the mouth of a bear.

The interior of the bar was exactly like the taverns that could be seen in the few films that the polish government agreed to show in cinemas: a long wooden counter that looked old and worn but was actually very well cared for, long tables for several people, round tables for smaller groups, barrels and bottles behind the counter. The tiny modern touches that broke the illusion consisted of an old TV placed on a shelf full of glass bottles next to the most visible wall of the establishment, the beer dispensers, the radio on the shelves behind the counter, and some photographs, both in black and white and in color, of the town and the surrounding area. On the TV there was what appeared to be a match with the polish national football team, and it seemed to have the few customers engrossed with it. Jaskier took a quick glance at the screen and slowly approached the counter. Behind it was an older-looking man with short gray hair, very pale skin and dark eyes. His features were sharp, hard, as if he were rock polished by time. He was dressed soberly but elegantly, with clothes that did not quite fit in a place like that. When the man looked at him, serious and severe, Jaskier felt a huge, dense weight on his shoulders, as if someone suddenly sat on him and would not let him breathe. But that feeling immediately faded as the barman, who was drying a line of glasses, raised his eyebrows weakly and blinked.

Jaskier swallowed, thinking that those eyes looked terribly deep and old. And that they knew everything.

"You are the boy," the man said.

The clients hissed in frustration and disgust, still oblivious to Jaskier's arrival.

"Uhm...yes?" Jaskier said, feeling he was repeating himself. "I was looking for Renfri, someone told me she was here," he said, glancing around.

He didn't need to be told who Renfri was. Jaskier immediately located the woman, sitting at one of the small round tables farthest from the door and the television cabinet. She was half lying on the table, with a metal cup in her outstretched hand and her face resting on the other arm, as if she were...

"Is she... drunk?" Jaskier asked.

The man sighed, resigned.

"Luckily not, no, not yet," he replied.

"Not yet," Jaskier repeated.

The barman made a sad grimace but didn’t add anything more about it. Instead, he said:

"Sit with her, you must be tired from the journey,"

Jaskier let out a deep exhausted, and only a little dramatic, sigh.

"A little, yes, this place hasn't exactly been easy to find,"

The man smiled.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked.

Jaskier put one arm on the counter, glancing at the barrels behind it, searching.

"Do you have Tyskie?" he inquired.

Then he noticed the smell. He knew it was coming from the owner of the bar. It was a heavy, not entirely unpleasant smell, a mixture of thick, wet earth and lavender, a curiously unique perfume for a man. Jaskier swallowed. The bartender grimaced and picked up a clean tankard from under the counter. He went to the dispensers and placed it at a certain angle under one of them.

"I assume you're legal, right?" he said.

"Well, technically I'm forty-eight, if that doesn't make me legal..." Jaskier shrugged, trying to inhale not too hard.

The man pulled the lever on the dispenser, shaking his head with a snort.

"In human terms, yes, but if we calculate your real age you would be about... what, eighteen, nineteen years old? You almost didn't pass,"

"What can I say?"

The man poured the beer, a fresh pint with a crown of white foam. Jaskier grabbed the tankard with both hands and started to head for Renfri's table, from where she hadn't moved an inch. A wave of whispers and hisses indicated that a play in the match had not gone well.

"Thank you, sir,"

"No, no formalities. You're going to be spending a lot of time here, you call me Regis, "

Well, that's...

"Sure, thanks, Regis,"

Jaskier sat quietly at Renfri's table, leaving his tankard in the gap that she did not occupy with her body and arm. As soon as he touched the table surface, Renfri raised her head like a cat caught by surprise. Jaskier stared at her, taking a sip of his beer as she narrowed her eyes, slowly, and wrinkled her nose, finally rising to rest her back on the chair. She looked exactly the same as in the fountain sculpture, with slightly longer hair, a more wavy mane. But his eyes were just as sad.

Terribly sad.

The two watched each other silently for minutes, Jaskier sipping from his tankard, and Renfri holding her metal cup, making no attempt to drink from it, if there was any drink left. From the corner of his eye, Jaskier saw Regis and various of the clients who had been watching the game up until then, were very attentive to them. Jaskier licked his lips and clicked his tongue, not taking his eyes off the woman who had to train him in the ancient arts of the wardens from that day forward. He thought his grandmother had a slightly strange sense of humor, sending him to a little town like that, and to a warden with alcohol problems.

He couldn’t blame her, though, if he had the statue in mind.

But still...

“So…” he said, realizing that she wasn't going to be the one to break the ice first. He also noticed that she was looking at him in a very cautious way, scrutinizing him as if she was taking note of each and every one of his features, the color of his eyes, the shape of his face, the arch of his nose, the curve of his lips, or was estimating the number of moles he could have, or looking for the exact words to describe the color of his hair. “I’m here…”

Jaskier counted five seconds. When he was about to open his mouth again, the woman spoke and her voice sounded also tired and exhausted, though definitely sober thanks to God.

“Yeah, you are here,” she scoffed, blinked slowly and made a weak grimace. Then she drank from her cup and whipped the remained drops off her lips with the back of her hand “Let's make this easy, okay?”

“Okay?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows.

“There's not much to do in this place really, but since the queen is so interested in you finishing your training here, I'll do my best to fulfill her wish,"

Jaskier noticed the clear, perfect tone of sarcasm in her voice as if she was deeply annoyed that Calanthe had sent him there and didn't like the idea at all. He felt a bitter, awful sensation in the pit of his stomach and swallowed hard. It hurt him as if he had a stone stuck in his throat.

“Okay,” he said, lower.

She huffed.

"Today it's late and I've finished all the tasks, but tomorrow morning I'll start teaching you. I usually get up at sunrise, so I expect you to do the same,"

“Okay,”

Then she smiled leaned a little over the table, resting her arms on it.

"So... everything’s okay?"

Jaskier blinked, baffled.

"Uh… yes?"

"Has anyone said anything to you?"

"Uh... No?"

Renfri glanced at the rest of the bar. Jaskier followed her gaze. The clients turned around on their seats immediately, except for Regis, who slowly looked down with a sigh. More and more Jaskier had the feeling that something was going on or people knew something he didn't understand. And it was starting to get a little bit annoying for him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

Renfri looked at him with a flat and apparently disinterested expression.

"Nothing," she replied. "As I was saying, rules. Luckily for both of us, I have two bathrooms at home, yours is upstairs. Take a bath before you go to sleep, you won't have time in the morning. We have access to hot water but don't waste it or I'll kill you, do you understand?"

"Yes,"

"Good," Renfri took another sip from her cup, pensive. Jaskier did the same, staring at her intently. "We'll have breakfast here at the bar, then we'll start with the routine duties. At noon we’ll eat here again and continue until we finish whatever needs to be done. There are days when you finish early, but others..." she grimaced.

"Yeah, sure, I understand,"

"Don't worry, kid, you'll do fine. As I said, there's not much to do really, it's a small town,"

Jaskier nodded and took the last drink, then reached into the pockets of the bag, looking for the purse. Renfri snorted.

"Don't bother, we barely use money here," she said.

"But–"

"You'll pay him with your wardenship, it works that way,"

Jaskier arched an eyebrow.

"Let me guess, everyone lets you pay by doing your job,"

For the first time since he had sat at Renfri's table, Jaskier saw the outline of a faint, small smile on her lips.

"You'll understand," she mumbled. Then she handed him her cup and waved him up. "Go on, be a good boy and get me more drink, and ask Regis to make us dinner,"

Jaskier pursed his lips, took his tankard and Renfri’s cup and went to the counter, where Regis was still drying glasses as if seconds before he hadn't been watching them.

"She wants–" Jaskier started to say.

"I know, I heard her, don't worry," Regis put down the rag and the glass in his hands, took Jaskier's cup and tankard and brought new ones. When Jaskier looked at him he saw his old, tired eyes and felt a wave, like a vibration in the air, of concern that sent a chill down his back. Regis sighed again. "You'll have to be patient with her, it's the first time–" The man hesitated for a second, as if he was looking for the right words. "It's the first time she has an apprentice,"

Jaskier blinked, suppressing the urge to look at her. A little further down the line, at the end of the counter, the spectators at the game were cheering their team on to score. Jaskier clicked his tongue.

"I see..." he whispered.

Was that it? Am I the first student she has?

"Do you like leek soup?" Regis asked then, leaving the new drinks in front of the boy.

Jaskier blinked, and thought about how little he had eaten soup in his life just because his grandmother didn't let the cooks prepare lower class meals in the palace.

"Sure," he said, nodding enthusiastically.

He took the cup and the tankard and brought them to Renfri's table, which was waiting impatiently for his return. The woman took her drink with energy and gave a sip. Jaskier sighed.

They drank in relative silence, Renfri more and more concentrated in her cup and Jaskier feeling more and more tired, both from the trip and from the alcohol. By the time Regis brought each of them a bowl of soup, both were lost in their own thoughts. The man gave them a silent glance before giving them the spoons and returning to the counter. The bar had been left empty, with the game about to end and the few remaining customers marching home for dinner.

Jaskier tasted a spoonful of soup after blowing on it a little and found a myriad of flavors so strong and delicious that he thought it was probably the best soup in the world. Not only did he notice the leek, but there was also potato, carrot, onion, he even rosemary and pepper, all perfectly mixed together. The soup wasn't quite broth, it was thick enough to melt in your mouth. After a whole trip based on cold meat sandwiches, that first hot meal in Blaviken would be forever his favorite.

Jaskier might have cried for joy if he hadn't had Renfri watching him over her own bowl with a strange expression. Jaskier swallowed the soup and looked at her.

"What?" he inquired.

Renfri instantly looked down, at his own food. She did not answer. The boy pressed his lips and stirred the soup with the spoon, watching the potato and leek lumps go around. He ate one, thinking. As he swallowed, he looked up again.

"Renfri?" he said.

"Hm?" She made no attempt to pay more attention to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

She shrugged.

"What's up?"

Jaskier licked his lips, feeling the taste of the soup. He took a deep breath.

"On my way here, after crossing the tree passage... I came across four giant wolves. They were... Are they from here, from Blaviken?"

Renfri took a quick and… a curious look at him.

"Yes, of course they're from here. You noticed they weren't normal, right?"

"Well, yes," Jaskier stirred in his seat. "So they're werewolves?"

She nodded.

"Vesemir and his pups, they help me to patrol Blaviken's territory. It's pretty huge and it would take me weeks by myself. If you saw them at the tree entrance they'll be back in two or three days,"

"Ah,"

"I'll introduce you to them when they get back, although... they probably know you better than you know them by now,"

"Oh, yeah? How?" He sounded more interested than concerned.

"The smell. There's no one in all of Blaviken with a better sense of smell. Vesemir could track you back to Warsaw if he wanted to. And in the rain. If you've seen them, they'll have smelled you enough to know your trouser size,”

Jaskier whimpered and took another spoonful. So he had made a bit of a fool of himself in that clearing. Renfri snorted.

"Don't worry, they're wolves, the most harmless and friendly creatures in town,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

"Regis doesn't look dangerous," Jaskier said, pointing his head at the bartender.

Renfri snorted again and leaned over the table a little and lower her voice.

"Regis could break you in half, though before that he'd sink his fangs into your neck and drink all your blood in one gulp,"

Jaskier opened his eyes wide and arched his eyebrows, suddenly feeling his throat dry. Of course, the smell of earth...

"I wouldn't do that, don't be absurd," Regis said from the counter. Jaskier looked at him. Although the man had the same calm expression as before, the boy noticed the irritation in his tone of voice. "Don't put such old-fashioned ideas into the kid, please,"

"But is it true?" Jaskier held his breath, turning in his seat to look at the man.

Then Renfri burst into a clean, heartfelt laugh that somehow that made Jaskier's heart skip a beat.

"What?" Regis asked.

"Could you break a person in half? Or drink their blood in one gulp?"

Regis looked at him in complete and utter disbelief, and resignation. Renfri's laughter slowly faded. He gave Renfri an annoying look for instigating such questions and then grunted.

"I could. Split someone in half I mean. Drink five liters of blood in one sitting? No, ancestors no. And I wouldn't sink my teeth into your neck either, there's too much muscle to go through. If I wanted to drink someone else's blood, I would first ask them nicely and then, if they said yes, I would drink from their wrist, or forearm,"

"What a gentleman," Renfri mocked, eating his soup.

"Oh, shut up, Renfri,"

She laughed again, much shorter and lower than before. Jaskier felt excited.

A pack of werewolves

A vampire

An elf

And whatever Yennefer was.

He had known from the beginning that this town was a refuge for magical creatures, but he had imagined goblins, elves, yes, okay, maybe some trolls, but werewolves, vampires? All he knew about them was from reading books that not even his tutors wanted him to read.

"Hey, don't look so excited and finish eating that, you'll want to go to bed early tonight," Renfri said, pointing him with her spoon.

Jaskier bit his lips, thinking fast and concentrated on eating what was left of the soup and drinking the beer. Renfri grunted approvingly and ended up with his own dinner.

By the time they left the tavern, it was already dark and there was no one left on the street. The sound of the animals in the village had turned into a silence broken only by the singing of the crickets and the sound of the families finishing their own dinners. There was little light, no lamppost. When Jaskier looked up, he could see the dark blue and purple sky dotted with millions of twinkling stars. He did not need to make an effort to discern the trail of the Milky Way over the lake.

He had never seen it before.

It was beautiful.

"Hey,"

Renfri got his attention. Jaskier swallowed, stopped gawking at the sky, and walked faster to follow in his master's footsteps. Once in the square and in front of the red-roofed house, Renfri took a rather large and quirky key out of his pocket. He opened the door with it.

Inside, the house looked like a ghost hostel.

Jaskier didn't have time to explore much, Renfri made him climb the stairs, made of crisp, dry wood, up to the second floor. There, in addition to the aforementioned second bathroom, there was a corridor with seven little rooms where, with luck, a bed would fit. In some of them there were small closets. Jaskier chose one of the rooms with a wardrobe, which had one of the windows with flower curtains overlooking the square.

"Remember, at dawn," Renfri said, before he went down the stairs back to the bottom floor.

Inside his new tiny room, Jaskier heard the sound of a door closing. When he was sure Renfri would not return, he sighed deeply, left his bag on the bed, a mattress with no sheets or blankets ready, and closed the window. He also drew the curtains. The window faced north, so it wouldn't get much light during the day, but.

He didn't think he'd be spending much time in that room anyway.

He took the bag off the bed and opened the closet. He found several bed sets, so he picked the first one in the pile and he laid out the sheets, the pillow, and the quilt. Then he opened his bag and took out what little clothing he had brought with him. Only clothes, no personal belongings that were not strictly necessary. He found his toothbrush and toothpaste at the bottom of the bag, along with the hairbrush. Jaskier brushed his teeth while filling the bathtub. He was grateful to find soap in the bathroom cabinet. He also took note of the first aid supplies he had. He assumed Renfri didn't spend much time in the house either, judging by how poorly conditioned it was. It didn't matter. Jaskier took a towel and his pajamas into the bathroom.

It took him a lot less time than it used to at home to take a bath, and not because he was sleepy.

When he came out of the bathroom, with his pajamas on and the towel over his shoulders, he walked down the hall and past the empty rooms quickly to his own. He closed the door and breathed a long sigh. Even if he did not smell closed or old, or a house that had not been used in a long time, Jaskier sensed an energetic tension in there.

He couldn't explain what it was.

Bit it was… nasty.

He turned off the light and got into bed looking at the door. There was silence, a tight silence. Jaskier gripped the sheets with his fingers. With all his senses alert, he only heard that silence. Not the crickets outside, not Renfri at the bottom floor. He held his breath.

But he was tired, so he soon closed his eyes, and his mind wandered into forests full of crisp leaves, vampires serving beer, and golden-eyed white wolves. It was fast.

That night Jaskier did not dream, exhausted, and slept soundly.

So soundly that he did not notice that, after midnight, the door of his room opened slowly with a faint squeak and stayed open all night.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher au #wardens of magic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #gerlion

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justmeandmyinnermostthoughts · 5 years

Text

Going Camping (Pt 3) - A John Wick Family Oneshot

Here’s the final part! I hope you liked them anon!

I just want to note that Celestial is about 16 in this and a jr in high school.

Requests are still open so send them in if you’ve got them! Here’s the info post.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 (You are here)

They crest the final hill and step into the small clearing that they usually make their campsite.

“Finally. I forget how long that hike is.” Celestial says, setting the square black case down next to a tree and beginning to unbuckle the clasps on her bag.

“Complaining already?” John asks, doing the same.

She snorts. “No. I’m complaining about how late we started. Next year just pull me out of school early. We’re going to be looking for firewood in the dark.” She sets her backpack down and unclips the top clips holding the bag closed. She pulls out the bundle on top and straightens. “I’ll set up the hammocks if you go grab wood for the fire.”

John sets his bag beside hers and rolls his shoulders. “Sounds like a plan.” He heads off into the woods.

John comes back a little while later, the sun barely hanging onto the horizon. He notices Celestial has gotten both of their hammocks set up and was finishing clearing the small fire pit they use when up here. She’s finishing lining the hole with rocks. “Got the wood.”

“Just in time. Is it dry?”

“Most of it.” He sets the pile down beside the small pit and dusts his hands off on his jeans. He scans the sky before making his way over to his pack, which Celestial had hung from one of the trees his hammock is tied to. He glances over and sees her pack hung up as well. He digs around until he finds the two cases and the flashlight he’s looking for and then heads back over to Celestial. She’s already nursing a small flame in the pit. “You’re getting good at this.”

“Been doing it a while.” She slowly feeds the small fire dried leaves to keep it going.

John hums and sits down. He opens the cases and pulls out the travel stove and other things they use to cook with while camping. “Why don’t we eat something while we wait on the sun to fully set? Then we can head up to the ridge.”

Cel shrugs. “Sounds good to me. What did you bring this time?”

John looks at the packet he pulled out. “I thought we’d try the chicken and dumplings one since it’s new. I brought chicken noodle and a few others we’ve had before.”

“Cool.” She begins feeding the fire small sticks, being careful not to smother it.

John puts the small stove together. “Go grab a water bottle, I forgot to get one while I was over there.”

Celestial picks up an unopened water bottle that was sitting beside her and hands it to him. He raises an eyebrow and takes it from her. She shrugs. “I drank one already so I grab another before working on the fire pit.”

John nods and pours some of the water into the little pot on top of the stove. They watch the sun go down as they wait for the water to boil. Celestial keeps feeding the fire small sicks until she deems it strong enough to handle a larger stick. It’s quiet up here, the only real sounds the crackling of the small fire and the quiet roar of the stove as it heats the water. Celestial gets up as the water begins to boil and heads over to her bag. She sits back down beside her dad a moment later, and small plastic case in her hand. John carefully picks up the small pot by the handle and pours the water into the plastic food pack, the water mixing with the dehydrated food. He sets the pot aside and hands the pack to Celestial before turning the stove off and packing it back in its case. Celestial pulls the two halves of her spoon out of the small case and fits them together before she begins to stir the contents of the pack, mixing the water with the other contents. She hands it back to her dad after a bit.

“I think it’s ready.”

John takes it from her and checks before nodding. “Yep. Looks good.” He hands her spoon back to her and picks up his own.

They sit there in the quiet, watching the last rays of the sun disappear and the stars begin to wink into view. They share the meal, talking little and just enjoying the quiet woods and the small fire.

“Alright. Ready to head up?” John asks a while after they had finished the food, breaking the comfortable silence.

Celestial nods, feeding the fire another larger stick before standing and brushing the grass off her legs. “Yep.” She heads over to their stuff and John packs everything away. She slides the strap of the cylindrical case over her shoulder and picks up the square case as John puts the cooking supplies back in his pack.

He hands he a flashlight, keeping one for himself. “Let’s go.” They head out of the clearing and make their way carefully up a small incline. They reach a small ridge in the hill with little difficulty. The area is mostly flat and completely open to the sky. Celestial glances down at their campsite below them, checking on the fire. She hands the square case to her dad before removing the other from her back. With practiced movements she removes the equipment and begins to set it up. John steps back and watches her work. She hasn’t needed help with this part for years.

It only takes Celestial a few minutes to set up the bulk of the telescope. She takes the square case from John and pops it open, taking out the lens and other smaller pieces needed to finish the setup. She steps back with a grin a few minutes later. “Done.”

John puts his arm around her shoulder and hugs her to him. “Way to go kiddo. Lets see what we can find this time ya?”

Celestial smiles up at him. “Thing we’ll see mom’s star tonight?”

John looks up at the clear sky above them then back down at Celestial. “With this weather? Definitely.”

Blu pick his head up from Y/N’s lap, tail beginning to wag. Y/N looks down at him with a raised eyebrow. She pauses her show and listens for a moment, the faint sound of the garage door opening reaching her ears. She grins and sets her drink down on the side table. “I guess they’re home, Blu.” She begins to stand and he jumps off the couch, heading towards the garage, Y/N following behind.

The door opens before they reach it, letting Celestial through. She grins at the sight of Blu and takes a few quick steps to meet the wiggly happy dog, dropping her bag beside her. “Hey Blu! Did you miss me? Oh yes! Hello! I missed you too!” She laughs as Blu greats her all wagging tail and happy smiles.

John smiles at the sight as he steps into the house, setting his backpack by the door. His gaze travels up to meet Y/N’s and his smile grows. “Hey.”

Y/N smiles back at him, wrapping her arms around him. “Welcome home.”

John hugs her tight before pulling back and giving her a kiss. He smiles softly at her. “Y/N?”

“Hm?” Her eyebrows raise in question.

John’s smile grows. “Move in with us?”

Her eyes widen in surprise and a smile breaks out across her lips. “Of course. I’d like that.” John kisses her again.

Celestial snorts and shakes her head. “About time.” She picks up her bag and heads down the hall, Blu following at her heels, leaving the adults to be gross by themselves.

#john wick oneshot #john wick x reader #john wick x you #dad!wick #dad!john wick #daddy!wick #daddy!john wick #father!john wick #wick family oneshot #Going Camping #going camping part 3

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starswornoaths · 5 years

Text

Stay.

Over the years, Serella has found herself with many, many members in her little chosen family. Many of whom have already left, whisked away in slumber. There are only a few left to whom she hasn’t said goodbye. On her last night on this star, that changes.

Or:

Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, read this while listening to “Goodbye may seem Forever” from Fox and the Hound 0/10 sobbed while editing.

Word count: 2,836

Ordinarily, Serella loved riding through the Highlands on Ullr’s back. It was liberating, that feeling of the sharp chill of crisp Coerthan air lashing at her face and the howl of the wind in her ears as they raced through the snowy pathways and foothills around Camp Dragonhead. While certainly not so freeing as flying overhead, there was something special about feeling her bird trot against the resistance of several inches of powdery snow that glittered like stardust as he kicked it up in his wake. On another sort of outing on any other picturesque day she would happily hop off to play in the snow with her beloved bird— for how else would they stay young, otherwise?

Today, however, Serella rode from Mor Dhona straight into Camp Dragonhead with a heavy heart and a hard set mask of stoicism. She dismounted and led him to the stables, though yet lingered at her faithful friend’s side: she was waiting for someone, after all. Ullr doubtless sensed her dread, as he trilled in that questioning way that seemed to ask her, Mama, what’s wrong? Her heart squeezed in her chest, even as she forced herself to smile as she gave his side an affectionate pat.

“It’s alright, boy,” she reassured him, even as she knew it was a lie. “It’s alright, this...this shouldn’t take long.”

One of the passing knights recognized her, and reassured her that Lord Emmanelain would be out shortly. She thanked him and busied herself with slowly removing Ullr’s saddlebags one at a time to add to her own backpack. Even as she was mindful of the straps lest they chaffe him as she worked she felt her eyes sting— a stinging that persisted as Ullr reached over and gently nipped at the saddlebag she was now working to fasten to her own pack.

Another softly questioning wark came, as if asking, Mama, what are you doing?

The cold must be drying her eyes, Serella thought, and blinked back her tears as she lifted the second of the saddlebags and strapped it to her own pack as well; they weren’t that much heavier, she had emptied them before they left.

“Hey there, old girl,” she heard a familiar, boyish voice call to her, “good to see you again.”

She straightened, intent on answering Emmanellain in that calm, collected voice she had been practicing for what felt like a lifetime when a happy bark sounded in the camp’s stone walls. She whipped her head around to see her brave little brother standing just outside of the stable looking at her like he was scared to his wits end, her mother beside him with eyes already haunted for her childrens’ absence, and her sweet, excitable canine bounding over like a bolt of lightning.

That she had not been expecting— and the surprise disarmed her of her staunch stoicism.

“Ma— Vardr—?!” She didn’t even care her voice broke or that her eyes swam with tears as she knelt to catch her sprinting companion.

He nearly barreled her over in his enthusiasm but she managed to keep knelt, even as she was bombarded with licks and tail wags and his happy whines. She attempted to soothe him around her own tears: she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed her pets, and felt Rhalgr’s absence more keenly than she had in recent weeks. She hoped her fuzzy cat was napping by her fireplace malms away in Foundation, keeping nice and warm.

“What are you doing here, boy?” She asked as he calmed down enough to sit in front of her and let his thump excitedly.

“Brought him from your house— on orders from a bluebird chirping in my ear.” Myrina said from somewhere above her: she must have stepped inside the stable at some point. She couldn’t bring herself to stand just yet when Vardr was so starved for her affection— and she for his, really. “And lest you worry, I’ll be glad to take him home once we’re done here— needed an excuse to stretch my legs, anyroad.”

Though she was wholly and utterly delighted at being able to see Vardr again, her mother’s words gave her pause: a bluebird— Aymeric? He had been one of a few to know that she was travelling to Camp Dragonhead for personal reasons; she’d had to report it to all of the Alliance leaders lest they need her counsel, and never mind the way her stomach churned at the discovery of that particular requirement for the job and the revelation that this was just how Minfilia had lived; she hadn’t the wherewithal to unpack the emotions she felt with that. Much as she adored the other leaders of the Alliance, she doubted very much any of them save for him could contact her mother— or would even know to— in advance. We’re supposed to be neutral, the sweet fool, she thought with infinite fondness even as her heart twisted in her chest.

In the wake of everything that she was going to have to do and everything that was in front of her, Serella had somehow skipped past feeling overwhelmed by her emotions and had numbed herself enough to stand without fear of crying all over again.

“Pray tell your bluebird that I’m so grateful for this—” she thanked Myrina before turning to her brother, “— and thank you as well, of course,” she amended, trying to smile even as it felt like her skin was being pulled too tight from the already fleeting cheer. Like snow in springtime it rapidly evaporated, and she asked in a quieter voice, “how fare you? Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble?”

“Oh come now, old girl, give me some credit!” Emmanelain dismissed, holding a finger up. “I might not be quite so adept as Haurchefant had been in chocobo husbandry, but I know how to care for a full grown bird— who do you think Artoirel foisted all his stable boy duties on when we were children?”

The thought of Artoirel being the one to shove off work in their youth had Serella snorting in laughter; little wonder Emmanelain had been so quick to shirk off his own duties when they had first met.

“I was more worried about overwhelming you— you have so many other duties now.” Serella explained, even as she had continued to pet Ullr and Vardr in turns.

“If Camp Dragonhead can’t provide for a spare chocobo, then I am already not doing my job.” Emmanellain replied with pursed lips. “And if anything changes to where we cannot, he will be taken care of at the Holy Stables.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “I swear I’ll see to it myself.”

“I never had a doubt in my mind,” Serella reassured him, though with a wince she hesitantly asked the two of them, “...might I finish stabling him? Say my goodbyes?”

“I would have insisted you do regardless,” her younger brother reassured her.

“It’s only right,” Myrina said, a hand coming up to pat at Ullr’s beak. “Poor dear already suspects, most like.”

With a jerk of his head toward the path leading out of Camp Dragonhead, Emmanellain said, “go on, we can wait outside. Need us to take Vardr?”

“Nah, he can stay— he’ll howl otherwise.” Moving back inside Ullr’s pen, she patted her thigh. “Come on, boy.”

Pleased as a goobue in mud, Vardr happily flopped down beside her as Emmanellain and Myrina quietly excused himself. Ullr preened his chest tuft nervously as she worked to remove his saddle and bridle. With her chocobo fully freed of his riding gear and her dog faithfully leaning against her leg she took her time carefully brushing out Ullr’s feathers; she had noticed that he had begun to look a bit lathered as they came into the Highlands.

It was soothing, the back and forth repetition of feeling the brush drift through his feathers. She had always taken great pride in taking care of him herself; even the thought of this being goodbye, even for just a short while, made her insides knot themselves with guilt. Ullr fussed and whined, and he must have realized something was different about this time, she realized with the way he kept turning to look at her, kept trying to nip her hands to stop her from brushing him. To calm him, she began to quietly hum as she often did when brushing him. Though Ullr quieted, he seemed to eye her dubiously as she went about tending to him.

“I won’t be around for a while, boys,” she spoke quietly when her song ended and the brushing stopped. “I have to find all your aunts and uncles— I’ve told you about what happened, haven’t I?”

Vardr made a low, questioning noise and she felt him press his forehead to her thigh to tip his head back and look up at her. She did not meet his stare— she had fallen into a sort of melancholic trance, tending to Ullr as she was.

“They’re all sleeping, and I have to...to wake them up again. So you’ll have to take care for me, alright?” She made to sweep the feathers that had shed naturally off when impulse demanded she take a few of them and carefully tuck them away in her breastplate; Ullr was the only one she could conceivably take a part of with her, she reasoned. “Be on your best behavior, the both of you.” Ullr turned his head and gently bumped his beak against her cheek. She stroked the downy soft feathers between his eyes. “Don’t give Emmanellain a hard time; he’s doing his best. You know the stable hands: they’re good about keeping your hay fresh and your stall clean, so no pecking them if they forget your salt block once or twice, alright?”

Vardr let out a startled snort when she moved to stand in front of Ullr, the poor dog being jarred from leaning against her leg as she shifted. She leaned down to give him an apologetic pat when he came to sit beside her again. She returned her attention to her horsebird when she heard a stable hand discreetly clear his throat.

“Time for me to go now.” She pressed her forehead gently against Ullr’s and gave his head one last scritch. “I love you, Ullr. Be a good boy for me, alright?”

When Serella turned Ullr grabbed the hood of her cloak with his beak. When she turned to free herself, a heat already behind her eyes as she took her hood back, Ullr let out a mournful wark, pleading, Mama, stay?

“Now, now,” her chastisements were warbled through her unshed tears, even as she took a step backward out of his reach. “What did I just say? Be good for me, Ullr. I’ll be back.”

She patted her thigh again, and tried to ignore the way Ullr wailed at being held in his pen. The stable hand tried to calm him, but even as she stepped out into the snow, she could hear him butting his side against the door in protest. She quietly apologized to him: she had always been bad at hiding her upset from him.

Vardr fell into step beside Serella as she walked toward the path leading back through to Mor Dhona, where Emmanellain and Myrina waited for her at the edge of the camp. She felt her already lead filled stomach sink to the floor the closer she neared; three more goodbyes, and that would be all that held her to this star. As she came to a stop in front of them, she tried to claw at what remains of her stoicism she could find within her.

“Well, this is it.” Emmanellain said with a heavy sigh. “Suppose you’re heading straight out, then?”

“To linger would just make it more painful.” Serella reasoned. “They...they need me. And I’m faring little better without them.”

Myrina nodded in understanding. “You’re certain you have all you might need on the road?” She asked with a frown.

“It isn’t far,” she replied distantly, though after a pause, she amended, “...to the tower. I...I can’t take much with me past that, or so I’m told.”

The youngest Fortemps nodded grimly. “And...you’re alright with that?”

“No. But I haven’t a choice.” Serella shrugged. Turning to her mother and giving her the biggest hug she could manage, she whispered, “thank you for bringing Vardr with you for me to say goodbye, Ma— it means more than I can say.”

“Seemed only right.” Myrina sniffed. “Wish your brother was here.”

“He...he didn’t want to say goodbye in person.”

“I know. I got his letter. It’s...enough.” The way Myrina squeezed her daughter until her shoulders popped gave away the lie. “I can’t fathom the pain you two suffered in mourning your father and I. Don’t...don’t put me through that.”

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Ma.” Serella hoped that what strength she had was enough to hold her mother together for even a few seconds longer.

“You’d damn well better be.” Myrina reached up on her tip toes and kissed her cheek. “I love you, little Ella.”

“I love you, too, Ma.” With a sniffle and a kiss to her forehead, Serella let go. When her mother stepped back, her brother hesitantly came forward.

“Serella.” Emmanellain said in a serious tone, all pretense of his own boyhood gone. She looked at him, then— really looked at him, and saw that he was trying just as hard as she was to hold himself together. “This isn’t...do not call it ‘goodbye,’ alright?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You adventurer types like those, but I deny your goodbye!” Tears welled in his eyes— and hers. “You will come home, you hear me? I accept naught less!”

“...I promise.” She said, and all pretense of Ishgardian mannerisms went out the window when he launched himself at her for a hug. She squeezed him tight enough that she felt his ribs creak. He only clung to her tighter. “We’ll come back, just you see.”

“You had better!” He sniffled into her collar. “Ullr will never forgive you otherwise— nor will I!”

“I know, brother mine,” she yessed him through her own tears— she had not realized she had so many of them to shed today. “I know. I love the lot of you too damned much to stay gone, you know that.”

“You had better.” He mumbled, going slack as if in defeat.

He was the first to let go and step away, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Taking the opportunity for what it was, she knelt down one last time to speak with Vardr.

“You watch over the others for me, yeah?” She asked him, and when he whined, she placed her hand atop his head. “I love you, Vardr.”

It didn’t surprise her when he started to trot along after her when she stood and turned to leave. She had anticipated it, and turned to look down at him over her shoulder. She held out her closed fist— a command she had taught him early.

“Stay.” She ordered him.

Vardr whined, pawing at the snow in front of him. Myrina knelt down and took hold of his collar, nodding at her sternly to go.

Serella left, and did not look back again. She pretended that Vardr’s mournful howling was just the wind of the encroaching snow storm. Eventually, that was all she heard besides.

By the time she had made her way into Mor Dhona, past the settlement, and into the crystal forest surrounding Syrcus Tower, she had managed to take an old hairpin she had found in Eureka and refashion it with Ullr’s feathers. She had pinned it in her hair out of want for having something there— the dramatic in her demanded she leave her Orthodox hairpin with Aymeric in the infirmary before they parted— again— and she had not realized how familiar its slight weight was on her head until she went without.

It felt oddly final, when she walked past the first gate to the tower. There was still yet the disabled wards to walk passed, but something about the heavy thud of the doors closing behind her felt...permanent in a way she did not want to dwell on.

I’ll come back. And I’ll bring everyone with me. She promised herself, and that alone made her legs push her onward. She had someone she needed to meet up ahead, anyroad. No sense in keeping him waiting.

Uthengentle did not comment on the new hairpin when he eyed it upon her arrival to the doors of Syrcus Tower. Instead, he offered her a tired smile and put away his whittling. Not even left home, and it was clear the shadows had already caught up to haunt both their eyes.

“Well, Ellie,” he said in a weary voice, “ready to save the world again?”

“As ever.” She replied, just as exhausted, and felt like she left everything that was home the second they stepped through the doors.

#ffxiv #spoilers for 4.5 #Serella Arcbane #Uthengentle Arcbane #Myrina Arcbane #Emmanellain Fortemps #hi did I mention this is the one that upset me the most?#this is the one that upset me the most #but hey! writing goal met!#\o/#idk why it is but like any story I write about saying goodbye to family and pets hits me harder #ESPECIALLY for pets #;o;#anyway happy Shadowbringers eve y'all!!!

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luckyspike · 5 years

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Adventures in America, Ch. 3 - in which Adam meets his traveling companions and Crowley and Aziraphale meet their rental car

This story is so dumb and I love it. For prior installments, check out chapter 1, and chapter 2. Or just peruse my fanfiction tag (which has a lot of other stuff in it, too!).

Touchdown. BA flight 191, after an uneventful flight, touched down in Austin International Airport at 4:17pm. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to, uh, Austin,” the pilot announced over the intercom. Adam, who had nodded off for the latter half of the flight, was looking out of the window eagerly, hands on his knees and feet bouncing. All the excitement, the nerves, the sheer joy that this was really happening that he’d had when he boarded, and then lost when he’d gotten bored, came roaring back tenfold as the brown scenery slid by outside. “Local time is 4:18pm, and outside temperature is about 84 degrees, which is about 29 centigrade. We’ll be arriving at gate -” Adam zoned out. Outside of the airplane, ground crew directed the jet to the gate in question, but it didn’t matter, not to Adam. He wouldn’t be meeting anybody at the gate, anyway.

He turned his phone back on, and sent a quick text to his parents, and then another to the group text that included the Them and Anathema. He paused, debating whether or not to also text Crowley or Aziraphale, but he paused. Hopefully the international plan he’d paid for was as good as it seemed, and his dad wouldn’t give him an earful about international rates when he got home, but, well, maybe just in case … certainly they’d hear through the grapevine, anyway. He stuffed the phone into his bag instead, and pulled out the slip of paper he’d written the instructions for meeting up with the storm chasing team instead. Meet at the baggage claim. Right, easy enough. He had to pick up his duffel bag anyway.

Disembarking the plane took, in Adam’s opinion, ages. They let all the posh people in first class off first, and then business class, and finally economy. He held his backpack straps tightly, shuffling down the aisle in the line, and tried to look calm and cool, not like a kid on Christmas morning, in spite of the excitement bubbling inside of him. He’d be looking for a woman, Rachael, who was tall and tanned and dark-haired. They’d video-chatted extensively in the lead-up to the excursion, and he was fairly certain he would recognize her on sight. Still, she’d said she’d be holding a sign, too, so best to look out for that -

He paused, halfway through first class. Sniffed. Something smelled of … sulfur. Sulfur? And a rainstorm. It reminded him of Aziraphale and Crowley’s place, and the memory jarred him enough that he looked around for the duo, blue eyes scanning the rows of first-class seats. He didn’t see them, of course, or any signs of them, although he wasn’t sure what that might have entailed. Still … Nah. He shook his head, and kept shuffling. They’d told him to have a good time. They wouldn’t have managed to keep anything secret like this, not those two. For godfath - no, guardian ang - well, not really … guardian supernatural entities, they weren’t particularly subtle and as a unit, Adam thought fondly, only slightly brighter than they were individually. Which wasn’t saying much*.

The air on the jetway was dry, and hot, and reminiscent of Madrid, the few times Adam had been there to visit his sister. He took a deep breath, grateful to finally be off the plane and back on terra firma, and hustled toward baggage claim and customs. He found his duffel, and made it through customs - it wasn’t any trouble, just a line which Adam managed to tolerate by looking around and taking in the sights of the airport which had, through creative architecture, attempted to resemble a modern art installation but instead mostly looked like a government building with a bit of window dressing.

“Enjoy your vacation,” the woman at the customs desk drawled, with an accent Adam had previously only heard in movies. His heart skipped a beat, and he beamed.

“I will do, thank you so much.”

And that was it. He was in! He didn’t skip through the exit from customs, although it was a near thing, and quickly started looking around at the assembled crowd, scanning the faces there for anyone that looked familiar or, failing that, a sign that said ‘Adam Young’. He found it, eventually, held by Rachael, just as she’d looked on video chat, herself looking among the faces of arriving travelers for Adam. She caught sight of him as he started toward her, boots still squeaking on the linoleum, and waved him over, her face breaking into a friendly grin. “Adam!” She seized his hand as soon as he offered it, and shook with bone-crushing strength and no small amount of enthusiasm. “Hey, welcome to Texas! So good to finally meet you!” She had an accent too, Adam realized, sort of southern but not like the woman at customs, just a hint of that. He’d have to find out where she was from.

“Great to be here,” he enthused, and he meant every word of it. “I’m so excited, this is really an amazing opportunity.”

“Glad to hear it!” she laughed. “Hopefully we can find you some storms, huh?” She looked over his bag, eyebrows raised. “You got everything? Need anything else here? The rest of the crew is waiting outside - the other student researcher got here this morning, so we just been hanging out around the city while we waited.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m totally ready.”

She nodded, satisfied, and headed for the door, Adam tagging along at her shoulder. “Great. The truck’s parked in the will-call lot, let me just call Noel and he can pull around. Let’s wait inside, though -” she held out a hand to stop Adam before he stepped through the sliding doors. “Kinda warm out there. Definitely warmer than England, huh?” She grinned, and then Adam heard a tinny voice on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, hey, I got Adam, can you bring the truck around? Thanks.” She hung up, and stuffed her phone into her jeans pocket before she propped her hands on her hips. “So I’ll introduce you all when they get here, but basically it’s gonna be four of us. You know me, I’m the climatologist and I guess the main guide, but Noel helps a lot. He’s our meteorologist, driver, and photographer too, but since it’s just the two of us we both kinda wear all kinda hats.” She pointed to Adam. “You’re one of our student researchers, and we have another guy with us for this session. Hope you don’t mind if we put you to work.”

Adam laughed. “It’s what I signed up for!”

“More fun that way, anyway.” She sighed, happy, as she watched a variety of vehicles drive by outside, picking up travelers as they did. “Better than those storm tours that just drive around lookin’ and not much else. We gotta get closer to get the data. Anyway, other guy that’s with us goes by Lucky, I’ll let him introduce himself, but he’s studying climatology at, uh … somewhere in Iowa, I think. I think you guys are the same age.” She waved a hand. “Whatever, I’ll let you guys hash it out, we’re gonna have plenty of time in the car.”

“Sounds good.” Adam nodded, and adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

“Anyway,” she went on, “plan tonight is to take you guys out to dinner, kind of get to know each other and everything, go over the plan for chasing, yadda yadda, and then we’re gonna hit the road early tomorrow to get north.” Her eyes widened, and she gestured for Adam to follow her outside. “There’s Noel. Anyway, yeah, we’re heading north -” she strolled off the curb and into the lane of traffic without much concern for oncoming cars. Adam, well-accustomed to this after years of interactions with Crowley, followed her without concern. “- ‘cause there’s a big system forming around the Oklahoma panhandle, and we might see some action day one.” She wagged her eyebrows at him. “Start off with a bang, right?”

“That’d be wicked.”

She chuckled. “Wicked, huh? I like that. Here’s the boss!” she called, as they pulled up alongside a red pick-up truck. Adam’s eyes widened. Americans, he thought, really knew how to do pick-up trucks. He’d seen pick-up trucks in England, of course, but this monster dwarfed most of them. The extended cab and the bed cover just served to make it look bigger. And it wasn’t the only one of that size parked at the curb - he could count four just in the immediate vicinity.

Well, he had heard things about Texas.

“Hey!” a man called over the roaring engine, and Adam looked up to see the driver standing on the sideboard, clutching the luggage rack with one hand and waving with the other. “I’m Noel! You can throw your bag in the back, Rach’ll show you where to put it with all the equipment.” He grinned. “Gotta get movin’ before we get a ticket.”

Rachael rolled her eyes. “We won’t get a ticket,” she said to Adam, in a tone that probably would have been a whisper had she not had to shout over the commotion of the pick-ups lane. “Here,” she showed him to the back of the truck, dropping the gate and revealing a bed packed full of bags, boxes, and expensive-looking meteorology equipment, “you can put your bag here, next to the camera bags.” He did, and she threw the gate back into place, brushing her hands off and turning her beaming smile to him once again. “You ready to hit it?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, still smiling. He wasn’t sure he’d stopped since he’d gotten off the plane. “Let’s do it.”

She punched him in the shoulder. Adam laughed, and then thought of Pepper. She punched him like that, back home. Man, would she have loved this. She’d have loved Rachael, too. “Love the enthusiasm, kid. Load up!” She climbed into the front passenger seat of the truck, and Adam hauled open the rear passenger door, climbing onto the footboard and sliding into the seat. Across from him, a suntanned boy - yeah, about his age - with a scruffy beard and dark hair pulled into a bun smiled at him with a wave. Adam waved, but then was distracted when Noel stuck his hand into the back to shake Adam’s.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Young.”

“You can call me Adam, really,” he assured Noel. “Thanks for having me.”

“Hey, if you’re willing to work and don’t run off at the first sign of golf-ball sized hail, it’ll be a pleasure,” Noel replied with a laugh. “Alright, let’s get you guys a taste of Texas. Everyone good with barbecue?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, in unison with the other guy in the back seat. Noel nodded, and the truck roared forward, out of the airport.

“So you’re from England?” the other guy said, turning his attention to Adam and offering his hand to shake. Adam took note, as he shook the guy’s hand, that there was … a hint of a London accent? Just a little? No, couldn’t be. “I grew up around London, ‘til I was about twelve,” he went on. Oh. Yes, then.

“Really? Funny old world,” Adam replied. “Name’s Adam Young. I’m from Tadfield - it’s a little town out in Oxfordshire.”

“Huh. Never got out that way, at least not that I remember.” He looked puzzled. “Although there was an air base there my Dad might’ve been working out of at some point … huh. Anyway.” The guy sat back in his seat and shrugged. “My name’s Warlock Dowling, but please do not call me Warlock.” He rolled his eyes. “I think my mom was hopped up on pain meds when she named me. Everyone calls me Lucky.”

Adam nodded. “Cool, okay. You’re studying climatology?”

“Climate science, yeah,” Lucky answered, eagerly. “You are too, right?”

“Meteorology, yeah.”

“It’s so cool, isn’t it?” He looked out of the window, gesturing to the cityscape passing by as they rolled down the highway. “The whole Earth! Man, when I started learning about weather and geology and stuff in seventh grade, once I came back to the States …” He waved a hand. “Forget it. I used to make weather maps for fun. Drove my parents crazy.”

Adam laughed, genuinely, and nodded. “It’s awesome. I was eleven,” he said, with absolute certainty, because he wouldn’t forget that year for anything, “an’ this lady - she’s a friend, now, but she was new to town then - gave me these magazines that were talking about climate change and severe weather and the rainforests and stuff, an’, I dunno, just had an interest ever since. Studied a lot on my own, outside of school, when we moved on to like, biology and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah.” Lucky nodded. “So you’ve never been to the States before?”

Adam shook his head. “No. I mean, I’m as excited for that as I am for the weather, honestly.”

“Good!” Noel interjected from the front seat. “You’re gonna get a hell of a tour of the midwest, see all kinds of stuff. We’ll go over it at dinner, I think we got a map too, so you can kind of get an idea of where we’ll be. And, you know, if the weather don’t pan out like we hope it will - hopefully it will pan out, but you never know - by the end of the season we should be up by Yellowstone, so we can always show you around up there.” He smiled at the backseat passengers approvingly in the rearview. “I’m from Wyoming myself, so I can give you the local tour.”

Lucky’s eyes widened. “ Seriously? That’d be awesome. I’ve never been, always wanted to go.” He looked to Adam. “You know about Yellowstone? It’s supposed to be amazing.”

“I’ve read about it.” Adam nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, it’d be cool to see it.”

“Well, we’ll have to see what the weather is doing. You never know how things are gonna go in this business.”

Rachael grinned at them over her shoulder. “That’s what makes it exciting.”

“An’ sometimes real boring,” Noel added.

“Sometimes,” she agreed, with a wink to the students. “But we’re not gonna think about that. You guys are here to study some storms, we’ll get you storms.”

The conversation continued on, through the drive to the barbecue place, and then all through dinner. They went over the route - starting south, around the Oklahoma/Texas border, and then moving north as needed with the storms, likely ending up toward the Canadian border at the end of the season. They talked equipment - cameras and recording equipment, laptops, hot-spots, as well as some remote monitoring equipment that Rachael hoped to drop if there was a great deal of lightning, which was her particular interest. Adam and Lucky listened intently, contributed as needed, and ate so much barbecue throughout the entire thing that Adam felt fairly nauseous by the end of the meal. Judging by Lucky’s expression when they stood from the table, he felt similarly.

“It was just so good,” Adam lamented once back in the truck, his hands over his stomach.

Noel nodded solemnly in the front seat, hanging a right into a motel parking lot. “A common mistake. Sleep it off tonight, we got an early start in the morning.” He parked the truck well away from the door - none of the parking spots, Adam imagined, would have been big enough - and looked into the backseat. “Five AM work for you boys?”

Adam ignored Lucky’s quiet ‘oof’ and nodded, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. “I’ll be ready.”

“Fantastic.”

Several hours earlier …

“I feel like I’m covered in grime,” Aziraphale griped, as they meandered their way through baggage claim and toward the rental car desks. “Is that normal for air travel?”

“Can’t be, you only just spent ten hours in an aluminum tube with the re-circulated air of a bunch of other people.”

“Touche.” He cracked his neck and frowned. “I need a shower.”

“You know,” Crowley said slyly, handing his shoulder-bag (black, obviously) off to Aziraphale, “had you let me ensure the Bentley would be waiting for us outside we could already be on our way to a nice, lovely hotel room with a hot shower and not waiting in line at a rental car desk.”

Aziraphale huffed. “It’s not a long line.” He caught the look Crowley gave him, and turned his nose up a little. “I’m going to wait by the door. There will be a shuttle, apparently.”

“Marvelous.”

The angel watched from a distance too far to hear while the demon negotiated with the man at the desk. There were some subtle gestures, a raised eyebrow from Crowley, some significant stammering from the man, and eventually, he handed over an envelope. Crowley smiled and swaggered away from the desk, toward Aziraphale, who watched him suspiciously.

“What was that about?”

“Got us an upgrade.” Crowley took his own bag back*** and led the way to the shuttle, waiting outside in the heat. Aziraphale’s suspicious glare turned to a grimace when they stepped into the pick-up area, fighting back the urge to loosen his bowtie against the humidity and oppressive heat. They were back in the air conditioning of the shuttle soon enough and sat down, side-by-side, Aziraphale with his suitcase between his knees and Crowley with his bag in his lap.

“What kind of upgrade?” Aziraphale asked pointedly, as the van doors closed - improbably, there were no other passengers to pick up, although Aziraphale suspected there was some infernal interference that led to that state of affairs - and the shuttle rumbled away from the curb. “If we walk into that rental car lot and there’s a vintage Bentley -”

Crowley groaned. “No, angel. If I’d brought the Bentley over I wouldn’t be bothering with this bloody shuttle. I got us a bigger car, is all.” He glanced at the envelope. “Had us in some little economy thing, probably only had a four-cylinder engine and a governor.”

“Don’t all rental cars have a governor?”

“I’d imagine this one’s will be broken.” Crowley gave the angel a cool look, a dare to say anything. Aziraphale didn’t take the bait. “Any case, I told him we needed four-wheel-drive.”

“Do we?” Aziraphale looked surprised.

Crowley shrugged. “Watched a show on telly before we left. They go all over, dirt roads sometimes, figured it’d be smart to have. Plus, it was the only thing with the bigger engine.”

“Does the Bentley have a big engine?”

Crowley shrugged. “Acts like it does.”

“Crowley …” Aziraphale lowered his voice, in case the shuttle driver were listening in, although the young man looked cheerful and blissfully unaware of their conversation. “Please don’t do anything infernal to the rental car.”

“Me?” Crowley looked wounded. “Wouldn’t dream of it. There’s already one semi-sentient demonic car in the world, and it’s currently in a garage terrorizing a wages clerk. That’s more than enough for one planet.”

Aziraphale sat back in his seat, prim, hands folded in his lap. “I agree. Good. Glad we’re in agreement.”

They finished the shuttle ride in silence, Aziraphale looking out of the window to the passing landscape, which was mostly buildings so close to the airport, and Crowley apparently dozing, although it was hard to tell with the sunglasses. Which seemed, Aziraphale thought, as he looked out of the window, to be a fairly wise addition in this kind of weather. He may need to get himself a pair, should the opportunity arise. Not that he needed them, but, well, it wouldn’t hurt to look the part.

The shuttle lurched to a halt, and they stepped off, Crowley handing the driver a roll of green dollar bills without a word as he went by. “Thank you so much,” Aziraphale added, on his way by, smiling to the stunned driver. “Excellent driving, very pleasant and observant of the speed limit. Have a lovely day.”

“Thanks.” The driver watched them go. What weird people, he thought, his eyes sliding from their receding backs to the roll of money in his hand. Can’t complain, though. He tucked the bills into his pocket, and pulled away, back on his regular route to the airport. He would have a nice day, he thought. Things were already looking brighter.

Aziraphale didn’t ask, ‘is this it?’ as they approached a car. It wouldn’t be. It was green, and small, and he wasn’t sure what kind of upgrade Crowley had managed but he was fairly sure that was not a large enough car. He didn’t ask ‘is this it?’ at the next car, either, but in this case it was because the car was so obviously it.

It was huge, and black, and it looked menacing just sitting in the parking lot. Crowley clicked a button on the key fob - that was novel, Aziraphale thought - and the lights flashed while a chirp sounded. The demon hoisted open the back hatch - Aziraphale blinked at the sheer size of the inside of the thing - and tossed his bag in, followed by the angel’s.

“It’s bigger than the Bentley,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Crowley grunted, and started toward the right side of the vehicle before, if his annoyed expression were anything to go by, remembering that this was America, and changing direction. Aziraphale closed the back hatch and headed for the passenger side, frowning at the height of the step onto the footboard. No car had any business, he thought vaguely, being this large.

Inside the car already, with the keys in the ignition and the engine running, Crowley was sitting back in the seat, arms crossed, glaring at the stereo. He glanced over when he saw Aziraphale, and for a minute, his expression softened. “Ah, angel, you might want to … uh, wait outside a minute.”

“I thought you said no funny business with the car,” Aziraphale said flatly.

“Nothing funny.” Crowley looked back to the stereo, his expression hardening again. “Just need to reach an … understanding.”

Aziraphale sighed, and unfastened his bowtie, tossing it to Crowley who caught it with practiced ease. “Alright.” He stepped back down, and started unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. “But don’t take too long - it’s hot out here.”

“Only be a minute, angel.” The door shut. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Hullo,” he said to the car, drawing the word out. “4-runner, eh?”

To this point in its 45,000 miles, the Toyota 4-Runner had never had a single thought. Of course it hadn’t - it was a machine, an inanimate tool of transportation. It had happily transported families, salesmen, concert-goers and, on one occasion, secret agents without a hint of self-awareness or even a tinge of consciousness. This was why the car was surprised to find, suddenly, that this was no longer the case.

The radio station flickered uncertainly.

“I have a feeling,” the driver went on, while the car considered that it had never recognized a driver before, “that I’m going to be spending entirely more time with you than I’d like to. So just to be clear: I don’t like you, I probably will never like you, and there is very little you can do to that will not, ultimately, disappoint me.” The electronics flickered again. Anxiety, thought the car. What was anxiety? Why did it know that was what it was feeling? “Really, this can only end one of two ways for you: you don’t disappoint me too much, and I return you at the end of this bonkers road trip to your safe rental agency, where they’ll clean you up and you can go on being a nice rental car, or you disappoint me too much and -” he leaned closer to the radio, and the hiss cut through the static of the electronics and silenced the squeal of interference between high-tech electronics and supernatural forces “- I’ll leave you in a ditch in flamesss, sssee if I don’t. Underssstood?”

The engine shuddered. The driver - Crowley, the car thought, although it wasn’t sure how it knew that name, or why it was even thinking about it in the first place - sat back and breathed out. “Right. Alright, angel!” The passenger door opened again and a passenger - the car would have gasped, if it could, although it did manage an extra-strong blast of air conditioning - climbed back in, radiating love and light and safety. Without understanding how, or why, the car switched its stereo immediately to a country-music radio station that was currently playing Somebody Help Me by Kenny Rogers. Crowley glared at the stereo and murmured, “Not a good start.”

“Did you, you know, do whatever you needed to do?” the angel asked, gesturing vaguely to the dashboard.

Crowley put the car into reverse as he said, cryptically, “We’ll see. Hotel first, then dinner?”

“Yes, fine. Do you know where Adam is?” He considered it. “Only I wouldn’t like to lose him so early on in the game. Again.”

“We can recon after dinner,” Crowley said, pulling into traffic and immediately running another car off the road. Aziraphale winced. “He told me the name of the team he’s going with, I found a picture of their truck online. We’ll drive around and look for it.”

“Unless he’s already left the city.” Aziraphale wrung his hands, nervous. “You don’t think they would have?”

“Nah. Got a text from Anathema that Adam said they’re not leaving until the morning, and they’ll be going north.” He ran a red light, prompting blaring horns from either side of the intersection and a whine from the engine of the 4-Runner. “Don’t have much beyond that, but we can find him.”

“Austin is a large city.”

“Not as big as London.” He shrugged. “We have all night, we’ll find him. Get some wine into you and you’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps.” Aziraphale looked out of the window as they drove down a highway, cars whizzing by on the right as Crowley passed them at - well, the speedometer didn’t bear looking at. He swallowed. “It’s been some time since I did a reconnaissance job.”

“Bodyguarding, more like,” Crowley said, conversationally, yanking the steering wheel to the right and flying down the exit ramp to the hotel. “Been a minute for me, myself. But It’s like … oh, you know.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel, irritated. “Like - like something you learn to do and never really forget.”

“Swordfighting?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Maybe.”

Aziraphale had made the reservations under his name, and checked them in with the pleasant woman at the front desk. Overall, it was a very nice conversation - she was telling him about places to eat in town, especially where to get good sushi - and he was just getting ready to bid her a good day and take his leave when, from behind him, Crowley shouted, “Riding a bike!”

The woman blinked. “There are, uh, bike trails along the greenbelt -” but Aziraphale was waving a hand. “Oh?”

“He remembered something from earlier,” he explained with an apologetic smile, as he picked up his suitcase. “He does this sometimes. You get used to it.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Okay. Well, have a nice trip! Enjoy America!”

“Thank you. I’m sure we will,” Aziraphale replied, following Crowley toward the elevators. As they waited for the elevator to arrive, the clerk looked down to her computer - such a nice man, a little strange - and smiled a little when she heard him mutter to his companion, “You really need to work on that, dear.”

* Adam did know, actually, that Aziraphale and Crowley were each quite intelligent. They helped him with homework, after all. But book smarts, he reasoned, and actual common sense were vastly different, and while they might be brilliant in their own right intellectually, as a duo they at times struggled with concepts like pre-planning, not telling everyone their secret plans, and interacting with normal humans like they themselves were normal humans**.

** Adam knew they weren’t, but a little effort sometimes wouldn’t go amiss. There was, of course, the incident with The School Play. Crowley had been forgiven, eventually, but it took approximately one (1) metric tonne of candy in gifts, a generous donation to the school’s art department, and a weekend at Alton Towers for the entirety of the Them, all expenses paid.

*** Aziraphale had wondered what he’d packed in there, since Crowley invariably always miracled his clothes on and off, but he suspected it was hair products.

Now with Chapter 4!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #adam young #warlock dowling #i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much #the one where they go to america

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the-fallofperdix · 6 years

Text

A Thousand Words

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Bucky stares at the carved wooden plate at the tiny store, hand chiseled and painted a happy yellow color. Little sailboats and suns were painted along the rim and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

It stays with him, the image of a small carved wooden piece. He thinks of the tiny suns and sailboats, so much simpler to understand than round shields painted with white stars and black mouthpieces and electrical wires. Easier than blue eyes staring in recognition (The Asset wasn’t supposed to be a person) and red stars and burning cars.

Bucky’s first picture is of the sky.

Huddled in the bathtub, back pressed against the chill ceramic with a handcuff locked around the tap. Cyro and restraint, the two things that stop him when his grey haze comes back in bursts and spurts and he tries to reporting back to the nearest HYDRA base.

It’s hard to break decades of orders.

But that day, watching the sun rise through the grimy window of the bathroom, he carefully unhooks the strap, rises and takes a picture of the sunrise, purples and blues and light pinks and orange.

He can’t stop looking at it the entire day, and when he can’t keep the phone, ingrained habits too insistent, he finds a computer in a library and prints out the picture. It’s not as radiant as the actual sunset but-

But.

He remembers it.

So he tucks it carefully between the pages of his journal, among half scrawled thoughts and memories, a beautiful thing among pages of blood and death. And every time the grey haze descends and he’s lost ready to comply he holds the fading picture and thinks of a rainbow of colors.

His next picture is when he’s at a park and a dog bounds up to him, tail wagging excitedly. It’s a puppy, curious about a lace from his boot, tugging at it with needle-sharp teeth. He looks around but there’s no one near him and there’s a leash dragging behind the puppy so he picks it up, setting it in his lap and unwrapping the leash from its hind leg. The puppy licks his hand and barks happily and Bucky looks around again before taking a picture of the puppy trying to balance on his legs and sniffing at his metal arm with its tail wagging furiously.

After that, he keeps doing it. Picture upon picture of things he likes. It’s frivolous and wasteful and the pictures are heavy in his backpack but they are memories and he doesn’t want to let them go. Doesn’t want to forget the sunrise that seemed to warm him for the first time ever when he realized he was free, the apologetic girl thanking him for keeping her puppy safe, the ivy climbing up his fire escape or the first cup of hot chocolate he made. Doesn’t want to forget the ice cream he bought because he wanted to or the bird that flew down and pecked at his metal limb out of curiosity.

He doesn’t want to forget these things, and he writes names and dates between the pages of his journal next to memories of people who died early and descendants long dead because he’s a walking record of those who disappeared and they don’t deserve to be forgotten either.

~~~

Bucky doesn’t take pictures when they find him sitting on a back road staring at the ghost of a memory of a crashing car and bring him to the Tower.

He doesn’t take pictures when he sits through the fragmented parts of his memory brought to life and listens to screams and pleads over and over. He takes the first picture of himself locked in the bathroom after he’s declared free from triggers and then destroys the phone.

He doesn’t take pictures of the sunrise off the roof or the pigeon that always comes to beg for bagel crumbs on the balcony.

If he doesn’t remember this, he doesn’t want to ache for something that proves not to be permanent.

His first picture is of DUM-E.

Seven months of drifting through a home he has no night to be in.

Anthony “call me Tony” Edward Stark is the son of two people he murdered but his fingers are always gentle as they open up the arm and fix the bolts and soothe the irritation. Voice blank but eyes soft when he presses numbing cream for his shoulder into his hand, other hand absentmindedly tapping on the trapped star in his chest.

DUM-E brought him a bright yellow colored ball on his second day down and nudges him with a high pitched beep.

“He wants you to throw it.” Tony says when Bucky looks at him in confusion. He stares uncertainly at DUM-E who beeps again and trundles closer and Bucky. Bucky tosses the ball across the floor and multiple high beeps sound as the other two metal bots race across the floor to chase the ball. There was a soft chuckle beside him and he looks to see Sta-Tony’s soft smile as he stares after his bots, small crinkles beside his eyes.

Bucky nearly has his phone out of his pocket before he stops himself. He just has to remember this without the photo, the calm and gentle look Tony gives to his children.

He takes even more pictures to the point the others don’t react. Peter clinging to the ceiling with Tony glaring up at him, James “call me Rhodey, everyone does after Tony.” and Tony arguing over burnt muffins, Harley and Tony bent over a potato gun (they’re on mark 5 now, Bucky put all the glass in closed cabinets), Tony playing with the bots…

He’s got a crush.

He’s the world greatest assassin apparently, but he’s not subtle.

Steve reminds him gleefully about that as much as he can.

He doesn’t do anything about it.

He has a lot of pictures of Tony.

Tony, he thinks, knows, but doesn’t dare to hope that he’s right.

Tony gets him a specialized phone for pictures and Bucky chases him around to get a photo of that smile.

He keeps healing.

Even when he’s safe, when he doesn’t check the closet anymore but checks the windows because some things….some things are as deeply ingrained into him just as much as the name of Bucky Barnes is...

He keeps taking pictures.

Of sunrises and sunsets and people smiling and laughing because he’s alive and so are they and no one can stop him.

But there are also days where it’s bad and he can’t speak and he presses himself to the bathtub wall because the cold reminds him of cyro except he can breathe and he clutches a faded picture of a sunrise and reminds himself that he is free. They come no matter how much of himself he’s glued back together but that’s okay because Steve will sit outside the tub, facing the door in silence and Tony will bring hot chocolate and have blankets ready when he comes out.

He doesn’t know the day he’ll die, or if he’ll die last, but he’ll keep making memories and keep taking pictures even when he knows he’ll remember.

“I went on a walk.” Tony says, presenting him with a wrapped package. He’s nervous, tapping his fingers on his reactor and watching Bucky’s hands.

Bucky unwraps a small carved wooden plate with painted suns and sailboats.

“I figured you could maybe hang it up on your wall?” Tony babbles, waving his hands. “And you could maybe pin up some of your other pictures? I mean, you don’t have to but you’re safe here so you don’t need to keep it in your journals and-“

“Thank you Tony.” Bucky says quietly, and Tony goes willingly into the hug.

They stand there for a while, just breathing.

When Bucky hesitantly kisses the side of Tony’s head, he can feel the smile against his shoulder and Bucky thinks about putting the photo of a sunrise up first.

(Bucky gets JARVIS to take pictures at their wedding.)

@the-flightoficarus is my co-writer :) If you have any questions or want to hear more, hit either of us up!

#my writing #the-flightoficarus #co-writer #bucky barnes #tony stark #winteriron #peter parker #harley keener #steve rogers #ahhh I'm nervous

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ontherun-writing · 6 years

Text

[compliments (1/4) - poetry] RK800/Reader

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this! It was overall just really fluffy and sweet (maybe tooth-rotting) so it was therapeutic almost.

Takes place post-pacifist ending where everyone lives + Connor becomes a police officer at DPD + Gavin with more personality than being an asshole etc + Connor lives w Hank. This will probably be two?? parts; it was supposed to be one but uh lmao.

Comments/Reblogs w tags much appreciated :)) I wanna know what ya’ll think

Part 2

Summary: Upon meeting you, Connor learns that he is surprisingly good at giving honest compliments, among other things.

Word Count: 4k+

The first time Connor met you, you had picked up a stray coin and asked it if it was his. He had been walking Sumo at the park nearby Hank’s apartment in the early afternoon when you passed by him, adjusting the strap on your backpack. He hadn’t expected you to pay any attention to him at all, so it had taken a moment to realize that you were talking to him. You held the quarter in between your thumb and index gently, waiting for his response with polite patience.

Connor did not remember taking out his coin on the duration of the walk, and feeling the pocket of his khaki shorts that Hank kindly gave(forced) him to wear, he knew that the coin was still there. Conclusion: that was not his coin.

Still, he took it anyways, giving you a lopsided smile that he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet. It was something about the way you asked him, shyly but with a touch of levity, that made him want to agree with you. Or was it the way your eyes flickered down at his body before meeting his eyes on the way back up.

You were attracted to him, he realized, analyzing the way your pupils dilated ever so slightly and how your temperature increased ever so slightly. His LED light was still attached to the right side of his forehead, so it was evident he was an android. But still, you found him sexually appealing.

Stumbling on his thoughts, Connor thanked you and pocketed the coin, hearing it ‘clink’ with the quarter that he already had in his pockets. Bringing his attention back to the present, he was surprised to see you still standing there, but your attention was already elsewhere, more specifically towards the large Saint Bernard that was wagging its tail furiously in hopes of getting petted. You looked up with him with an undisguised expression of excitement. “Can I pet him?” You asked, and when he nodded, you immediately began to coo at the large dog who was only too happy to oblige to your affectionate belly rubs.

Connor couldn’t help but feel vaguely disappointed. He looked to the side where you had placed your backpack (a student?) and watched as you quickly rolled up your black windbreaker sleeves to vigorously pet the dog.

He had almost missed your question, but could catch enough of your words to know that you were asking if he came here often. “Recently, I have been frequenting this park to walk Sumo,” he said, listening to you echo the dog’s name delightedly. “I have only recently moved to a neighborhood in close proximity to this area, so it’s most likely you would not have seen me prior to this month.”

You agreed, “I think I would notice you and such a cute dog,” you cooed at Sumo before reverting your voice back to its normal tone, “if you came around often before.” You scratched at Sumo’s ears absentmindedly as you looked up at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” you said, “I never got your name.”

“My name is Connor.” He had learned to leave out the rest of his introduction a while ago. “And yours?”

You responded back with your own name and got to your feet, seemingly satisfied with the amount of dog love you acquired through Sumo. You stuck out your hand and grinned widely, and as Connor shook your hand, you said, “It’s nice to meet you, Connor! I hope I’ll see you around more often!”

Just as casually as you began the conversation, you just as easily said your goodbyes. You waved eagerly, and he imitated the action but with less robustness. He watched you walk away until Sumo tugged at the leash, finally impatient enough to want to continue down the sidewalk. With a last glance at your retreating figure, Connor apologized to Sumo about the delay before following the dog on its mission to find a squirrel. He could only hope he would meet you again.

And he did the very next day.

“Connor! Hey!” You called for him, waving at him exuberantly. Connor had just exited the donut shop with an entire box of assorted ones for the police force when he heard your voice from down the street. When Connor met your eyes and raised his hand in a small wave, you beamed so clearly that he had a hard time figuring why it was so endearing you were so excited to see him.

Connor watched as you quickly told the two friends you were with something before bounding (yes, because there was an extra hop to your steps today compared to yesterday) to him with a warm smile. Again, there was that appreciative gaze you gave him as you looked up and down, the quickening of your heartbeat indicating that you very much liked the way he looked in his police uniform. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon,” you said teasingly. “I thought donuts were just a stereotype, officer.”

“Unfortunately, the lieutenant likes to consume unhealthy foods on a daily basis,” Connor explained, feeling a smile raise his lips as you huffed in amusement. “I would normally not indulge him on this, but it seemed that everyone else in the precinct wanted one, so I was sent.” It was Gavin that told him to go, telling him that since he made money now the least he could do was buy donuts. It was funny how their relationship developed, but at least they weren’t at each other’s throats, literally. Connor paused, unsure if his next words were overstepping anything. “Would you like one?” he offered.

“Oh, no! No, thanks.” You grinned. “I’m not that into donuts, surprisingly,” you said. “I’m more of an ice-cream kinda person, you know?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Connor said, liking the way your eyes gleamed.

“So, what is it like, being an officer,” you said, pointing at the DPD logo on his shoulder.

It hadn't been quite long since Connor was officially reinstated as an official detective after the revolution. An adjustment had to be made, of course, for both the precinct and for Connor himself as androids could not only hold their own jobs but also be protected under the law like a human.

It was an even bigger adjustment for him to be helping androids after weeks of deliberately hunting them down. Connor mindfully pushed that thought away.

“It’s not quite that big of change from what I was before,” he responded, smiling, hoping it was as warm as he could make it. “I get to protect both androids and humans, so that’s certainly something new. If anything, it’s… nice to be able to get paid, even though I have yet to figure out what I should spend on, besides pastries for the precinct, of course.”

You let out an appreciative laugh. “The job suits you,” you said, and he watched your eyes glanced over his attire again in approval. “You look good in uniform.” Your eyes widened in panic after your comment, pink blooming on your cheeks. “I--I mean,” you stammered, raising your hand to your lips, “you look good as an officer-- wait, uh, I mean, you do look good but--”

Connor quickly glanced at your attire: an apricot floral skirt that ended right above your knees, a top that complemented its color, twine-aesthetic sandals to finish the look. “You look nice as well,” he replied easily, watching as you snapped your mouth shut, the color on your cheeks continuing to spread. “Your outfit very much complements both your physical features and your personality,” he said as a matter of fact. “You look like the embodiment of a summer day.”

“I--” You paused, covering your mouth with your hand to hide the growing, but shy, smile on your face. Your eyes glanced at him ever so often. You let out a laugh as you looked back at him, face completely flushed, but your voice was as teasing as ever. “I never knew you were into Shakespeare,” you commented, but your tone told you that you were undeniably flattered.

(He quickly researched Shakespeare and received results about a poet that used a certain meter to tell stories and more famously, write love poems. If Hank knew he was accidentally quoting poetry, Hank would have gagged.)

“I’m not,” Connor said honestly, blinking. “That’s just what I saw.”

You laughed again and playfully pushed his shoulder as you gushed about what a poet he was and then proceeded to give him your phone number. “I want to get to know you more,” she said, and he agreed. All he really registered was that he would get to see you again. “Soon,” you had said to him hopefully before going back to your friends.

It had been a few days since the last time you had met Connor, and it was only through Hank’s insistence that he had sent you a text asking how your day was. “How the hell is she going to talk to you if she doesn’t have your phone number?” Hank had grumbled as Connor received his first text message back from you with a set of smiling emojis. He pretended not to care when Connor thanked him for his help, saying something along the lines of “don’t fucking mention it.”

It was then that Connor began to learn more about you. You were a second-year graduate student at a nearby university, living in an apartment with three other roommates. You liked pastel colors, dogs (he heard how you nostalgically talked about your own dog and made note to let you see Sumo again as soon as possible), and singing (though you said you were no good at it). There was very little things you disliked eating, and you had no allergies except to “maybe dust,” you had texted to him with a ‘laughing-crying’ emoji. It was apparent you conveyed your emotions through these small faces and hoped that you didn’t mind his lack of usage. Apart from texting, you would actually call him at night whenever he was free, mindful of his work schedule.

It was on a quiet Thursday night when you had called him at the usual time, 8 PM, and he picked up the phone knowing it was you without looking. “How are you?” He always began, feeling himself relax as he heard the laughter in your voice as you replied as the same as ever. Connor placed his jacket on the dining hall table and loosened his tie, speaking through the phone as he settled himself on the couch with Sumo soon following after him.

“So, I was wondering,” you said, the tone in your voice changing from playful to bashful. “If you’re free this Saturday, I was thinking maybe we could hang-- uh, go out together?”

Connor looked at the blank TV in front of him, watching as his LED swirled yellow momentarily. “I am free Saturday, and I’d be glad to be able to see you again,” he said. “What were you planning for us to do?”

“I was thinking about going to the aquarium,” you responded, sounding more flustered on the phone. “I remember you saying that you like animals, and you liked fish, and I thought maybe it’d be nice for us to go look at them together.” You mumbled something else, and Connor pressed the phone closer to his ears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the last part of what you said.” He continued, “But I would be delighted to go with you to the aquarium.”

“Just the two of us,” you said, though it sounded more like a question.

“Yes, of course.” Connor hoped he sounded as confused as he felt. “Is this not a date?”

Connor was alarmed at the loud crack over the other side of the call as he distantly heard you yelp. “Are you alright?” He asked in concern.

“Yes! Yeah, sorry, I dropped my phone.” He heard you fumble with the phone and breathe out deeply.

“I’m sorry,” Connor began nervously, pulling at his collar as the temperature seemed to increase. “Did I interpret your invitation incorrectly? Because--”

“No! I-- I was asking you out on a date, for sure,” you exclaimed, quick to fix him. “I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable going out with me. But yes! So you can make it?” You grew more excited. “I can buy us the tickets online--”

“I would be pleased to accompany you to the aquarium as your date. As for the tickets, I have just bought them,” Connor replied, his LED flickering as he made the purchase for the aquarium. At your protest, he said, “I insist. I need something to spend on, after all. You can pay for our food and drinks during the date.”

“Connor,” you pointed out, amused, “you don’t eat or drink.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not really understanding why you laughed, but happy to have caused you to nonetheless. “When should we meet?”

“10AM? I’ll pick you up.”

“I’ll send you my address,” Connor responded, feeling thirium rush through his bio-components, imitating what it would feel if adrenaline was coursing through him. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

The warmth in your tone was enough for him to tell you felt the same.

The only thing standing between Connor and meeting you again was Hank, arms crossed. “No,” he said. It was late, and everyone was eager to go home on a Friday night. Connor would have thought Hank would feel the same, but it was apparent he did not. Not today, anyways.

Connor pressed his lips together. “I don’t see why--”

“You can’t show up on a date in your uniform,” Hank said in exasperation, “not even your Cyberlife outfit; it’s too formal for something like going to an aquarium, and it's like bringing your work with you.”

“She had indicated pleasure to seeing me in uniform,” Connor said defensively.

“That’s--” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. You can look good in other outfits, Connor. You need to make it a special occasion by… dressing up nice. She’s probably going to do the same for you.”

Connor thought deeply as Hank watched his LED swirl yellow for a few moments until he spotted a certain detective in the distance. The last time he had borrowed Hank’s formal clothing, it had either turned out too gaudy or large. Who could Connor borrow from that was his size (more or less) and was still here?

“Detective Reed,” Connor called out, ignoring the way the man turned to glare at him as his usual greeting. Hoping he was pulling out the best appeasing smile, Connor said, “I was wondering if you would like to go out for a few drinks with me.”

“And why the fuck don’t you have your own clothes, fucking plastic?” Gavin said hours later, watching with an exasperated expression as Connor looked through his closet for ‘date clothes.’ It was a good thing they had met after hours or Gavin would have rather died than talk to Connor civilly let alone offer Connor an opportunity to look in his closet to impress a girl; he pushed down the urge to regurgitate the five shots he had downed in an hour.

Picking up a plain white shirt to accompany a light blue jacket, Connor could only shrug. “I hadn’t thought I would need it,” he said honestly, scanning the closet before settling on khaki colored pants and white shoes that would accompany his top. “I was content on borrowing the lieutenant’s clothes.”

“Maybe your new girlfriend can help you get a goddamn fashion sense,” the other officer groused. Connor could see him rolling his eyes without actually turning around.

Blinking, Connor looked back at Gavin as he gathered the clothes. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

This time Connor did see Gavin roll his eyes. “Sure, tin can. Whatever you say,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You’re going on a date but you’re not dating, makes sense to me.”

“Thank you for the clothes, Detective,” Connor replied, giving the detective a small, albeit smug smile. “These clothes are shorter than my stature, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless--”

Connor ducked just in time to dodge the white sneakers that he had requested from Gavin which were exactly his size: a nine-and-a-half.

You rang the doorbell exactly ten minutes before the given time. Not that it mattered much since Connor was ready to go hours ago. He opened the door, watching as your face seemed to light up the moment you saw him. “Sorry,” you said immediately, “I came a little earlier than I thought.”

“Wow, it really has been too long,” you teased, evidently scanning your eyes up and down appreciatively before winking. You laughed when Connor stammered, unsure how to respond to both your flirtatious comment and also to the bombardment of emotions that rammed into him. It was like watching a flower in bloom: was it possible for you to be sweeter than last time you met?

Connor made a motion to welcome her in, and she abided, cheerfully greeting Sumo as he came up to her and sat at her feet. He couldn’t help but watch her in silent awe.

Your dark hair falling down in soft rivulets at your shoulders, it complemented the white top of your dress. Small bouquets of pink and red contrasted with the blue of the bottom half. Considering you topped it off with sandals that made you much shorter than Connor, forcing you to tilt your head up at him, did not help him deal with the fact your presence screamed “cute!” in his face.

It seemed that he had paused for too long of a moment because he hadn’t noticed that your attention had turned to him. “Connor? You okay?” You asked, going on your tip-toes to peer into his face.

“Yes! I’m perfectly fine.” Connor coughed, which made you even more confused, because when did androids need to clear their throats? “I apologize,” he said, “I was taken aback by your appearance. You seem to increase in attractiveness every time we meet.” When you began to blush, he continued with a hint of the same flirtatious tone you had used on him, “I’m afraid that someday you’ll be too stunning for me to look at.”

“Connor, stop!” You giggled, covering a snort that was nothing short of adorable as you objected to his admittedly corny lines. “I should say that to you!” You said, voice warm, “You look really good, honestly. I’m so glad we could go to the aquarium together. It’s been a long time since I last visited.”

Thinking back to the last minute advice Hank had for him, Connor politely stuck out his arm for you to take, pleased when you hooked arms with him without a second thought, smiling brightly. “Shall we go then?”

“I’ll lead the way!”

It was like a world on its own, for the most part. Certainly, neither of you could ignore the crowd that shuffled the two of you down a popular show of whales or sharks. (Connor didn’t mind this; it gave him an opportunity to hold you hands so you wouldn’t get separated from him.) That didn’t stop Connor from glancing over at you ever so often and simply admire the unadulterated emotions on your face. He liked to pinpoint the mole you had on your eyelid (“Almost like a beauty mark,” you told him) and see your eyes widen when a particularly pretty jellyfish floated its way across the glassed containers.

Perhaps it wasn’t a mystery why he thought you looked more attractive. Being able to know you, understanding why you were so fascinated by otters (you liked the fact they held hands in their sleep; Connor glanced down at his own hand that you had never let go) or even knowing why you fussed over buying him a souvenir (because how could you let him pay for everything?). He even liked the way you ate with such enjoyment even though you seemed to hold back because “Connor, come on, I can’t just swallow the entire sandwich whole; we’re in public.”

It was these little quirks about you that made you you that made you so attractive. There could be no one else out there that could be exactly like you, and he knew that he particularly liked every part of that made you unique to him. “You’re similar to this kaleidoscope,” Connor commented when you had gushed over its sea-related designs. When you had laughed, he continued with a smile on his face. “You have many facets, all of which are completely distinct from everyone else,” he said, turning the octoscope for a moment. “No matter how much I turn it, it continues to give me a unique array of color that creates a beautiful work of art that I can never tire of.”

If he noticed the wetness of your eyes or how determined you were to buy this for him, Connor said nothing. He only gripped your hand tighter as the two of you continued down the tiles of the aquarium.

The two of you walked slowly, hand in hand, looking in awe at the abundance of life in each window of the aquarium. Connor stopped for a bit longer at one section, watching the dwarf gourami swim leisurely through the water. When he felt a tug at his hand, he immediately switched his attentions toward you, who had begun to dreamily follow the dimly lit blue lights down the tunnel of water where seals circled around without a care in the world. They stepped down in a dome-like fixture of the seal exhibit, letting a group of tourists by so they had the room to themselves.

It was at this moment Connor felt your attention waver. He watched in mild confusion as your temperature began to warm and your heart beat increased without a change in scenery. “Is there something wrong?” He watched as you climbed up to a higher stair-step, never letting go of his hand, and it was hard for him to hide the immense amount of adoration he held for you when you weren’t turned his way. Even now, as you faced away from him momentarily, he could still see the tinge of red high on your cheeks.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, finally standing tall enough that you no longer needed to look up at him. “I just-- I just wanted to be your height for a sec.”

Connor tilted his head, as he always did when confused. “Alright,” he said. “Not that I mind, but I’m growing rather concerned about your rise in temperature; are you sure you--”

“I’m fine, Connor,” you said, laughing, gripping his hands tightly. “I-- um,” you licked your lips, “I just thought it’d be easier for me to kiss you if I was like this.”

You looked at him shyly. Connor could barely feel himself think.

“Is that… okay?” You asked nervously, bunching up your hands in front of you.

Connor opened his mouth, surprisingly dry, and closed it. It wasn’t as if he lacked words to say, but he doubted his voice could function well at all. Instead, emulating the scenarios from rom-com movies Hank fell asleep to, Connor stepped closer to you, noting the way your breath hitched, and lightly held onto your waist.

“That is…” he began, feeling his thirium pump work towards overheating when he saw your eyes dilate as your eyes trailed over his lips. He watched you as if time slowed, your eyes fluttering closed and your face growing closer. “That is more than okay,” he said before your lips pressed against his.

Connor couldn’t describe it. It was difficult to string his thoughts together let alone put his thoughts into words. It was softness, passion, nervous energy, eagerness, and something heated all combined into the kisses you shared with him. You reached up to hold his face closer, and he slid his hands across the fabric of your dress to pull you closer, closer. He was no good at kissing, as it seemed practice actually did make perfect in these cases, but for what mattered, it didn’t seem as you cared, based off the way you breathed heavily and combed through his hair in a way that made him shiver.

When you pulled away, he was delighted and adoring in how your face was flushed in embarrassment as if you weren’t the one to initiate the kiss in the first place. You stammered something Connor couldn’t hear, but he was at least glad that he wasn’t the only who could barely think straight.

“Sorry,” he said, making you look up at him with starry eyes. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.” And he swooped in for another kiss.

Connor’s emotions came in likes waves, pushing and pulling him along without direction. It was overwhelming, the way he felt the need to hold your waist so he could press your body to his but also the desire to simply caress your face and just be. Connor recognized this feeling; he had swam against the current last time, trying to regain control of himself because of the sense of instability. This time was different. He didn’t mind this tidal wave of feelings for you lift him up higher and higher.

You were an ocean that he wanted to drown in.

Connor knew he had a lot to learn about you and about human emotions. Still, in the back of his mind, there part of him that was still drifting along the tide, thinking to himself that perhaps this was the start of his journey of falling in love with you.

#dbh connor #rk800 #rk800/reader #connor/reader #dbh #detroit become human #long post #writing #part 1

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