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the-widow-sisters · 3 years

Text

Never Too Big

Summary: Three times that Yelena makes up an excuse to sit on her big sister's lap and one time she doesn't. Natasha just feels blessed to have her sister so close. Well, that is, when Yelena's not doing it to be irritating.

Word Count: 2416

The first time that Yelena sat in Natasha’s lap since they were children in Ohio was one afternoon when Yelena returned from her trip to the nearest convenience store where she had gotten one of those cheap crushed ice smoothie things. Natasha had been working out and had just finished changing her clothes when she sat down in Yelena’s favorite armchair. Yelena walked through the front door shortly after she took the seat.

“Welcome home…. Were they out of the smoothies?” Natasha questioned hopefully as she heard Yelena dropping her bag on the table. Yelena laughed humorlessly and Natasha could not help the grin that came onto her face in response to the girl.

“Nope. The machines were full, and I got a cherry-flavored one,” Yelena responded, and Natasha’s smile dropped as she scrunched her nose in slight disgust.

“Gross,” Natasha expressed wholeheartedly.

“You just don’t know what tastes good,” Yelena shot back as she entered the living room, pausing immediately just in front of the armchair that Natasha was currently slumped in. Natasha shifted her gaze up to look at the blonde who was currently staring down at her.

“That’s my seat. Move,” Yelena spoke, but Natasha could hear the slight teasing in her voice, and the redhead knew that she was just trying to mess with her.

“No. I’m resting,” Natasha replied, closing her eyes as she sunk in more deeply in the armchair. Her muscles were aching from her particularly exerting workout earlier, and every part of her hurt too much. It made her realize that she was perhaps getting too old for this sort of effort.

“How is your butt taking up that much space? Move over and let me sit,” Yelena informed her, and Natasha shook her head, reopening her eyes to look at Yelena in disbelief.

“There’s a literal couch right over there,” Natasha informed her, and Yelena just raised an eyebrow as she stared at her sister with a challenge in her eyes. Natasha reciprocated the gaze with just as strong of resolve as the blonde.

However, to Natasha’s utmost surprise, Yelena just suddenly spun around and sat down on Natasha’s legs, leaning back against Natasha’s front. Natasha huffed in surprise, and Yelena just happily sucked on her smoothie.

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked, and Yelena shrugged.

“Sitting in my spot.”

“Well, it looks like you’re sitting on me,” Natasha bluntly informed her, and Yelena shifted her weight so that she was settled more heavily on Natasha. Natasha grunted with the force.

“It feels that way, too,” Natasha added, her voice a little strained, and Yelena just wiggled so that she was more slumped against Natasha’s body and her head was resting just above Natasha’s shoulder as her rear end settled between Natasha’s legs comfortably.

“You’re not very comfortable,” Yelena informed her, getting another swig of her drink as she flashed her honey-green eyes in Natasha’s direction. Natasha sighed deeply, a façade of aggravation on her face but her true emotions reflecting nothing of the sort.

“Then go lay on the couch,” Natasha replied, but there was no real venom or insistence in her voice. It was mostly defeat since she knew how this was going to end. Yelena wanted to sit in that location and she definitely was not going to give in.

Yelena just shook her head, snuggling closer to Natasha. Natasha just groaned before resting her head against Yelena’s shoulder and closing her eyes as Yelena watched the television with the sound turned down on it. She pulled her arm up and around Yelena’s waist as she pulled her back against her.

Natasha knew her sister was just being stubborn, but Natasha was not going to let that get in the way of Natasha herself enjoying the close contact with her favorite person in the world.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The second time it happened, Natasha was trying to have an adult, civilized conversation with Clint Barton on her phone. They were facetiming because his kids had wanted to talk to their Auntie Nat, and she was much too soft-hearted toward them to turn them down, despite the fact that she did not enjoy facetiming at all.

However, just when Clint had gotten the phone back and had started talking to Nat by himself, Yelena chose that moment to strike.

She came up to the side of the couch where Natasha was sitting, staring at her insistently. Natasha just ignored her, continuing her conversation with Clint. She could feel Yelena’s glare more than she actually saw it, but if she focused on her peripheral vision, she could definitely see the furrowed eyebrows.

She motioned to Yelena to tell her to give her a moment, and she could tell from the change in Yelena’s posture that this was not going to be good enough for her.

But Natasha kept her focus on Clint. She could worry with Yelena’s drama later once she was off the phone.

What she did not count on was the fact that Yelena was going to just plop down in her lap, squishing one of her arms that was holding the phone up which caused the phone to fall out of her hand. Natasha let out a noise of surprise, and Yelena just relaxed there, a giant smirk on her face as she eyed Natasha wickedly.

“Clint, hang on! Yelena, what in the—”

“I needed you to pay attention,” Yelena told her simply, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Why?! What is it?!” Natasha demanded, wondering just what would warrant Yelena so rudely interrupting her and Clint’s conversation. From Yelena’s giant, cheese-eating grin, Natasha assumed that it was very likely a reason that was not worth all of the drama that Yelena had taken upon herself to create.

“We’re out of sour cream and onion potato chips,” Yelena answered her simply before cackling. Natasha just groaned deeply, and she could hear Clint laughing from the phone’s place in the floor.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! They’re my favorite and I needed to make sure you got them on the grocery list,”

“It could’ve waited, though,” Natasha informed her, bending around her and grabbing the phone that had hit the floor. She was not really angry with the blonde, but she was slightly aggravated by her love of annoying the redhead.

“No, it couldn’t have. Sour cream and onion is the best in the world and the fact that we have no more is an issue of Avenger-level importance,” Yelena declared, and Natasha sighed in slight irritation as she held the phone up so that it was above Yelena’s shoulder and facing Natasha.

Clint was grinning widely.

“Sounds like you need to get off the phone and go get her some potato chips,” Clint told her, and Yelena’s grin was as big as his. Natasha rolled her eyes and rested her chin on Yelena’s shoulder since it was so conveniently there to serve as a chinrest.

“Yeah, Natashka. I’m hungry,” Yelena informed her, looking over at the older woman. Natasha shifted her gaze from the phone over to Yelena’s adoring gaze which, of course, the blonde likely did not know looked so loving when she was trying to be irritating.

“You’re always hungry,” Natasha shot back, but her words did not possess the fire that she halfheartedly attempted to summon into them.

“Hey, look at that, she’s got something in common with you, Barton,” Natasha added, raising an eyebrow at the man on the phone. He deflated a bit as she chuckled at his reaction.

Yelena snuggled in a little further, making her own quip, and Natasha could not help but notice how comfortable the younger girl was in this situation.

Of course, Natasha could not say anything since she was just as contented as the blonde.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

The third time it happened, Natasha was peacefully sitting and quietly enjoying Melina’s company as the woman busied about in the kitchen and was working to serve dinner for their weird, dysfunctional little family.

“Hello,” Yelena suddenly interrupted the atmosphere, marching through the door as if she had a definitive purpose and reason, and Melina turned her head with a slight smile.

“Hello, dear,” Melina kindly replied, warmth in her voice as she addressed the girl. Natasha just smiled lovingly at her younger sister.

“Hey, little one,” Natasha greeted, and Yelena narrowed her eyes as she stared at Natasha. However, there was an unhidden adoration in her gaze as she eyed the redhead. Natasha quirked an eyebrow, wondering what her younger sister was about to say to her.

“I’ve got a bone to hack with you. I heard that you said—"

“Pick,” Natasha interrupted, barely holding back a laugh as she relaxed in her chair, noting Melina’s disapproving glance at the slouching. Natasha was convinced that she was not slouching, but she straightened just a little to avoid Melina’s chastisement. Yelena immediately looked confused at Natasha’s interruption, and she blinked at her.

“What?” Yelena questioned, her voice conveying her cluelessness.

“A bone to pick. You said hack,” Natasha corrected, and Yelena narrowed her eyes. Natasha had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at the younger girl’s expression and overall irritation with Natasha.

“Whatever. I heard that you said I was not cute anymore,” Yelena informed her, and Natasha suddenly realized that the girl looked almost offended about the whole thing. Natasha might be slightly more worried about it if she did not remember the exact words she had uttered and knew that Yelena was blowing it way out of proportion.

“I said you were all grown-up and not that same cute little girl anymore.”

“SEE!!!” Yelena proclaimed accusingly, pointing her finger at Natasha, and Natasha just grinned in reply, feeling the urge to reach out and grab Yelena’s adorable chubby face that was shoved near Natasha’s own as she glared at her with that typical challenging expression.

“I also said you’re very pretty now,” Natasha added, and Yelena just sniffed with indignation as she looked away from the redhead.

“She doesn’t think I’m cute anymore,” Yelena announced to the room, her arms crossed, and Natasha just huffed a bit with laughter. Melina shook her head, choosing to avoid getting involved in this drama. However, judging by the barest hints of a smile on her face, she was enjoying the exchange.

“I meant you’re just not a little girl anymore,” Natasha explained, feeling a bit of laughter bubbling up. Yelena narrowed her eyes.

“Well, if I’m cuter as a little girl, I’ll behave like one then,” Yelena proclaimed before suddenly sitting on Natasha’s lap. Natasha huffed but wrapped her arms around Yelena’s waist to keep her in place.

“You already behave like one. Look at the fit you just threw,” Natasha pointed out, and Yelena just leaned back so that she was squishing her shoulder against Natasha’s face in defiance. Natasha turned her head to the side, chuckling with a wide grin as she held onto the blonde.

Natasha was beginning to think that Yelena just wanted an excuse to sit on her lap.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Natasha’s theory was fully confirmed when they were sleepily watching a movie, and Natasha’s eyelids were growing heavy. Yelena was right by her side, and her sister’s warmth was starting to lull her out of consciousness.

In fact, Natasha was almost asleep when she suddenly felt a weight starting to move into her lap.

She was dangerously close to opening her eyes in the midst of her somewhat confused and disoriented state, but she kept them shut as she waited to see what Yelena would do.

To her surprise, Yelena wiggled her way very carefully into her lap, curling herself into a ball as she rested her head on Natasha’s shoulder in the crook of her neck. Natasha’s heart immediately melted with the girl’s touch and the love that she was obviously too worried to show while Natasha was conscious or seemed to be.

Natasha waited a few moments longer before snaking her arms up and around Yelena. Yelena stiffened a tiny bit, frozen and almost seeming as if she were waiting on something. Natasha hummed under her breath with contentment, pressing a small kiss to Yelena’s head.

“Mmm… Y’know, if you wanted to sit on my lap, you could’ve just done it a while ago,” Natasha informed her easily, her voice rough with sleep. She felt Yelena immediately loosen up in response to that and the blonde’s arms wrapped more tightly around Natasha as she nuzzled into the redhead’s neck.

“You said I was not the same little girl, and we did this kind of thing when we were small,” Yelena replied in a mumble, and Natasha could feel the uncertainty coming off of her in waves. Natasha shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Little one, you’ll never be too big to sit in my lap,”

“I’m bigger than you,” Yelena informed her, and for once it was not even in her typical condescending, smug tone that she always took when the topic of their height was brought up. It had a significant undertone of insecurity and slight shame.

“By one inch,” Natasha quickly replied, and Yelena chuckled a small bit before quickly falling silent.

“Besides. I thought you said you didn’t mind touching in public.”

“I don’t. I just worried that you would not want me sitting on you like a baby,” Yelena informed her, her accent growing thicker, and Natasha was almost sure that she was about to transition fully to Russian. It was something that the blonde always did when she was feeling insecure or was uncomfortable with something she had to say. However, the fact that they were alone must have contributed to the reason she remained speaking English.

“I always want you close. I haven’t been able to hold you like this for over twenty years. I don’t care how old you are. I want you close to me and you don’t have to have an excuse for it,” Natasha informed her, and she could hear the small sniffle that sounded off somewhere near her neck. She could also feel the slight wetness against her skin.

“Ya lyublyu tebya bol'she vsego ili kogo-libo,” Natasha admitted to her, and she could feel the smile pulling at Yelena’s lips. Natasha knew what it meant to the girl. It was something that Natasha herself had wanted to hear from someone for so long after she was able to escape the Red Room.

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

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lovelyirony · 4 years

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the much anticipated second part for the amnesia-related fic.

A wedding ring.

This doesn’t mean that he and Tony are married except that he hasn’t seen Tony with a wedding ring and he hasn’t mentioned a wife and he doesn’t sound like he has a wife and if Rhodey-if Jim had a wife, then wouldn’t he know about her? Wouldn’t they have met by now? He may not know Tony yet, but he doesn’t think that he would be that cruel.

“Colonel Rhodes-”

“Friday, don’t,” Jim says, swatting at the air. “What-why did you hide that from me?”

“Sir believed it would be best,” Friday answers, tone almost quieter. “He...wasn’t sure that you would understand.”

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would I marry him of all people? He’s not exactly my type.”

“Since I am a learning program, I cannot say for sure. Humans do a lot of illogical things.”

He’s trying to wrap his head around it and avoid Tony at the same time.

Friday won’t let him see any wedding pictures, not until he remembers more.

Even though he’s been (mostly) successful at avoiding Tony for about a week and a half, the man is still so nice.

He’s still operating under the assumption that Jim has no idea that they’re married, and he does stuff like leave out a cup of coffee and offer breakfast up or ask if he wants pizza for dinner.

Jim reads too much into it.

And he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like anything has really changed, except for the fact that Tony won’t call him Rhodey.

Jim gave him permission to, saw how much it killed him with every correction and every reminder. Told him “you can call me Rhodey, if you want.”

And he doesn’t.

Tony never does.

He still almost says it, but Jim is quicker on the tongue, and he doesn’t make a move to try to push any memories at all.

(Even though he remembers how happy Tony was to hear that memory about grocery shopping and Dum-E’s code source.)

He does want to remember. He wants to remember why he apparently married Tony and was genuine about it, why Pepper and him are best friends and never were anything more, why he’s...why he’s so different from what he wanted.

Tony knows that Jim’s acting differently. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure he wants to know why, because that might complicate everything.

And he doesn’t want another thing to be wrong. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him except for the one damn person that probably should be, but Rhodey’s never been good at following rules. (But he’s good at fooling people.)

Pepper talks to Tony a lot. Asks him how he’s doing, if there’s anything she can do.

Repair someone’s memory is a little bit outside of her area of expertise.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her tiny hand over his. “Things will work out.”

They both know that in Tony’s life, luck has never been quite what it seems. Or existent at all, at times.

Ironically, it’s their anniversary of the wedding when Jim remembers something else. It actually comes in the form of looking in the fridge and not finding his apples.

“Quit leaving honey-crisp off of the list just because you don’t like them you asshole,” he calls to Tony.

Tony almost yelps.

“Out of everything in your life and that’s what you remember? Your stupidly sweet apples?”

“Are you gonna get them?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Tony asks, “just so that you can get your apples and maybe get out of the house for once.”

“Hmph. Fine,” Jim answers. “Where’s my coat?”

“Uh...” Tony trails off, trying to find the words. “Third peg on the...right, I think?”

“You’ve known me for years, and you don’t know where my coat is?”

Rhodey is always the one to hang up his coat, and then put his arms out for Tony’s.

“To be fair, I am important and fancy and a big deal,” Tony scoffs. “Come on, go get your coat and then I’m going to show you what horrible things you buy from the store.”

“It’s not that bad. And what, you don’t like good apples?”

“As sour as can be, sourpatch. As sour as can be.”

Grocery shopping with Tony is...interesting. He didn’t think it would take so long.

“This is why you don’t usually come,” Tony teases him. “I take so long and you end up sitting in the car and cursing at Pepper or Happy about how much time I spend dedicated to snack-judging.”

“And I put up with that?”

“You do,” Tony says, grabbing the cart. “Because you love me and you deal with a lot worse from me.”

“Like what?”

“Best not to talk about it,” Tony says. “We’re in public after all, honey.”

“Ugh, boo,” Rhodey teases. “Give me the list. I bet I can speed-run this.”

“How? Technically, you don’t think you’ve ever been to this store before!” Tony exclaims with a gigantic, shit-eating grin.

“Way to rub it in you bastard,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, I wanna see what kind of salad you think we’re gonna get.”

“Not you thinking you’re going to be eating junk food,” Tony sighs.

“I lost my memory!”

“That would’ve worked, like, two weeks ago. Now I know better.”

Grocery shopping is...fun. They make fun of foods and different products, and Tony shows him which things he might like.

“I like...I like fruit salad?”

“Yes, yes you do Rhodey-dear,” Tony says. “Your favorite thing in the world for fruit.”

“Seems suspicious.”

“You’ll have to try it again, then.”

Rhodey watches him as they’re shopping. He’s easy to be around, honestly. He has that sort of energy that makes you feel like he’s just happy to be in that moment.

Tony also has very questionable taste in everything.

“Quinoa?”

“What? You’ve eaten it before! It’s not your least favorite thing that I’ve cooked?”

“How is it not? Is it because I’m old?”

“No, not because you’re old,” Tony scowls. “When you’d come back from the service, you’d eat literally anything I put in front of you. I once gave you a block of cheese and you just sat there. Eating it.”

“There’s no way I did that.”

“You did! Ask Pepper, she has a picture of it!”

He goes back to quiet after that, remembering the picture.

Jim isn’t even sure he wants to bring it up. He’s not even sure if he could love Tony again, and somehow that thought makes his head hurt.

He knows that apparently, he fell in love once.

So he needs answers.

Jim had talked to his parents, but he hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about anything important. Try as he had to get more information out of them, they weren’t giving much up, except for parts about his military achievements and funny stories that he’s written to them about.

When he gets back home and he sees Mama, she knows.

“Come here baby,” she says, putting him into her arms. “Let me answer your questions.”

“Why him?”

Mama laughs, grinning up at him from her place on the couch.

“You reacted like this when you first started rooming together, too. I was worried that I’d be involved in a court case for attempted murder!”

“And you weren’t?”

“No,” Mama answers. “Instead, I get no phone call from you for three weeks, until the day before your holiday break started, and you told me that you were bringing who you used to call ‘the biggest nuisance since fruit flies’ home to Thanksgiving.”

“Why did I...why did I bring him?”

“I didn’t get that answered until he fell asleep,” she says. “I’m making you some coffee, alright dear?”

“Okay, so long as I get an answer.”

“So impatient,” she mutters as she makes her way to the kitchen, Jim following.

He watches how easily his mom pours the coffee, and remembers in a brief flash that Tony always would bring the fancy, flavored creamer to the holiday events.

“Oh come on,” Tony said. “You have gotten too used to my kindness, and there’s no reason to stop being kind. Besides, remember last year when you nearly cried because I bought creamer from the store? Yeah, not having a repeat of that.”

“And would that be so bad?” he teased Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist, and-

He blinks.

That was...that was definitely a new kind of memory.

“James, are you alright?” His mother is looking at him, and maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t know that he just remembered something. He’s honestly not sure.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m good.”

Mama looks across the room, smiling.

“He was a timid little thing when he got here. Fixed up the washing machine when it broke, just in time. Nearly wore a suit to dinner, said you didn’t tell him what kind of ‘casual’ we were going for...”

He snorts as he slowly remembers that one.

“What do you mean you didn’t mean a suit?!” Tony had wailed, gripping Rhodey’s shirt. “You said I had to dress nice!”

“I meant literally anything but your Black Sabbath shirt!”

“Why would I have worn my Black Sabbath shirt? Your mom would probably think I was a Satanist!”

They both look at each other for a moment, and Rhodey’s the first one to break and laugh.

“Listen you idiot, it won’t be so bad. We can just ditch the coat, ditch the tie, and you’ll be...okay. A bit nicer than most of us, but hey. That’s what I get for not telling you that suits are weird.”

“Suits are not weird, you’re just uneducated in what is sophisticated,” Tony says, turning his nose up as Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, sure, because knowing which one is the dessert spoon is going to help me save people abroad. My bad.”

Tony looks back at him, and his heart skips a beat. It does. Really, it does.

It almost feels like someone’s reading back to him what he already knows at this point.

His mom squeezes his hand, smiling.

“You remember at least some of it, don’t you?”

“Well...uh, yeah? I-I do.”

“Does Tony know that you know that you’re...married?”

“No,” Rhodey says. “I know some, but not enough.”

“Give him a chance,” she says. “And get back home, I’m sure he’s missing you.”

Rhodey embraces his mother, and prepares for the drive home.

Being missed is a weird concept to deal with.

He also did not exactly think of that. So he’s currently driving back and checked his phone to seven missed calls from Tony, three from Pepper, and one text from Happy that simply reads “lol ur dead hahaha good luckkkkk”

Well shit.

Tony, understandably is pissed and scared and a tad upset.

Not a tad.

“Where were you?” He says as soon as Rhodey appears back in the kitchen. Tony’s hands wander close, and he almost leans in.

Almost.

“I was visiting my parents,” he responds. “Sorry, forgot to text.”

“Please remember next time, your-well, Tony’s annoying when you leave,” Pepper says.

(Okay Rhodey doesn’t know how they got away with this for so long, it’s really, really obvious that they’ve been covering it up.)

“I will,” Rhodey says. “Did I miss anything?”

“I’ve elected that we’re going to cook tonight,” Tony declares. “I am absolutely sick to death of takeout, and I’m pretty sure that with your lack of knowledge on recipes now, I have you beat in the kitchen.”

“I can still read recipes, you dumbass. Besides, I just remembered your stupid ‘bake’ hack for your stupid casserole dish, so...”

“Out of everything, and that’s the thing you remember today?!”

“Well, I also remembered that apparently you wore a suit to my house for Thanksgiving!”

Tony stops.

“What else you remember from that, or was it just that?”

He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Pepper, doesn’t want to say anything just yet.

“I remember that you were weird about your suit!”

Tony deflates a bit, but still smiles.

God, he looks gorgeous.

Rhodey blinks. Shakes his head out of the thought.

“So. What are we cooking?”

Tony and cooking is a very interesting concept because it shouldn’t work.

He never stops moving, can lose interest quickly, and Rhodey would think that he could burn water.

But he doesn’t. Tony hums along to music, and he tells him all about his favorite songs and why.

It’s not any rock music, any heavy metal.

“I don’t listen to that all the time,” Tony says. “You always think I do!”

“Oh right, because someone who personally has Angus Young’s number just casually isn’t someone who listens to the band all the time, sure,” Rhodey says sarcastically.

Tony grins, and it’s probably the best damned thing he’s seen all day.

His heart zings at the realization that Tony smiling is what makes him smile now, what makes him want to stay and learn so much more about how they came to be, what they’ve done together.

Dinner is fun. Tony tells him all about college and what they used to do, and what Rhodey had done.

Memories are coming back easier.

“You totally emailed the professor really petty responses!” Tony cries, laughing.

“It wasn’t that petty,” Rhodey said, huffing. “He was an asshole anyway, he hated whenever we would come late because we wanted coffee, and your order was too complicated!”

“It wasn’t that complicated!”

“Oh I’m sorry, them having it written down behind the register for when you come in?”

“Oh, like they didn’t have a description of you.”

“Yeah, as your long-suffering companion,” Rhodey teases.

“You’ve always been,” Tony says. “Because you’re the best.”

Rhodey stops stirring the pot for a moment.

“Rhodey? What is it?”

“I...”

Tony stands there, grinning. He’s nervously fidgeting, and it’s his move to say the vows.

“You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d be up to marrying someone like me,” Tony confesses. “Especially since I almost burned down our dorm room one time.”

“Wasn’t just one time,” Rhodey teases. “But carry on.”

“You loser,” Tony says. “Even now, interrupting my heartfelt moment.”

There’s a ripple of laughter from the small crowd that’s gathered. Rhodey smiles at him, feels tears prick up around his eyes.

“But I knew that I loved you ever since you would always buy my favorite ramen even though you hated it, and you were the one to get the pizza when I was sad. I knew I wanted the chance of seeing you every day, coming home to you at the end of the day. You’re home, Rhodey. You’re it. No one else could ever possibly hold a candle compared to you.”

Rhodey startles, looking at Tony.

“I...I remember. I remember!”

“Remember what?” Tony asks cautiously.

(He can’t be let down. Not again.)

“You smashed cake in my face at our wedding!” Rhodey yells. “And we got married! We got married! Where the fuck is my ring?”

Tony laughs, scooping Rhodey into a hug.

“I can’t believe you remember.”

“Well I was bound to at some point,” Rhodey says. “I can be smart, doofus.”

“Don’t call me ‘doofus’ during an emotional outburst you absolute nimrod!”

“I’ll call my husband whatever I want,” he teases, “although I still wanna know where my ring is.”

“Come with me and get it,” Tony says. “I hid them in my room, just in case.”

It’s all coming back, the steps they take, the way that Tony supports him as he moves slower.

Iron Man, for one. War Machine the next. The dates they went on, the proposal.

The rings are simple. They’re also not wedding rings.

The class rings.

Rhodey remembers getting them, remembers getting his initials and Tony’s on the inside, remembers how Tony made some “adjustments” after they received them.

“You know that you got me,” Tony had told him.

It slides on, and it feels right. Feels like something was missing.

He looks up at Tony, smiling.

“Show me the pictures, Tony.”

Pepper walks in to find Rhodey absolutely terrorizing Tony about the decor choices from the reception.

“So I agreed with red and gold? I had no problem with it?”

“Well, I did do some major convincing, so...”

“What does that mean?!”

"You’ll remember later and be sad,” Pepper says. “Or happy. But please don’t tell me if you remember it.”

“You loved the color scheme,” Tony says. “Because you love me!”

“Now I am doubting,” Rhodey declares. “I loved you enough to have those colors?”

“You lost a bet, Boss,” Friday interjects. “That’s why there were those themes.”

“Friday,” Tony whines. “Why snitch on your creator like this?”

“I am not programmed to have loyalty, Sir.”

Rhodey laughs, taking Tony’s hand in his.

“Well, I guess I’ll still love you. Even if our wedding theme was weird.”

“It wasn’t that weird!”

It takes about another month before all of the memories are all back to normal, and in that time Rhodey learns (and relearns) a couple of things:

1.) The best feeling in the world is waking up to Tony, who sleeps very lightly and also wacked Rhodey in the face a total of ten times. (That’s not a new thing, he remembers.)

2.) He special-orders peppermint-flavored coffee creamer.

3.) Tony was lying when he said that Rhodey’s new favorite movie was The Goonies.

(He mostly forgave him for that one.)

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #part two!#rhodey has amnesia #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #also yes the use of 'jim' in the beginning and then transitioning to rhodey a bit is intentional #sorry if it is a bit confusing but i like how i formatted that one so that's what we're getting with this one #i hope you all like it!

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wizardwomenwisdom · 4 years

Note

Jj finds out the reader has an eating disorder?

hi anon! this one was tough, because i had to avoid uber triggering myself in the process ope. but that also means that, to anyone reading this, there is a trigger warning in effect for eating disorders. also for sexual harassment (minor but still important to point out). cw as well for teen drinking and partying. i’m on mobile so I can’t apply the cut i’m really really sorry. if you enjoy this, please send me requests!!! i’ve been really focusing on songs as it relates to obx characters so yeah love to see it.

also i do want to address that a lot of this has to do with external motivators. this is super based off of my experiences, and anon did add an ask to address money and such in it, so i really wanted to focus on external issues. i know that everyone’s experiences with disordered eating are different, and that external motivation without more serious intervention isn’t necessarily the healthiest or most effective way to handle it. eating disorders also don’t necessarily result from outside pressure, but again, anon asked for something addressing wealth and that’s definitely something many of my wealthier friends have found built upon their disorders. this topic is a hard one to address, so please know that my intent in writing this was not to try to generalize experiences or fully represent all forms of eating disorders. if you or a friend is struggling from an eating disorder please seak help.

*****

The first time someone mentioned your weight was at the country club. You’d just gotten done with a swim, and were going into the locker room. You passed the boys’ on the way, just as an older boy you didn’t know walked out.

“Hey, fatass,” He said. He smacked your ass and kept walking, like he did it all the time.

You ran to the girls’ locker room and hid in the shower. And you cried.

You were twelve.

*****

The second time someone mentioned your weight was after a family dinner. Your aunt was in town to visit, and so you all had to be on your best behavior.

You were loading the dishes in the dishwasher when you heard her from the next room over.

“Did Y/N quite running? Because it sure looks like it.”

You’d torn your achilles during track, and so you’d only taken a break. Suddenly you regretted getting seconds even though it made your mom so happy.

But you couldn’t lash out, not in front of your aunt, so you cried in your room for an hour.

You were 14.

*****

The tipping point, though, came at the end of sophomore year. You liked Liam Whatever-his-name-was and everyone said he liked you, so you invited him to your sister’s graduation party.

Your timing was definitely stupid: lunchtime, in the biggest lunch period. And he sat with all of the untouchables.

But you strolled up there in your sundress and handed him the invite with a big smile on your face, like that would make things better.

He didn’t return the sentiment.

“Fuck, Thunder-Thighs. Is this from you or your hot ass sister?”

“Me?”

He laughed, so cold and mean, and he handed back the invite.

“Give it to someone who wants it, Chipmunk.”

You were sixteen. And the world felt like it was crashing down.

*****

“Y/A, are you almost ready?” Your friend Lizzy whined from downstairs.

“Almost!” You knew what she was probably wearing: high-waisted jeans and some funky-cute bralette that cost way too much money. You’d wear the same thing, but you haven’t run in a month and you don’t want to.

So instead, at the last minute, you pull your shorts just a bit higher and put on a sheer long sleeve button up. At least it looked cute and cool, and you could pretend you were Cher from Clueless.

When you walked down the stairs, Lizzy got it. “Oh my god Cher,” She said in her best Ty impression.

“You like it? It’s vintage.” You stepped off the stairs and did a little twirl.

“Perfect.” Lizzy grinned. “Now, do you wanna stop for dinner on the way or—“

“I ate,” You lied.

“Really?”

You’d regret it tomorrow (and probably tonight, when you tried to sleep), but beer meant calories. It wasn’t like you had a problem, you just made the choice to balance it out. It was healthy. At least, that’s what you always told yourself.

“Yeah. My dad bought microwave mac and cheese for my brothers so I stole a couple.”

Lizzy nodded. “Well, watch those things. My mom always says they got straight to your hips.”

“True that.”

Lizzy hooked an arm around your waist and smiled. “So, how excited are you to see JJ tonight?”

*****

To say you and JJ were an item wouldn’t be entirely incorrect. He worked on Lizzy’s yacht for a few summers, and you used to take over for him when her family decided to take long day trips. He was cute, and clever, and things slowly progressed to casual making out.

Now, standing at the party, he kept looking at your lips while you waited for John B. to fish a Natty Light out of the cooler for you.

“Way to be subtle, Maybank,” You hissed.

“You’re the one who wants to be subtle, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t answer him, and instead just took your drink. “Who’s the big spender behind the strawberry lemonade flavor?”

“That would be Kie,” Pope told you, putting an arm around your shoulder.

“So, what’re you thinking of ‘Columbine’ so far?” You asked.

“Really dark, man. Jesus.”

“Um, duh? And don’t you want to be a coroner?”

“Yeah, but...” He shuddered, and you laughed.

“Why don’t you tell me about it while I chug the shit out of this thing?”

The two of you walked down the beach, talking about Pope’s current read while you downed your beer in one go.

*****

About an hour later, you were on your second and already swaying. Pope left you to talk to a tourist, and so you were looking for JJ. When you found him, he was doing stupid shit to wingman Kie and bobbing slightly to the music that the tourists brought.

“Hey babe,” You said, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“Babe?”

“Shit, subtlety. Right.” You let go off him, and moved around so that you faced him.

“Are you already shit faced?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He glanced at Kie, who nodded. Then, he took your arm and pulled you away. “How much have you had?” He whispered, getting in close to your face.

“Only two beers.”

“When’d you eat last?”

“I had some crackers for lunch,” You said.

He stepped back, and let go of your arm. “Wait, what?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna, but my sister left them out and they looked good—“

“You haven’t eaten since lunch?”

“No?”

“Why the fuck not? Don’t you k—you guys get whatever you want to eat no problem?” You didn’t like when he called you a kook, so he never did. But he still tended to group you in, which hurt.

“I was saving up so I could drink tonight.”

“Saving up?”

“Calories? You know alcohol is super high in calories and—“

“Fuck, what?”

“You probably don’t get it. I mean, I’ve seen you throw back a burger in three bites. But like—“

He grabbed your face, and you stopped talking. “Y/N, you don’t need to fucking cut meals. Fuck. That’s not healthy.”

“It’s not like I have an eating disorder. I don’t starve myself.”

“Just because you aren’t starving yourself doesn’t mean it’s okay. You can’t just force yourself to skip meals, Y/N.”

“You used to skip meals on Lizzy’s boat.”

“Because I’m fucking poor. But you... Fuck. It’s not healthy.”

“JJ...”

“You’re the most beautiful girl I know, you know that? You’re beautiful. And you’re gonna stop drinking and get into John B’s fucking van and we’re gonna go get burgers.” He ran one hand through your hair, and rested it on your shoulder. “And then, we’re gonna get you some real help, okay?”

“You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“I hope you don’t get to get used to it.”

You smiled. You realized that no one’d called you beautiful in years, besides your own mother. And so you nodded. If JJ Maybank thought you were beautiful, maybe you were. Maybe you could get better.

#obx #obx jj #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #outer banks #jj maybank #jj outer banks #tw: eating habits #tw: eating problems #tw: eating mention #tw: sex mention

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analyzing-the-rebellion-story · 4 years

Text

The Rebellion Story Analysis Addendum

It’s been four years since I finished the analysis, and a lot of my views have changed! Here are my revised opinions!

In italics is something I said in the analysis.

In plain font is my updated interpretation.

I highly doubt that Kyubey has a biological need for sleep, so I guess that means he’s just been lying there all night. Contemplating.

Another possibility is that he’s communicating telepathically with the other Incubators. After all, what better time would there be to discuss their plans?

Sayaka is a raspberry. Raspberries are soft, but have a strong and distinct flavor. That describes Sayaka pretty well, I think.

Kyoko is an apple. Apples are sweet and wholesome, but their seeds have traces of cyanide. This suits Kyoko well because, while she’s generally nice nowadays, she can be kind of a jerk sometimes.

Homura is a pumpkin. The pumpkin is a delicious and fulfilling produce, but it can be twisted into something frightening (like a Jack-o-Lantern). Considering Homura’s mutation later in the film…

Mami is cheese, a dairy product made from milk. The purpose of milk is to nurture young, and Mami is easily the most nurturing of the girls, so the cheese is referencing her motherly personality.

I wasn’t very serious about these interpretations to begin with, but in hindsight, there are far more straightforward connections between the girls and their respective foods:

1) According to the Madoka Wiki, raspberries are known as “healing fruit” in Japan. I couldn’t find a source for this, but if it’s true, then the connection to Sayaka should be obvious.

2) Kyoko being an apple is probably an allusion to her religious background (think forbidden fruit). This is reinforced by the fact that she stole a bag of apples in the original series.

3) The pumpkin is another one of Homura’s witch symbols, like the newts and owls.

4) Mami is cheese because Bebe eats cheese, and… well…

…Yeah.

This part makes no sense. The figures start crowding around Homura and Kyoko, and don’t leave until Kyoko agrees to keep a lid on things. Homura’s emotions influence the Gemworld, but all she wants is for Kyoko to keep a low profile. This would mean that Homura wants Kyoko to avoid drawing attention to herself, but at the same time is unconsciously willing attention towards Kyoko. What?

The figures surrounding them probably reflect Homura’s fear of causing too much of a disruption. When Kyoko agrees to keep her head down, the fear is assuaged and the figures leave them alone as a result.

The Incubators should’ve spent more time beta testing their memory-altering tech, because it’s proven to be very easy to awaken the girls’ memories of the real world.

Originally I assumed that the Incubators had wiped the girls’ memories so that they wouldn’t catch on to their plan. However, there’s a distinct possibility that it was Homura altering everyone’s memories, which would explain how she recovered her own so readily (and this is supported by the fact that her new world ability is memory manipulation). Kyubey does explicitly state that he wants Madoka to remember her purpose, so unless he thought that her amnesia was some sort of technical failure, I’m gonna place my bets on Homura.

WHAT THE-?!

This... This thing randomly appears behind Mami and displays a walnut, presumably for cracking purposes. I honestly haven't the tiniest clue what this is supposed to represent. Is it symbolic of Mami's dormant memories "cracking open"? Is it foreshadowing Homura's transformation into the Nutcracker Witch? Just... what the heck?!

Since this happens immediately before Bebe is ruled out as the witch, it’s probably just vague foreshadowing without any real symbolism. It could be argued that the uncracked nut represents the unsolved mystery, but since Homulilly is incapable of cracking nuts to begin with, that feels like a stretch.

A rune briefly flashes. It translates into, “you”. As in Homura.

This is supposed to be an answer to the question, “Who is dreaming?” from earlier. I’m sure most of you already knew that, but I feel as though I should’ve pointed it out anyway.

(If you don’t remember this part, it happens right before Homura does her witch test)

The pink spool reappears, only to be kicked away by the Clara Dolls. Not even Madoka’s influence can save Homura from this despair.

Another possibility is that, in her mind, Homura deliberately defied the Law of Cycles (hence the spool getting kicked). It isn’t until Kyubey opens his telepathic mouth that she realizes this isn’t the case.

Shouldn’t Homura’s parents be wondering where she is? Does she even have parents?! I’ve been wondering that since the original series…

I can’t believe it never occurred to me that Homura didn’t invite her own parents into the labyrinth. That’s pretty strong evidence that they’re either dead, or put her up for adoption at a very young age.

Seeing Kyoko at a diner makes me wish there was a spinoff series exploring the personal lives of the girls (preferably with drama-comedy themes). Also, those familiars are giving me chills.

Another thing that flew over my head is that those familiars were sent to kidnap her. Same with Mama, Hitomi and Kyousuke.

Mami summons a train, and unsurprisingly, it has a teacup motif. The deer are kind of random, though…

Since Mami primarily fights with guns, the deer are most likely a reference to trophy hunting.

The runes translate into, “The Eternal Feminine”. This is probably a reference to Faust, a poem that apparently served as an inspiration for Madoka Magica (it’s about a man who trades his soul for unlimited power. Sound familiar?). Here’s a snippet for context:

“Everything that can be perceived is only a symbol; the imperfect, which cannot be realized, here makes itself reality; that which cannot be described, here finally completes itself. It is the eternal feminine, always attracting us to the higher.”

Homura is definitely drawn to “the higher”, though the underlying theme of salvation kind of gets subverted in the end…

While I still agree with this interpretation, I don’t think I did a very good job at describing/contextualizing it. At the end of Faust, the main character’s soul is saved from damnation and guided to Heaven by Gretchen*. This achievement is attributed to the Eternal Feminine, a female essence that draws humans to salvation. This is precisely what Madoka accomplishes at the end of the TV show and is attempting to do with Homura in this very scene.

*The namesake of Madoka’s witch form.

When the explosion the over, the magic forms this symbol. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, though? It vaguely resembles the portal to Magical Heaven, but the color effects make it hard to tell. It might also be a wheel, but the contours are very crystal-like.

Don’t know if this was intentional, but the symbol bears a loose resemblance to a dreamcatcher. “Who is dreaming?” is a recurring question throughout the movie, and at this point in time, the world Homura “dreamed” inside her soul gem is becoming a reality. From her perspective, she’s also preventing a “nightmare” by relieving Madoka of her duties and returning everything she sacrificed.

I’m not sure where else they would go, Homu. You didn’t make a new world, you just rebuilt the old one.

She’s probably talking about the Law of Cycles Dimension/Magical Heaven/Land Without Cheese/whatever you want to call it. Homura only took the part of the Law that contained Madoka’s original identity, but since it was the original Madoka that wished for the Law in the first place, her removal caused the entire system to collapse and expel her angels, too. This is why she says that Sayaka and Nagisa “somehow” got dragged along too even though she only wanted Madoka.

In other words, Homura pulled the wrong block from a Jenga stack.

Lastly, I want to point out an observation I made about Demon Homura’s world. When she unravels the Law of Cycles and renders it inaccessible, but also forces the Incubators to shoulder humanity’s curses, the end result is a “middle ground” between the previous two worlds. Think about it: In the first world, Magical Girls are doomed to become witches, while in the second world, they’re ultimately saved by Madoka. In Homura’s world, however, neither of these things can happen, which means she essentially created a world where there is neither salvation nor damnation. I really hope the eventual sequel explores this concept further; it’s very interesting.

Aaaaaaand that wraps it up! I hope you enjoyed this little bonus round as much as I did!

#analysis #madoka magica #the rebellion story #addendum

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gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights · 4 years

Link

Rating: G

Summary: Side-effects may include: eating fabric, staring into bright lights, and being allergic to mothballs. (AKA, the one where Gabriel Agreste has moth tendencies, and Adrien is rightfully concerned.)

Word Count: 4203

Notes: Mostly inspired by the fact that there's so many Chat Noir cat tendencies fics and even a few Ladybug hibernation fics but WHERE are my Hawkmoth tendencies fics?? Anyway be the change you want to see

For non-english readers in particular since I got a lot of questions when I talked about it on discord: mothballs are little balls of pesticide/deodorant that can be used to repel moths. Usually kept in clothes drawers and are pretty outdated now but anyway its a Real Thing and not me trying to make an innuendo i swear lol

XXX

“Uh… Father?” Adrien peeked in through the cracked door. He shouldn’t—Father valued his privacy more than anything, including his son’s attention—but he couldn’t help it. The brief glance he’d caught was just too weird.

Gabriel snapped to attention, his glasses jostling slightly as he tore his eyes away from the blinding lamp in the center of his desk.

“Adrien.” His candycane-striped tie dropped out of his mouth. The end of it was completely chewn off. Was—did he just swallow that? People couldn’t digest silk, could they? “You’re supposed to be practicing your Chinese.”

“I-I know, I just came down to ask Nathalie—nevermind.” It wasn’t like she or Father were likely to adjust his schedule so he could get ice cream with his friends, especially not when Father was doing… whatever he was doing. “Are you okay?”

“That is no concern of yours,” he snapped. Which wasn’t a yes. Was this some new kind of coping mechanism?

Not for the first time, Adrien wished Father would agree to go to therapy.

“Um… okay. I’ll just—go back to work.”

He dashed back up the stairs before Father could decide that his momentary break should be punished. But still, he couldn’t get the image of the half-chewed tie or Father’s wide-eyed, trancelike stare out of his head.

XXX

“Have you noticed Father acting weird?” He finally got up the nerve to ask Nathalie. “I mean, weirder than usual?”

“I am sure he is just busy as always, Adrien.”

Which was just as much of a brush-off as “that is no concern of yours.” Maybe he should’ve tried a less direct approach, but he couldn’t think of one.

“Has he… been working on a line of flavored fabrics?” He tested one of his wilder theories. It would explain why Father’s tie was patterned like a candy cane, at least. Even Adrien knew that wasn’t in style.

Nathalie raised an eyebrow. “What would give you that idea?”

Somehow he got the feeling that telling Nathalie what he’d seen wasn’t a good idea. But who else could help Father if he was struggling?

“Um… well, he seemed like he was… eating his tie? When I saw him yesterday.”

She sighed, and Adrien swore he heard something like “not again” muttered under her breath. Maybe that was why he usually kept it tucked inside his vest?

“Your Father has developed some… odd habits lately. But I can assure you it is nothing to worry about.”

Father had said the same thing before Mom disappeared. Adrien didn’t stop worrying.

XXX

“I don’t see what the big deal is. So your dad likes to chew on fabric, so what? Not everyone can have excellent taste like me.” Plagg swallowed another wedge of Camembert as if to prove it.

Adrien rolled his eyes and rolled over on the floor, soaking up the warmth of the sunset spilling in through his window.

“Maybe kwamis can eat all sorts of weird stuff, but humans can’t. I just don’t know if this is some kind of coping mechanism, or something. Maybe he’s been avoiding me because he’s acting weird and he doesn’t want anyone to find out.”

It would explain why Father only talked to him through his tablet, more often than not. Maybe he was just embarrassed. But he couldn’t go on like that forever, right? Even if Mom’s disappearance hurt, they were better off leaning on each other than staying apart.

“Hate to break it to you, but your dad’s already weird, kid. Eating ties is probably the best of his qualities.”

Adrien sighed. It wasn’t like Plagg could understand; he just put whatever he wanted in his mouth. Adrien himself could understand a little—ever since becoming Chat Noir, he sometimes had the urge to chew on cords, strings, even some plants. It was a little embarrassing, but he could usually control himself. Maybe if he shouldn’t though. If Father saw him doing it, maybe he’d feel less weird about it himself?

...Or he’d punish Adrien for ruining perfectly good headphone cords. Yeah, that was more likely.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and he should just drop it, but he wanted to do something to help his Father.

“Get him something better to eat?” Plagg suggested when Adrien voiced the thought out loud. “A good aged swiss might do the trick. Just don’t give him my Camembert; he doesn’t deserve it.”

“You’re useless,” he huffed. Maybe the internet would have better advice.

“Eating fabric” just brought up a bunch of articles about sewing machine problems and disobedient pets. Not exactly helpful. But “How to stop my dad from eating fabric” didn’t seem like a useful search entry, either.

Plagg squirmed under his chin, looking up at the phone screen he held over his face. “You think it’s got something to do with bugs?” He asked, pointing to the one search result Adrien’s thumb had been half-covering.

“How to control bugs that eat clothes,” the article was titled. Adrien snorted.

“Unless Father is secretly some kind of moth—”

His jaw snapped shut. No, no, he was not going there again. It had been bad enough when Ladybug suggested it before, and besides, it wasn’t like Father’s actions were any kind of proof.

Even if he had also been staring directly into a lamp, entranced…

“Adrien? Kid, you don’t look so hot. What’s going on?”

He didn’t want to say it. It was stupid, anyway; Father had been akumatized before. He shuddered just remembering it.

But he wasn’t just Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste. He was also Chat Noir, Hero of Paris. And it would be irresponsible to drop a lead just because he was scared.

“Do you think… would Hawkmoth have animal tendencies from his miraculous too?”

Plagg’s eyes went wide—wider than they always were, anyway. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Just tell me, Plagg.” He didn’t want to admit what he was saying at all—this was his father, and even if he could be restrictive and controlling, he wasn’t evil.

He was being ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

“Well… yeah. All miraculous users do. Nooroo’s holders have always been weirder though. They tend to be shut-ins. Couldn’t even bribe them out with my best brie.”

“So you haven’t been around a lot of past Hawkmoths?” It was both relieving and disappointing, but it made sense. If Plagg thought Father had the side-effects, he would’ve said something before now. Not that Plagg saw much of Father, considering Adrien didn’t see much of him…

“Nope. They sent out their champions to fight for them most of the time. Not like us who’ve gotta do the real work.”

Adrien snorted. “What work?”

“Hey, protecting you when you take a beating isn’t easy!” Plagg flicked his nose, and he laughed.

“Fair, I guess.” Adrien rolled over onto his stomach as his kwami zipped away. Probably grabbing some Camembert, or a stinky sock to snuggle under.

But to his surprise, Plagg didn’t come back with either of those things. Instead he was carrying something just as smelly—if not worse. A small, round white ball. He was pretty sure he’d seen ones like it in his sweater drawer.

Adrien sat up and covered his nose. “Is that a—mothball?”

“You’re still worried about your dad, right?”

He blinked. It was easy to forget that Plagg could be perceptive when he wanted to be. “I don’t see what mothballs have to do with this.”

“Really. You don’t see what mothballs have to do with telling if someone is Hawkmoth,” he deadpanned.

“You think I should see if Father is… you know… by seeing if he hates mothballs? Do you really think that will work? I thought Hawkmoth had the butterfly miraculous.”

“You’re the one who was worried about it.” Plagg shrugged. “And like I said, the butterfly miraculous is weird. Think there might’ve been something wrong with it even before it was used by a supervillain. Maybe Hawkmoth picked his name for a reason. Anyway, you won’t know unless you try it.”

As far as Plagg’s ideas went, it wasn’t too bad. It didn’t involve cheese, at least. And if Father wasn’t hiding anything, then he wouldn’t be bothered by it, right?

Adrien took the mothball from his kwami’s outstretched paws.

He was going to prove that his Father wasn’t Hawkmoth. And then he’d figure out what to do about the whole eating fabric situation.

XXX

When Nino told him he should push back against Father’s boundaries, Adrien was pretty sure this wasn’t what he meant. Anxiety prickled the hairs on the back of his neck as he paced in front of the bedroom door.

“Come on kid, don’t get cold feet now,” Plagg whispered.

“My feet aren’t cold. I have socks on.” Adrien frowned down at his red-and-black socks. They kept his footsteps quiet and gave him a little boost of confidence. Ladybug wouldn’t be afraid to peek in his father’s room.

“Let’s do it,” he said with newfound determination, and cracked open the door.

Hadn’t Father had a window in here at one point? The sunset should be streaming in right about now, but instead Adrien had to fumble in the pitch black for the lightswitch. When the room illuminated, he blinked in shock.

“Wow.” Plagg whistled. “Your dad is a few wedges short of a wheel for sure.”

That… that was one way to say it. Fabric was scattered across the floor in careless heaps. At one point Adrien would have blamed it on his designing, but if that were the case, the clothes wouldn’t look gnawed on.

“This is worse than I thought, Plagg.” Maybe it was a good thing his kwami had encouraged him to rebel after all. Father seriously needed help. Humans shouldn’t even be able to digest silk and wool! What if he got some kind of disease? What if he already had some kind of disease? That second option was more likely, considering… well, all this.

“So, you gonna drop those mothballs or not?”

“Right.” Adrien snapped out of his thoughts and began digging the white spheres out of his pockets. He’d have to bury them in the chewed up clothes so Father wouldn’t see them. But what if Father did notice? Was it really worth the risk just to ease his mind about Father being Hawkmoth?

...Yes, it was. Especially considering there was no proof Hawkmoth couldn’t akumatize himself. And Father had been the only lead Ladybug had ever had…

He shook his head. Just put the mothballs down, and he could prove his Father was innocent once and for all.

“Alright, let's get out of here. This place is creepy,” Plagg said when Adrien was done.

“I thought you would’ve liked the smell at least,” he tried to joke. Better that than actually thinking about what he was doing.

“I’ll take your stinky socks over this any day.”

Adrien crept out of the bedroom, hoping that this whole endeavor ended up being pointless.

XXX

Father had a cold.

That was what Nathalie said, anyway. Adrien had never actually seen Father sick before. Nothing could keep him away from his work, or from… whatever he did when he was busy ignoring Adrien.

But he heard him wheezing behind his bedroom door, so he really had some kind of illness.

...Or he was allergic to the mothballs. Plagg didn’t say it, but from the pinched look on his face every time Adrien passed by Father’s door, he was definitely thinking it.

“It has to be a coincidence,” Adrien told Plagg, who shrugged.

“Hey, don’t look at me. You’re the one who had the idea that your dad is Hawkmoth in the first place.”

“Technically that was Ladybug,” he mumbled, flopping back on his bed. “Maybe he just got sick from eating all that fabric.”

“Maybe. But didn’t Nathalie say he’s been doing that for a while?”

Dang it, Plagg was right there. It was just so surreal, thinking his father could actually be the supervillain he’d been fighting this whole time.

It was going to take more than therapy to fix this.

XXX

“You think he’s planning something?” Ladybug asked when they lay back on their usual rooftop at the end of their patrol route.

Adrien’s stomach twisted. There’d been no sign of an akuma for two weeks.

Father had been sick for two weeks.

Coincidence. Right?

“Maybe,” he mumbled, his tail twitching fitfully. Then he sat up and shook his head. “Actually, LB…”

“Yeah?” She sat up too, her gaze completely focused on him. While he normally loved to be the center of her attention, right now he wished he had nothing to say.

“Remember when you thought… well, when you thought Gabriel Agreste might be Hawkmoth?”

She startled. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Well, um… I got a tip from uh… Adrien. You know, Adrien Agreste?”

“Of course I know him, he’s—I-I mean, everyone knows Adrien, right?” For some reason, her face looked pink in the moonlight.

“Right, right. Anyway… he was telling me he was worried about his father, and it’s kind of a long story… but it seems like he might have some… moth tendencies.”

Ladybug blinked. It felt like a long shot, now that he said it out loud. Stupid. He was probably just overreacting.

“What kind of moth tendencies?” She asked, her voice carefully guarded.

“Eating fabric. Staring at bright lights. Being allergic to mothballs.”

“Mothballs?” She laughed. “Sorry, sorry, I believe you. It’s just—wow. And here I thought my wanting to eat bugs was weird.”

“You? Weird? Never,” he joked to relieve some tension. She believed him. She believed him, and that meant that he wasn’t just overreacting. Which meant his father could be Hawkmoth.

He swallowed, trying to hide the hole that seemed to open in the pit of his stomach.

“So… you want to investigate him? Even though he was akumatized?” Her mask furrowed around her brow, the way it tended to when she worked out her lucky charms.

“I don’t… I don’t know.” He sighed and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be easy. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You—what?”

Oops. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

“It’s no big deal. I just wanted to confirm some things for myself before taking Adrien’s word for it.”

“Adrien would never lie,” Ladybug was quick to say.

His lips quirked upward. “I’m sure he’d be flattered to know you trust him.”

Her accusation of Gabriel before couldn’t have been from any kind of animosity towards him, then. Unless it was animosity on his behalf? Did he know how much his father isolated him? No, she’d have no reason to look that closely behind his model smile.

“So… why did you think Hawkmoth was Mr. Agreste before?” He asked hesitantly. Before she’d said it was a secret, and he hadn’t pressed her, but it seemed an even more serious matter now. “We gave up the lead pretty fast last time.”

“Maybe too fast.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be true anyway… and as for why I thought that… I found a book that I learned belonged to him. If he isn’t Hawkmoth, then it was my fault he became akumatized into the Collector.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s only ever Hawkmoth’s fault, you know that.” Adrien squeezed her shoulder, even as inwardly his mind was racing. Ladybug had found his father’s book when he’d lost it? How? She had been there when Lila had been talking about it; maybe she’d had to double back for some reason? “Wait—you’re telling me that book he was so attached to had something to do with Hawkmoth?”

Adrien had been the one with the book at first. The one she’d seen with it. Why did she trust him so much?

“Yes. Master Fu took pictures of it before I returned it so Adrien—anyway.” She waved her hands, as if all that wasn’t important, even though it definitely was. Father had never mentioned Ladybug returning his book! “Master Fu said the book was lost at the same time as the butterfly and peacock miraculouses. It’s not hard to assume they’d end up in the same place.”

Adrien was glad he wasn’t standing, because he probably would have fallen. “That’s… a pretty big lead.”

“It really is. I should have been more responsible about investigating. Less selfish.”

He had no idea what she meant by that, but the crushed look in her eyes prompted him not to ask.

“If this is true, Adrien’s going to be heartbroken,” she murmured, quietly enough he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear.

She was right about that. But there was no reason for her to feel bad because of it.

“Hey, he’s the one who gave me the tip, remember? Maybe it won’t be such a shock to him.”

Huh. He got all those words out with barely a crack to his voice. Maybe he was in shock.

“Maybe. But he’ll still be crushed. I don’t know if he has any other family, and his mom is gone. As awful as his father is, I just don’t know…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“I don’t know either.”

He hadn’t thought about it. Any time his thoughts danced too close to the implications of his theory, they danced back just as quickly. He had to be brave. Ladybug was counting on him; Paris was counting on him. It didn’t matter if one scared boy lost his father.

“So what… what do we do now?” She asked, voice soft. “We need proof, but I don’t know how to get it.”

Plans were normally her area of expertise. If she didn’t know what to do…

“I don’t know. Get a big lamp and hope it attracts him?” He shouldn’t be joking right now, but it was the only thing distracting him from panicking.

(Nino’s family might take him in. Or there was always the Gorilla. He wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t be alone—)

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Wait, it’s—it’s not?” He blinked.

“No, it isn’t. You’re a clever kitty when you want to be.”

He blushed under her praise and fought off a purr. “Okay, so we draw him out with a big lamp. If Hawkmoth really does have the same kind of side-effects as us, then it should work regardless of whether or not he’s transformed, right?”

“Right. So the only question is how we get a lamp big enough to draw him out.” Her gaze drifted across the rooftops, to the top of the Le Grande Paris hotel. A smirk spread across her face.

“What are you thinking, Bugaboo?”

“I’m thinking I just answered that question.”

XXX

Gabriel jolted back into consciousness when his desk lamp winked out. Impossible—the mansion had its own generator, mostly to keep the city from learning of his underground lair.

The lair. Where Emilie was.

“Nooroo!” He snarled, spitting the end of his tie out as he did. Cursed side-effects; he could hardly go a day without chewing on the silk. At least he could hide the end of it under his vest, which he hadn’t taken off even while in bed. Better not to have Nathalie nagging him about his “habits” again.

“Yes, Master?” His kwami weakly flew out from under his pillow. Whatever illness Gabriel had contracted, Nooroo seemed to mirror. A disconcerting fact, considering how Duusuu and Emilie had felt before her… well.

But he couldn’t take off his miraculous. Not until his work was finished. Unfortunately, with the incessant itching and cough that had plagued him for two weeks, he hadn’t been able to sense much negative emotion beyond his own. He wasn’t sure that he could stand without wheezing and collapsing from dizziness.

That dizziness was clouding his mind already. What was he doing again?

“Emilie,” he rasped.

“What about her, Master?”

“Go see if… no. I need you with me. In case…”

He dissolved into a coughing fit. Nooroo, the pathetic creature, only looked on in sympathy.

“Master, you aren’t well. Perhaps if you removed my miraculous—”

“No!” he snapped, making the kwami flinch. “No. Let’s… investigate the power outage.”

Fire flared across his skin as he threw his legs over the side of the bed. Nooroo still hovered uselessly. It was tempting to transform, but if his sudden illness was related to the miraculous, that would only exacerbate his condition.

One step in front of the other. He would not be bested by this trifling inconvenience, not with Emilie on the line.

He stumbled through the door, bracing himself against the knob with an iron grip. The generator never felt so far away.

“Master, you really should…”

Be quiet! He would’ve shouted, but his voice was little more than a rasp now. Everything spun. Oh, if only Nathalie hadn’t gone home for the night!

Once he made it to the hallway, however, some of the fog cleared. His lungs didn’t feel quite so tight. But there was… something else. A glow that hadn’t been visible from his room. Through the window, like a beacon of warmth and light… Something that pushed against the darkness of his grief and rage…

His legs regained their strength the closer he grew to the light. It involved actually going out through his front door, but that wasn’t so bad, was it? It was near midnight, with barely a buzz of traffic, and… and the light. How could he possibly sense any negative emotions when staring into its blinding fluorescence?

Dully he realized he should be worried about that—he needed those negative emotions if he wanted to save his beloved Emilie—but it was difficult to think beyond navigating the narrow alleyways to follow the bright beacon. How was it still out of reach? He swore it had been just outside his window, a halo of light, with just a few shadows dancing within… shadows in the shape of… some kind of insect…?

Before he could discern the image now glowing against the brick wall, something wrapped around him from behind.

“Gotcha,” a girl’s voice hissed. The string binding him dug into his arms.

“It’s really him,” a boy breathed.

“Or he’s just crazy. We haven’t ruled that out yet.”

“Unhand me at once!” Gabriel shouted—tried to shout. His voice still hadn’t fully recovered. Nooroo was safely hidden in his jacket, and for a moment he considered transforming. Why had he gone out without a bodyguard? He’d made enough enemies even as a civilian; he should’ve known better, but that cursed light—the light that left spots in his eyes as a red-and-black arm reached down to unplug its source.

“Sorry, Mister Agreste. Not until we check you for any mysterious jewelry.”

The girl spun him around, and he came face-to-face with his archnemesis herself. It was difficult to keep the sneer off his face.

“Does the hero of Paris often accost civilians in the street?”

“Only when they show at least three signs of being Hawkbutt,” Chat Noir said from behind her. He wore a sterile smile, one that clashed with the bitter green of his glinting scleras.

Gabriel shuddered. He was just a child. Nothing to be afraid of, even with the power of destruction curled within his ink-black ring.

Even when he apparently knew Gabriel’s identity.

“I’ll be reporting this to the authorities,” he still threatened as he processed the scene. Ladybug and Chat Noir, confronting him in an alleyway with no witnesses. A now-dark spotlight he now recognized as Queen Bee’s signal. A red-and-black cord that must have been the hero’s Lucky Charm

They’d planned this. They knew.

Still, he clung to the hope that they wouldn’t find his miraculous. Not when it was hidden under—

Ladybug tugged his half-eaten tie out from his vest. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is...”

She trailed off as her eyes caught the shine of purple beneath the red and white silk. Beside her, Chat Noir froze.

“Nooroo, dark wings—!”

Chat Noir’s claw snagged the brooch before he could complete the phrase. Nooroo zipped back into the miraculous, and Gabriel swore he heard the kwami sigh in relief.

This was… not ideal.

“It is you.” Chat Noir’s hands shook—with rage? Gabriel wouldn’t begrudge him that. He instinctively moved to capitalize on that emotion before remembering he couldn’t akumatize anyone in his current state.

“Chat…?” Ladybug reached out to him, and he turned to bury himself in her arms.

Gabriel thought it might provide an opportunity to squirm free from Ladybug’s string, but her grip on her yo-yo was just as tight as her grip on her partner. He grit his teeth. Surely there was a way out of this! He couldn’t lose to two teenagers over—over chasing a spotlight!

“It’s okay. I’m here,” the girl was consoling him, though the useless hero had barely done anything besides some quick sleight of hand.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s going to be okay.” He sniffled and smiled softly at her. Then his gaze sharpened to steel when he looked back at Gabriel.

“Come on, Father. I hope they have good therapy in jail.”

#fic tag #gabriel agreste has no rights #hawkmoth has no rights #miraculous ladybug #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #adrien agreste #plagg #ladybug #tali writes #crackfic #quality content #please dont take this too seriously lol

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dragonnan · 3 years

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This is faaaar from a complete list and will be spotty at best but I’ve been pondering MCU characters a lot as I’ve been getting slowly back to work on my mega-fic. I LOVE minor head canons. Simple stuff like favorite foods or what music they listen to or were they ever a smoker or whatever whatever. So I’m gonna give myself the challenge of crafting some head canon and anyone else is very welcome to dive in! (some things are already established via canon)

~ Ethnicity ~ Faith ~ Smoker ~ Alcohol ~ Favorite food ~ Favorite cookie ~ Favorite animal(s) ~ Favorite music ~

Tony Stark: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American-Jewish (he refers to himself as a “mutt”) Faith: “No thanks” being the initial answer but if he feels like opening up he’ll admit to believing there’s likely “something” out there but at the same time figures that “something” stopped caring about humanity a long long time ago. Smoker? Never liked cigarettes but smoked a few cigars when he was younger due to Obie’s influence. He never was a big fan but wanted to fit in with his mentor. Alcohol: Influenced both by his father and Obie, Tony started drinking hard liquor semi-regularly as young as 14 (his Dad let him try his first sip at the age of 6). He pretty much sticks with Scotch or Bourbon but is not opposed to cheap beer at a ball game. In fact the cheaper the better - a requirement for any self-respecting American. Favorite food: hot dogs. Neither one of his parents cooked. Breakfast and lunch were whatever whenever for all three of them but dinner? You better be sure you were at that table before the plates were set down or you could go without (and Tony got a slap from his father when he’d observed that rule only seemed to apply to him). But on the nights he was sent to his room, Jarvis would slip upstairs, later, with a sandwich or, on really rough nights, a couple of hotdogs. Favorite cookie: Those Christmas wreath ones made with cereal and marshmallow with the cinnamon candies. Favorite animal(s): he likes all animals but if he had to pick one for a pet he’d get an iguana. Favorite music: well duh lolol.

Stephen Strange: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American (borrowed from Benedict Cumberbatch’s ethnicity and adding the American) Faith: Originally atheist but now closer to Buddhist. Smoker: Never. Even prior to becoming a sorcerer he has always been conscious of what he takes into his body; especially given the history of cancer on his mother’s side of the family. Alcohol: Wine, occasionally, though he isn’t really a social drinker per-say. Favorite food: The spicy shrimp and pork dumplings from a Thai place in Midtown. Favorite cookie: Hmmm.... not a big sweets guy but he won’t turn away a few ginger-pecan cookies with coffee. Favorite animal(s): dogs - unequivocally. He had a border collie growing up on his family farm in Nebraska. Favorite music: please don’t make this poor man actually have to choose.

Steve Rogers: Ethnicity: Irish (as per comics) Faith? Irish-Catholic (as per the comics). Smoker? Prior to the serum there was no way he could safely do so with his health issues. After he started traveling with the performers all of the girls in the group smoked and he tried it out a few times but never developed a taste for it. Alcohol: he drank A LOT - easy enough to do as it never had any real effect on him. He enjoys scotch and bourbon (a taste he picked up from hanging around Howard Stark). Steve seems to low-key always have the munchies (like most enhanced) and once Tony picked up on that there are always a variety of snacks scattered here and there throughout the compound (also of benefit for Bruce, Peter, Thor, and, later, Bucky). Steve’s favorite foods typically remind him of his mother’s cooking. While they’d never had much (especially after his father died) his mom could do a lot with limited supplies. She used to make a fantastic meat pie with ground beef or tongue. He hates SPAM. They ate it in the Army, constantly, and just the smell will occasionally send him back to those days and not in a good way. Favorite cookie? Oreos. He can clean up a family sized pack in like 10 minutes. Steve loves animals but is especially fond of horses and dogs. There was a dog in his unit in WW2 and Steve, like most of the other men, would share bites of his rations with it. Steve is nostalgic about music from the 40s but finds that 70s rock really resonates with him.

Bucky Barnes: Ethnicity: Romanian-American (borrowing a little from Sebastian Stan’s ethnicity) Faith? Possibly agnostic. Smoker? Heck yes - both cigarettes and cigars. Like Steve, the serum he received (via Hydra’s experimentation) means he gets to dodge the detrimental side effects of smoking. Alcohol: He likes to drink but is almost exclusively a beer drinker. He has a big appetite but refuses to eat around others if he can at all help it. His favorite food is corned beef with cabbage. Steve’s grandmother was an Irish immigrant and would make it every Sunday before the war impacted rations. Since both Bucky’s parents were dead he’d often have dinner with his best friend. Also, unlike Steve, he actually likes SPAM. But then, arguably, he isn’t terribly picky about food in general. Favorite cookie: molasses. Favorite animal(s): birds - eagles in particular - though he doesn’t look too deeply at the psychology of their ability to just fly away. Needless to say a crafty observer might spot a former Winter Soldier tossing seeds towards the pigeons. Favorite music: He’s pretty eclectic though he shies away from anything too loud like death metal. He finds classical very soothing.

Peter Parker: Ethnicity: Mixed American-Scandinavian-German-ish Faith: Protestant upbringing but unsure where he currently stands. If pressed he’d say he’s “leaving his options open” Smoker? “Oh gross!” Alcohol: “Um, too young to drink, thanks! But if I WERE to... you know, try it just to taste it there was this mudslide at one of Flash’s parties that was super good...” Favorite food: spaghetti and meatballs. Lots of meatballs. Favorite cookie: chocolate chocolate chip with chunks. Favorite animal(s): NOT spiders. And NOT birds given how many rooftops he’s traversed layered in pigeon ick. He’d probably say cats. Favorite music: The B side of techno rock - especially Depeche Mode.

Peter Quill: Ethnicity: Half mixed American and half celestial. Faith: His Dad was a god and he killed him so he figures he probably isn’t on the best terms with the Big G God should He... or She... or Them... be out there. Look he just wants to do his thing and cause a little trouble without mixing it up with any other celestial types but if they DO wanna throw down he’d like to point out that he’s 1 for 1 and willing to rumble. Smoker: He would not say no to a really good cigar and may have possibly lifted a case from Yondu’s stash when he struck out on his own. Alcohol: Anywhere any time and in large quantities. Favorite food: A thick steakhouse bacon burger with potato chips right on the patty. Extra cheese please! Favorite cookie: He’s a simple guy with simple tastes. classic chocolate chip no frills no fuss and fresh from the oven. Favorite animal(s): He likes dogs - who doesn’t like dogs? But he really likes cows. Just maybe don’t mention the burger thing. Favorite music:

Thor: He’s a Norse god of legend so I figure we can forego the ethnicity/faith questions lol. Smoker: He has never understood this human custom nor has he felt any inclination to try it himself Alcohol: Beer, mead, and anything capable of knocking him on his ass. Favorite food: chili with ghost peppers. Though nowhere near as hot as the fire chilies of Muspelheim (which would be instantly fatal for humans so its just as well). Favorite cookie: strawberry cheesecake with macadamia nuts. Favorite animal(s): It’s a tossup between bilgesnipe and whales. Favorite music: The mighty horns of battle! He also enjoys old school country, much to Tony’s disgust. The story aspect of that music is what appeals to him.

Bruce Banner: Ethnicity: Italian-American Faith: Catholic in his childhood; currently Atheist or maybe agnostic. Smoker: He tends to avoid any substances for, you know, obvious reasons. Alcohol: See previous. Favorite food: Waffles with sliced mango. Favorite cookie: Oatmeal. Favorite animal(s): Mantis shrimp - “did you know they can generate so much power in their attacks that they can briefly super-heat the water up to 7,700 °C??” Favorite music: Indian- especially Krishna Bhajan.

Clint Barton: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American and Panamanian. Faith: His parents were both Protestant but he’s never latched on to any specific faith and hasn’t really devoted a lot of thought on the matter. He has a sorta loose idea of “maybe something out there” but that’s all the further he’s gotten on the subject. What he tells anyone who asks it’s that his religion is coffee. Smoker: Briefly when he was a teen. Alcohol: Beer - he’s a fan of dark lager. Favorite food: Coney Island dogs, Pizza, and pickle flavored potato chips. Favorite cookie: Monster cookies with the mini M&Ms. Favorite animal(s): Dogs Favorite music: 80s rock and some country.

Natasha Romanoff: Ethnicity: Russian. Faith: She was not given much choice when younger and was raised as “state atheist” (per comics). In the years since escaping that life, however, she has tried to discover more about herself. Her parents were both Russian Jewish and there has been a pull to discover more about that faith - especially since meeting Wanda - who is Jewish. Smoker: No. Alcohol: Some vodka - that’s a given. But she actually prefers wine; and honestly her favorites are wine spritzers. Favorite food: Favorite cookie: Krumkake filled with creme and berries. Favorite animal(s): Favorite music: Overall she listens to a pile of little-known bands and whomever is playing at whatever bar in whatever city she happens to be in. She also is a huge fan of old school Spice Girls.

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

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Survey #276

“all the other kids with the pumped up kicks, you better run, better run, outrun my gun.”

Favorite dried fruit? Dried fruit is fucking disgusting. Would you rather wear a dress or a suit on your wedding day? A dress. If you chose dress, will it be long or short? I prefer longer wedding dresses. If you chose suit, will you wear a bow or a tie? Hypothetically I’d wear a tie, probably. Have you ever wanted to be a police officer? No. Do you have a nut allergy? No. Do you accessories with chains? Put chains on fucking EVERYTHING and it is an improvement. How often do you cook dinner? If you’re excluding the microwave, like… never. What have you given up on recently? Nothing important; the only thing I can think of applies to a game. I was after the way-too-fucking-expensive dinosaur mount that is very soon going away in World of Warcraft, but the stress it was causing me wasn’t worth it. The time investment and how it was only a “maybe” of getting it in time Favorite condiment for fries? Ketchup. Ever had bangs? I did as a little kid. Do you know any Italian people? Well yeah, people of Italian descent are common in the U.S. I don’t know like, someone straight from Italy though. Have you ever dated someone LGBTQ+? Yeah, a demisexual. What color would you like your future bathroom to be? Uh… I don’t really care. It would depend on the house. Do you add sugar to plain cornflakes? No. Are skeletons cool? Skellyboiz are dope. Favorite Selena Gomez song? I don’t know any. Do you like coffee flavored cake? I don’t like coffee, so guess. Is that even a thing, though? Do you still watch your favorite kid shows/cartoons? I don’t watch TV. I would though, sure. Do you like going on walks? What's your favorite thing about them? How far do you normally walk? Ugh this question is gonna be embarrassing considering I went through muscle atrophy in my legs from being so sedentary. When we move (HOPEFULLY the start of October, a wrench was kinda thrown in our plans), I intend to absolutely start walking in small intervals now that we’ll be in a nice little neighborhood with a sidewalk. And a PokeStop nearby to bait me lmfao. Plus the weather will be cooler, so I intend to make a lot of progress. BUT ANYWAY I like just listening to either music or the sounds of what’s going on around me. Last time you had a hot drink? That’s a good question. Idk. Have you ever lived in a city? Was it crowded? Never like… a “real” city. Just small towns or in the middle of nowhere. Would you prefer to live in a big city or the woods? THE WOODS!!!!!!1 THE WOODS!!!!!1!!!!1111!! GIMME THAT SHIT!!!!!!11!11!!!! Have you ever climbed a mountain? No. Do you hear owls or crickets at night where you live? LOADS of crickets and toads during the summer. Ever run away from home? When I was a stupid pre-teen. I was mad at my mom and she wasn’t home, so I took Teddy and left. I had my phone though and Mom – when she got home – threatened to call the cops, so yeah, I came back. Are you scared to ride public transport alone? Why? No. Is marriage on your mind? No time soon. Did you own a dollhouse when you were younger? I didn’t, per se, but my younger sister did, and we would play together. Does the room you're in have a tiled floor? No, it’s carpet. How many pairs of earrings do you own? Not that many, not too few. Are you looking for a boyfriend/girlfriend? I’ve never thought *looking* was a good idea, so no. I think bonds of any kind need to come naturally to avoid lack of genuineness, force, or rush. I don’t think me having an s/o is a smart idea right now anyway. Do you prefer a call or a text? Don’t call me unless you’re dying or something. Do your parents drink coffee every morning? Mom almost always does. I don’t live with Dad, so idk. Have you ever donated blood? Yes. One song that's meaningful to you? UM a LOT. Most meaningful, probably “Stairway To Heaven” by Led Zeppelin. I physically can’t listen to it. Like I refuse to. Are you addicted to anything? Technology, big oof energy. What were you last listening to in the car? Something on my iPod, idk. When was the last time you sang out loud? I don’t recall. I rarely sing. What did you have for breakfast? A microwaveable sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. Mom is currently out of state with her mother because she’s literally on her deathbed, so she STOCKED ME THE FUCK UP on groceries. The freezer is literally jam-packed, so I’m focusing on eating food from there. Did you have a nap today? Yes. I almost never, ever make it through the day without one, especially now with having nightmares every fucking time I sleep. Are you named after anyone? No. Well, not my first name, anyway. “Marie” is a middle name theme in my family, though. What kind of music do you like? Metal, rock, alternative, indie… stuff like that. What’s one hobby that you’d like to take up? Ugh, I miss a LOT of my old hobbies. I’ve lost interest in so much. I wish I drew way more than I do, which is almost never. What did you think you wanted to be when you grew up? The first job I ever wanted was a paleontologist. I was obsessed with dinosaurs. Still love ‘em. What’s the biggest project on your to-do list right now? It’d be great if I could finish designing Ashley’s cancer tattoo, but again, yeah, drawing motivation. ;_; If you weren’t in your current job, what would you want to be doing? I’m unemployed. Is the last person you kissed older than you? No. Are you happy right now? No. Haven’t been “happy” for a while now. Who makes you happiest right now? Probably my cat tbh lol. Especially being home alone for so long, he’s keeping me company. In school did/do people put a label on you? If so, what is/was it? I was considered one of the “emo” kids. Do you laugh every day? lol wow no. What is the last thing you laughed at? This Spongebob meme I saw on Facebook got me fuckin good. Have you cried today? If so, why? Nah. When was the last time someone saw you naked? Been a long time; even when I’m going in or coming out of the shower I do all I can for Mom to not see me because I hate my body a fucking lot. What is the greatest loss you've endured? My first boyfriend. When was the last time you did something you were embarrassed by? WOW I do this like every fuckin day, fam. What was the last thing you lied about? I’m not sure. What type of a drunk are you? Never gotten to the point of drunk, but I was more talkative the closest I got. What is your philosophy on life/how do you generally choose to live or conduct yourself? What a big question. I personally think you should do all you can to make a positive impact on the world – make it better than when you entered. Don’t contribute to the bad, treat people how you want to be treated… all that jazz. When was the last time you were up all night and why? I can’t remember quite why, but I remember doing that with WoW some time ago. Idr what I was doing that had my attention that long, though. That’s rare now. What is the worst thing you've done to yourself? What is the worst thing someone else has done to you? Part one: hand over all of my worth to someone else. Part two: show me exactly why I shouldn’t have in a very unhealthy way. What is the most personal thing you're willing to reveal? I dunno??? Can ya give me a topic?? Is there a situation or person you haven't been able to get over/forgive/what have you? I honestly doubt I’ll ever be entirely over Jason. Who was the last person to yell at you? Did you yell back? Probably Mom, and idr. Doubt it. Just probably raised my voice. Where did your last injury come from? My cat, rip. What is the worst thing you have said to another person? Something along the lines of “thanks for sending me to the ER (or mental hospital?) again.” Fucking disgusting. Do you wear your seatbelt in the car? Without fail, always. Please wear your seatbelt. Are you scared of flying? Not really. What do you sleep in? Men’s pj pants and tank tops. Who was the last person you kissed? Sara. What are you listening to? I am fucking HOOKED on 3TEETH's cover of "Pumped Up Kicks." Do you prefer soupy noodles or noodles without the broth? Without. Have you ever missed someone but felt like they had other friends and didn't miss you as much as you did? This. Is the story of my motherfuckin life. I feel this all the time to a very deep level. Who, out of all your friends, do you hang with the most and could never get tired of him/her? Sara. Do you like the taste of white chocolate or does it taste kind of fake? Nooot a white chocolate fan. Too sweet. How would you react if you just found out your mom had an abortion before? I would be VERY surprised just given who she is and her adoration for children. Are your pets spayed/neutered? Yes. Hottest guy you know and actually talk to? I don’t regularly talk to any guy I consider “hot,” but the closest to that would be my friend Leon, whom I’ve always seen as very attractive. It is fucking UNCANNY, his resemblance to Leon Kennedy from the Resident Evil series. Like he’s dressed as him before and it is astonishing. Name sharing is a coincidence, too. What time of day do you like to shower? I don’t have a favored time anymore. I just do it when I feel like it at some point during the day, but pretty much never night anymore. I do think starting the morning with one though is great, though. When you go out to eat, what sides do your order with your food? Fries are almost guaranteed, but of course it depends on the type of food, too. What do you spend more money than necessary on? I don’t and never have had a stable source of income to answer this, really. What video game or computer game are you best at? Uhhh I’d probably be rusty with the Shadow of the Colossus controls by now, I’ve don’t have the maps or every puzzles memorized from the Silent Hill games, so I guess my answer’s World of Warcraft if I’m on my hunter. Not to flex but I’m a bomb-ass beast mastery hunter. Been my main in the game since I started in MoP. What do you keep your keys on? They’re in my purse on a keychain. Is your favorite color different than your favorite color to wear? Oh yeah. Do you buy books or get them from the library? Buy them. What section of the food pyramid do you neglect the most? Veggies for sure. What do you use your stovetop for most? Well, I don’t ever. Can you focus on studying if there's music on? No, I need silence. In what types of situations do you demand absolute silence? Well, see the above answer, for one. Also going to sleep. Well, maybe not, as I have a fan as kinda like white noise, but I can sleep without it. Did you do well at fitness testing in grade school? I didn’t score bad, but I wasn’t exceptional either. Do you own more shoes or less shoes than the average person? Less, I’m sure. Do you still have anything from when you were a baby? Yeah, up in the attic. I think my mom has some stuff that’s super important to her in a case somewhere. Do you use hairspray much? I never do. Are art museums interesting or boring to you? I enjoy them. What subject in school do you feel is the least necessary? Well, this is a difficult question to answer when you consider I think depending on your career focus as well as personal values and interests, this answer changes from person to person. Like for me, I could say I don’t give a shit about complex math, but advanced math courses would be valued by certain people down specific paths. But anyway, I’ll bite and say least necessary for *the most* people, in my opinion anyway. Gym. It’s very discriminatory towards people with more limited physical capabilities (and I don’t just mean literally disabled), and it’s also just very uncomfortable and/or embarrassing to some people. Like I’d fuckin cry if in my current state, I was forced to “run” a mile, because I physically couldn’t come even close. A person, a younger one especially, should never be subjected to humiliation at the hands of a class schools deem “necessary” when it absolutely is not. Okay I’m in a talkative mood and this is turning into an essay so I’mma move along now. When you were a kid, what games did you always play on the playground? I think for as long as I had recess, my go-to was ALWAYS the swings. I fucking loved swingsets. I loved playing 4 Square or whatever it was called. And then of course there was me digging tunnels in the sandboxes because I wanted to feel like a meerkat lmfao. Do you enjoy power outages or do you get annoyed? For some reason, I still have this childlike excitement *early* into a power outage. Especially when it’s dark and we have to get out the candles, and I might play my old GameBoy or Nintendo DS, or I’ll probably just chill talking with Mom. However, that phase is pretty short nowadays, being a snake mama. My mind very quickly goes back to “Venus needs her lamp,” so as time passes, I get more anxious than annoyed. Basically, I’d rather not have one. Do you know how to use an ATM? … no lmao How about write a check? No. Are you pretty politically correct? To a degree I consider reasonable. Personally I find political correctness as having gone too far by now, but it’s certainly appropriate in some instances. What is one fashion trend you'll never understand? I… don’t really care to think much on this. Wear what makes you feel confident in yourself. There are things I think don’t look good, but they may look great to you, and it’s on your body, so guess whose opinion matters. What do you wear when you exercise? Oh yeesh. Just sweatpants and a tank top, normally. What is usually the last thing you do before you go to bed? I turn the brightness on my phone waaay down. I’m always going to wake up throughout the night and check the time, but I don’t want to be blinded.

#survey #quiz #questions #questionnaire

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steebharringt0n · 5 years

Text

sanctuary - part 3

summary: Subject 001. That’s what you’ve been called your whole life. You’ve known nothing but pain, violence, and isolation. You were their greatest secret weapon, but when your final mission is to ensure the end of the universe, you escape to Hawkins, Indiana to team up with Eleven and to put an end to all this chaos, once and for all - you just never expected to fall in love with the resident bad boy along the way.

rating: m

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

warning: graphic violence, slurs, abuse, curse words.

A/N: fuck episode 8. i am so upset. thank god for fanfiction amirite? i was too emotionally distrought to think of a better ending for this chapter, but things start picking up next chapter - i will include what happened to billy in season 3 in this story, with some obvious tweaks.

tagged list: @thefandomzoneisdangerous

001. prologue 002. firestarter

---

003. spitfire

“Pick your poison”

You stared at the plastic menu in front of you, not entirely sure what any of these foods were. It’s not like they fed you burgers and fries over at the military base. The options were overwhelming to you. Pancakes, hot dogs, milkshakes … was any of this good?

“I - I don’t know what to get …”

Billy put down his menu and stared at you, taking in your features a lot better now that you both sat under the bright light of the diner. Your (Y/H/C) hair was messy, as if it hadn’t been washed in days. The bruises around face, especially the one near your cheek looked more colorful than before. Hues of purple and yellow contrasted against your (Y/S/C) skin. The dark bags under your eyes made it seem as if you hadn’t slept in days.

You hadn’t.

“What, you’ve never had a cheeseburger before?” he questioned incredulously. You shook your head, “No, I don’t even know what this pancake food is. Is it any good?”

Billy scoffed loudly, “You’re joking right?”

Your eyes shifted around, cocking your head to the side, “No Billy, why would I lie to you?” your voice spoke softly.

He was taken aback by your comment. His shoulders relaxed and a soft expression appeared on his face, “You’re right … I’m sorry. I’m kinda new to this whole being nice thing” he muttered.

A loud noise coming from the back of the kitchen from the diner distracted the both of you from your conversation. A tall, lanky waitress with thin hair was sauntering over, her face looking very annoyed. Billy quickly lowered his head towards you, “Whatever you do, don’t say a word. I’ll do the talking” he hissed at you quickly.

You nodded solemnly. He was the only one that had helped you get this far - the least you could is follow his instructions.

The waitress then appeared to your table. Smacking her gum loudly, a notepad in her hand. She glanced over at you, then frowned, “Boy kid, what happened to your face?”

You stared at her blankly, not knowing exactly what to do in this situation which was strange because you always knew what to do in sticky situations. It usually resulted in someone getting hurt or dying though. This situation however, was different. You never really interacted with people outside of the men that usually monitored your every move, so social cues were hard for you to grasp, along with sarcasm and certain expressions. Your eyes slowly shifted to look at Billy, waiting for him to speak on your behalf.

“Car accident. Nasty one. Just got out of the hospital so we’re celebrating, right?” he gave you a hard looking, pressing on the fact that he needed you to play along with his little game. So you did.

“Yup. Car accident” was all you said.

“She’s gonna take the cheeseburger with fries, I’m just gonna have a chocolate milkshake” He quickly said, trying to divert the conversation back. The waitress quickly jotted the food down on her notepad. She turned on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Billy let out a breath of air from his mouth, sinking back into his seat. “That was close. Nice playing along”

You nodded, fiddling with the large sleeve of your hoodie as silence settled between the two of you. You weren’t exactly the best at holding conversations, and neither was Billy. You mostly spoke when you were spoken to, and Billy just usually avoided people unless he was trying to get in someone’s pants.

“So uh,” he started, trying to break the awkwardness, “How did you uh, manage to make your way to this hellhole?”

You shrugged. “I killed a guy, stole his wallet, bought a plane ticket and walked the rest of my way here.” you spoke so nonchalantly it sent chills down his spine. The way you spoke about certain things had a sense of innocence to them, but the fact that you could easily kill the next person that walked in the diner almost terrified him. You stopped fiddling with your sleeve when you realized Billy was quiet.

“I’m not a monster you know” you quietly said, your eyes avoiding his blue ones. “I know I have these ... powers ... and I know I’ve used them to hurt people ... but I’m not a monster” your voice was full of emotion. Billy shifted in his seat, his lips pressed together, not sure how to respond to you. He knew what other people at school saw him as.

A bully, an asshole, a womanizer.

But in reality, Billy was a broken man, misunderstood. Seeing you become vulnerable in front of him tugged at his heart strings - which surprised him since not many things could make him feel so emotional.

“What are you?” he quietly asked.

You shrugged again, “I know as much as you do. They kept me in the dark. I was used to kill important people, people who would get in the way of their plan”

Billy’s eyes narrowed, “Who’s they?”

“The Russians, sometimes they would lend me to other people - to kill you know? I’m assuming they probably got paid money for it. Brenner always told me I was their prized possession. I was trained for as long as I could remember, until I perfected my powers.”

Billy tensed up, his leg twitching under the table, “So what other powers do you have?”

“Just the fire stuff - plus I’m really strong” you grinned at him. From the way you were shaped there was no way anyone would know what you could snap a tree in half with your bare hands.

“Yeah, I figured that much” he glanced down at his wrist, rotating it to make sure that it was still working.

You pressed your lips together, your expression softening, feeling guilty that you had hurt him earlier. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you … I just don’t - “

“- like being grabbed at … I get it. My old man can be hard on me sometimes”

Your eyebrows etched together, “Old man? You have an old man?”

Billy let out a laugh, “It’s another expression. It’s my dad. He’s a piece of shit”

You noticed his face hardening at the mention of his dad, his whole body stiffening. Unsure how to comfort him, you hesitantly reached out and placed a hand over his, warmth emitting from your palm. He looked up at you, his face now softening at the mere touch of his hand. His blue eyes boring into your (E/C) eyes. There was that feeling again, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach. You brushed it off this time, wanting to make sure that he was okay.

“Brenner is a piece of shit too. I understand”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. Billy didn’t move his hand away, rather enjoying the warmth from your hand. Your touch was such a small gesture, but to Billy kindness was something he really didn’t get too much often. Not since his mom had left anyways.

The silence was broken by the waitress barging out of the kitchen. You quickly swiped your hand away from Billy - as if you were doing something inappropriate and didn’t want to get caught. She placed the cheeseburger in front of you, and the milkshake in front of Billy who murmured a thanks before she made her way back into the kitchen.

You took a deep breath, the smell of the beef and cheese hitting your nostrils. It was magnificent. You had never smelled anything so amazing before, your mouth was watering, your eyes were gleaming with excitement. Food was always given to you, but you were on a strict diet, to keep your body as fit as could be. But this? This was different. Billy watched you amusedly as he ripped open a straw and placed it in his milkshake.

“Well go on, take a bite” he urged.

Your hands picked up the large burger and you took a bite. Your eyes widened, the different flavors hitting your tongue, your taste buds were on fire. You closed your eyes, relishing the taste in your mouth, chewing ever so slowly so that you could taste every ingredient.

“Oh my god” you moaned. Billy couldn’t help but grin at you, it was like watching a little kid eat a burger for the first time.

“This is the most amazing thing I have ever tasted in my whole life!” you exclaimed, taking another large bite.

“You should try the fries - with ketchup” he advised, taking a sip of his milkshake.

He reached over to the end of the booth and grabbed the red bottle at the end. He leaned over and drizzled ketchup over your fries, quickly taking a fry with him but you didn’t mind. You picked up a fry and placed it in your mouth. Another loud moan came from you, your eyes almost rolling in the back of your head.

“Billy. This is amazing, this has been the best day of my life” you spoke with food in your mouth but he didn’t care, he was too amused at all your reactions.

Billy glanced up at the clock on the wall. 11 pm. Shit, it was getting late.

“Hey, uh, I’m gonna go use the bathroom real quick. Stay put, don’t destroy anything” he jokingly added. You were too engrossed in your burger to give him any real attention, so you just waved him off as he quickly rose up and made his way to the back of the diner. He turned the corner and walked over to the payphone that was next to the bathrooms. He looked over his shoulder, making sure that you weren’t following him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Wheeler’s number, dialing it quickly as he held the phone between his head and shoulders.

A soft voice answered the phone, “Wheeler residence”

“Hey, Mrs. Wheeler it’s Billy”

Her voice suddenly went up a couple of octaves, “Billy! Hello! Calling so late, is everything okay?”

Billy shuffled his feet, “Yeah, um, is Nancy there? I need to ask her about an assignment”

There was a momentary pause on the other side. Billy heard shuffling and voices, “Yes, she’s here, - Nance! Hey Nance! Billy’s on the phone for you!”

Billy heard the phone being passed off. Mrs. Wheeler’s soft voice was replaced by Nancy’s nervous one. “Hi, Billy?”

“Wheeler. I’m gonna make this quick. I need your help.”

There was another pause, and then more shuffling. “Hey mom, I’m gonna take this phone call upstairs” Nancy announced to her mother. Billy heard the thudding of footsteps as Nancy made her way into her bedroom.

“Hargrove, what the hell do you want?” her voice suddenly became cold.

“One of Eleven’s buddies is here and I can’t watch her” he spoke in a hushed tone.

“What? Her buddies? What do you mean?”

“Wheeler, I need to bring her to your house. She can’t stay at mine” he pressed on.

“Hargrove, what the hell are you talking about?!” she questioned hotly.

“I can’t explain right now, I don’t have time, but I need to come over.” His foot was twitching at this point.

He felt Nancy’s hesitation, but she finally responded. “Okay, okay. Um, meet me by my back gate in 15 minutes”

“Deal”

He hung up the phone. He was making his way back to the booth when he caught a certain red car out of the corner of his eye. His face blanched and he felt his stomach drop when he realized who’s car that was.

“Shit. Shit. Fuck”

He turned the corner and saw Tommy H. with Alex M. towering over you. You looked small, cowering in the booth. They both were laughing loudly, picking and eating the large fries that were sitting in front of you.

You looked up from the table and made eye contact with Billy, the look in your eyes were pleading for him to stop this.

“Tommy, Alex, what the hell are you guys doing here?” Billy’s voice was low, rough.

Tommy and Alex stopped laughing and turned to their attention to the familiar voice behind them. Billy hated dealing with those 2, along with Carol. They were the bane of his existence - and yet they followed him around like a lost puppy dog.

“Hargrove! I didn’t know you liked to screw around with fucked up chicks!” Tommy exclaimed, glancing back at your cowered frame. The words stung, but you remained quiet, letting Billy take over the situation. “We spotted your car so we knew we had to stop in”

“You guys need leave now” his voice was terrifying low now. Anger was starting to set in and you could hear it in his voice.

Alex let out a nervous laugh, “Hargrove, c’mon, it’s us. We just want to know who your little friend is” Alex walked over and patted Billy on his shoulder. Billy just stared at him in disgust.

“Yeah, like is she good in the sack? Does she give good head?” Tommy quickly added, reaching down and taking another fry, staring at you with a smirk on his face.

Your hand twitched from under the table. Your temper rising.

Not a monster, not a monster, not a monster

You repeated that mantra in your head.

Billy stared at his friend, his mouth set in a hard line. Although you had no idea what ‘in the sack’ or ‘give good head’ meant, you knew it had some sort of sexual connotation with it with the way they were eyeing you up and down. If Billy Hargrove had fucked her - odds are she was a good fuck and they wanted a taste.

Tommy looked down at you again, “I’d give her an 7, maybe an 8 if she didn’t looked so fucked up” he sneered.

Billy could hear the muscles in your jaw crack as you clenched your jaw. Your expression hardening as Tommy casually reached his hand down again to grab another fry.

Game over

But before his fingers could even touch a fry, you quickly grabbed his wrist, slamming his hand down on the table so hard you could hear the joints in his hand. Tommy wailed in pain, his eyes widening so hard it looked like it was going to bulge out of his face. You stood up from your seat, keeping his hand pinned to the table.

“Call me fucked up one. more. time” you hissed at him, your jaw set as you stared at him. You maintained eye contact with him as he whimpered in pain. You could feel the table starting to crack as you pressed down harder. Tommy’s face twisted in agony, his mouth letting out a loud scream.

Your palm started to feel hot, you were so close to burning his hand off when Billy quickly ran over and yanked you away by your arm. Tommy collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face as he grabbed his hand to his chest. Alex ran over to his friend, picking him up from the floor.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he spoke to you through gritted teeth. You snatched away your arm from his grip. But before you could give him an answer the waitress suddenly came barging through, her eyes scanning the scene.

“All of you! Out of here!” she yelled at the four of you.

Billy walked around his two friends, reaching into his pocket and slamming a twenty dollar bill next to your plate. He grabbed your hand, leading you outside to his car without saying a word.

He quickly ushered you in his car, making his way around to the driver’s side and opening up the door. He quickly sat down and started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot so quickly it made your head spin.

“You can’t fucking pull shit like that! What the hell were you thinking?!” he screamed at you, reaching for his pack of cigarettes in his center console.

“I was defending myself! I wasn’t going to let him speak to me like that” you retorted back.

“Yeah? By breaking his hand?! Real fucking smart!”

“Fuck you!”

“No fuck you!”

You were breathing heavily, your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. But you were so angry, incredibly angry. How dare he question your right to defend yourself. Billy reached for his zippo lighter and flicked it open, trying to light it but was unsucessful. He angrily chucked it by his feet, feeling frustrated. You instinctivly reached over and snapped your fingers, emitting a flame from your hand.

Billy looked over at you. Your nostrils flaring and your eyes burning with anger. but yet you still had the kindness in you to help light his cigarette.

You were spitfire and crazy. Bruised and broken. Just like him.

He had never had someone - let alone a girl - speak to him to the way you just did. But it made you all the more interesting to him. Although he would have never admitted it at the moment but seeing Tommy H cry like a baby almost made him want to smile.

He leaned over to the flame, cigarette in his mouth. It quickly lit and he took a deep inhale.

You let the flame disappear from your hand. Crossing your arms, a scowl on your face as you both drove towards the Wheeler residence in silence.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

It’s Legal in Munich

Ch 4/4

Summary: Lonely in Munich, Germany, Chloe hires an escort to pass the night. AU. Originally for Bechloe Week 2019: 20 Questions.

Words: 5k

Rating: T

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 and FFN

Chloe really should have seen this coming.

She’s definitely the kind of person to whom this would happen.

Still, here she is, packing her suitcase for the next chapter in her travel adventure and finding herself completely blindsided by how hard it is to move on from Beca.

Which is ridiculous. They aren’t together. They’d talked about how not-together they are. It should be a non-issue because they’re so not-together. It should be that simple. Chloe should be able to throw a wave and a smile over her shoulder at Beca and board her plane without ever looking back.

And yet.

It’s her own fault, really. It’s so easy to be around Beca. It feels natural, as if they were meant to have met. They’re so different from one another, but somehow they’re on the same wavelength. It has to be the music. That’s it. Beca lives and breathes music. She’s also kind, honest, and totally adorable. Even though she’d probably glare at Chloe if the word “adorable” was so much as whispered in her presence.

Chloe should have known better.

She’s not stupid. She knows her feelings won’t change a thing. She’s still getting on a plane tomorrow and leaving.

Beca isn’t going with her. Beca is staying in Munich, along with a much larger piece of Chloe’s heart than she would really like to admit.

Chloe folds her last blouse carefully, placing it neatly into the suitcase she’s packed and repacked and rearranged no fewer than four times so far. She’ll probably redo the whole thing at least once again before she actually leaves for the airport tomorrow.

She’s pretty much ready to go. She’s checked into her flight on their mobile app. She’s seen the big tourist draws in Munich, along with more of the local haunts—all thanks to Beca, of course. She’s got her S-Bahn ticket to the Munich airport. She’s memorized the route from her destination airport in Krakow, Poland to her hotel. Her suitcase is packed, and she’s left an outfit out for tomorrow.

Chloe stares at her suitcase, eyes traveling over its contents without really seeing any of it.

It doesn’t seem like Beca’s having all that hard of a time moving on. If she’s honest with herself, Chloe knows she should have seen this coming, too. Hadn’t Beca told her, after all, that what she does is run? Beca had always been honest with her about what was going to happen at the end of Chloe’s time in Munich. Beca had avoided labeling them, mostly for that reason.

Chloe hasn’t really heard from Beca in a while. Well, two days. Not since their electric scooter date. Which wasn’t a date, exactly, but was more of a… well, it was basically a date. She knows Beca is okay; they have been sending brief texts back and forth, but nothing of any substance. It makes sense. Chloe’s leaving tomorrow, so Beca is protecting herself. Chloe doesn’t fault her for it.

They’d agreed to meet up one more time for dinner at the same bierhaus Beca had taken her to earlier. A sort of farewell dinner that Chloe already knows is going to be, as everything with Beca always has been, fun and exciting and bittersweet and painful. Chloe takes a deep breath.

Maybe it would be better for her to cancel and save them the trouble. She can already picture the way Beca’s going to spend the dinner rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck, her eyes darting around the room. She knows it isn’t that Beca is uncomfortable, but rather that Beca can’t stand goodbyes.

More than once, Chloe has caught Beca watching her, a strange expression on her face. Chloe never called her on it, though. She knows Beca’s struggling with this whole thing just as much as she is.

That’s the worst thing about this. Chloe knows perfectly well that Beca feels the same way about her. She can lie to herself all day, pretending that Beca doesn’t care, but it’s simply not true. Beca cares so much more than she feels comfortable with revealing.

A knock on the door startles Chloe, causing her to emit an involuntary little squeak of surprise. She looks at the closed door, already knowing who is standing in the hallway beyond it. She draws her lower lip into her mouth; it’s too late to cancel their evening after all.

She moves mechanically toward the door, her stomach fluttering with the same nerves she’d felt upon first meeting Beca. As she did then, too, she has to pause for a moment with her hand resting on the handle. She takes a deep breath. Another. Then opens the door, fighting a strong sense of Deja-vu.

The little smile-smirk that Beca gives her, though, is different from the one she’d given when they’d first met. This one is softer, more open, and is accompanied by a little, “Hey.” Beca, no matter how unwittingly and unwillingly, has become familiar. Her presence wraps Chloe in complete comfort.

Any thought that Chloe had had of cancelling their evening flies out the window at top speed and tips headlong over the balcony to shatter into fragments on the concrete below.

“Hi,” Chloe replies, her eyes drawn for the first time to the food containers Beca holds in her hands. “Is that...”

Beca glances down at the containers in her hands. “Oh, yeah. From the same bierhaus restaurant we went to before. It’s kind of raining, so I thought, you know, instead of going out, maybe we should just stay in?”

Chloe hadn’t even noticed the rain; as soon as Beca points it out, though, she can hear it gently pattering on the roof above. “Sure,” she agrees easily. “But don’t you think it’s more romantic to kiss in the rain?” She has no idea what makes her say those words, but they escape from her lips before she can even try to stop them.

Color rises in Beca’s cheeks unexpectedly and she glances downward with a small huff.

Her embarrassment surprises Chloe, and she tries to backtrack. “Um, I didn’t—”

“You have a balcony, don’t you?” Beca interrupts, arching an eyebrow as her color returns to normal. “We can always kiss on that.”

This time, it’s Chloe who finds herself tongue-tied. Before she can come up with any kind of counter, Beca continues.

“Unless you were hoping for one more stroll through Munich?” she offers. “Which would be fair.”

“Tempting,” Chloe muses, regaining her voice, “but a night in sounds really nice, too.”

Even as she finishes her sentence, she kicks herself mentally. Spending any more time alone with Beca is only going to make leaving her so much worse.

“Great,” Beca grins, her smile widening and eyes sparkling with amusement. “Are you gonna start by inviting me in?”

Chloe laughs quietly and rolls her eyes at the old joke. “Are you a vampire or something?” she asks playfully as she steps aside, gesturing Beca into the room. “Always having to be invited in.”

Beca steps inside, shrugging off her jacket in a move that really shouldn’t be sexy but totally is. “Nah, but how cool would it be if I could turn into a bat?”

“I’d rather not get rabies,” Chloe teases as she closes the door and locks it.

Beca’s smile changes into a smirk and she fires back, “I only bite if I’m asked to.”

It startles a laugh out of Chloe, full and free, and she knows Beca won that round. “Speaking of,” she begins, leading Beca to the balcony, “did you have a client last night? I was kind of surprised you were even free tonight.”

It’s Saturday, and typically, Beca’s time would be booked.

Beca’s expression shifts minutely, a flicker so quick that Chloe can’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. “Nah. I haven’t really had clients the past few days.”

“Slow time?”

Beca shrugs. “I guess. What have you been up to?”

Chloe flicks open the latch on the room’s patio door and helps Beca carry the food out to the covered balcony, where they can eat on the little table and will be sheltered from the rain. Out here, the smell and sound of the rain ensnares Chloe, heightening her senses. “Mostly packing, honestly,” she answers. “Some walking around. And figuring out where I want to go after Krakow.”

“Poland?” Beca asks, sounding surprised as she settles into one of the chairs and divides the stack of containers between them. “What’re you going to do there? I’ve never been.”

“I guess there’s a lot to do in the main city square. Lots of good food, lots of history. It looks beautiful online.”

Beca smiles faintly, her eyes not quite meeting Chloe’s. “You’ll have to send me pictures.”

“Y—yeah,” Chloe breathes, the weight of her departure suddenly weighing heavy on her lungs. Desperate to change the subject and avoid the sad awkwardness she’d been dreading, she asks, “What did you bring to eat?”

“Oh, uh,” Beca starts, opening the containers and naming each dish as it’s exposed. She’d brought what seems to be samples of German essentials; schnitzel, spaetzle, white asparagus with hollandaise, various meats and cheese, and a huge pretzel. “And there’s always…” Beca trails off, lifting the lid off a final container to reveal two slices of chocolate cake. “I got the order right this time,” she grins at Chloe.

Chloe smiles back, surveying the food. “This is really nice, Bec, thank you.”

“Anytime,” Beca replies, looking out over the balcony railing to survey the sprawl of rainy Munich. Her posture is just a little too rigid, her tone a smidge clipped.

Chloe instantly knows there’s something Beca’s holding back. Her first impulse is to start questioning, but she catches herself. She knows Beca well enough by this point to understand that Beca will open up when she’s ready. So, to pass the time, Chloe starts on the meal, trying to savor every bite. She doesn’t know when she’ll be in Germany again, and she wants to memorize its flavors.

Beca eventually tears her gaze away from the rain-soaked city to instead focus on their meal. It’s several minutes before either of them breaks the silence, though Chloe’s fairly certain she can hear the whirring of Beca’s mind.

“So, uh, actually…” Beca breaks the quiet first, clearing her throat and looking almost nervous.

Chloe swallows her most recent bite of food and rests her fork against the edge of her plate, waiting patiently for Beca to say what she needs to say.

“Sorry I haven’t really been around much the last few days,” Beca says slowly. She presses her lips together and runs her tongue over her teeth before continuing, every word spoken almost cautiously. “I’ve been kind of... arranging things.”

“Things?” Chloe asks, surprised. The script is, as is always the case with Beca, not what she had expected.

“Yeah. Um, the day we did the scooter... thing,” Beca reminds her, waving a hand in the air aimlessly, “I got an email from my old boss in LA. The music production studio?” the pitch of her voice raises, making it sound like a question.

Chloe’s heart speeds up and she nods uncertainly, her stomach fluttering with a mixture of anticipation and nerves.

“Yeah,” Beca says again, “so I guess my boss kind of—on a whim—shared some of my old demos with a few different production studios, and this place in New York got back to him. They’re interested. In what I can do,” she adds, an afterthought.

Chloe’s jaw drops. She knows she must look ridiculous; Beca starts to smirk at her, but Chloe recovers quickly enough to speak first. “Beca! That’s amazing! You—congratulations!”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Beca says, blinking a little.

“No, really, that’s—what’s it called, the place in New York?”

Beca screws up her nose in thought. “BFD? I’d never heard of them, but I guess it’s an up and coming company.”

“That could be an amazing opportunity,” Chloe hedges, craving more details.

“Yeah, I… yeah.”

“Beca.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you give them an answer?” Chloe actually thinks she might explode if Beca doesn’t start giving details.

“Oh. Well, it doesn’t really work like that. Like, I have to interview and stuff,” Beca clarifies, looking more awkward by the second.

Chloe forces herself to calm down and count to five before asking her next in a series of questions; as excited as she is for Beca, she doesn’t want to force her into doing anything she doesn’t truly want to do.

“Do you want to interview?” she eventually asks, taking a bite of asparagus to seem nonchalant.

Beca hesitates, then gives a single jerky nod. “Yeah, it—it’s terrifying,” she huffs with a little smile, “but I said yes. To an interview. Terrifying and exciting,” she adds, another afterthought.

“It definitely is both terrifying and exciting, for sure,” Chloe agrees. “Though I’d have said you were crazy if you hadn’t agreed.”

“It feels a little crazy to interview anyway,” Beca shrugs, now reaching for her slice of cake. “It’s been so long.”

“Maybe. But they’re going to love you. How could they not?” Chloe asks before she can stop herself. Her face warms and she tries to hide it by taking another bite of her food. “So, uh, is it over Skype or phone or…”

“No, they want to show me around in person,” Beca mumbles through her mouthful of dessert. “I have to go over there.”

“That’s a good sign! When?”

“I fly out tomorrow.”

The words land between them, flopping unexpectedly onto the table. For a moment, Chloe simply looks at Beca and Beca simply looks at Chloe.

“Tomorrow…” Chloe trails off. Tomorrow is turning out to be a big day.

Beca nods maybe over-enthusiastically. “I checked, and our flights are actually pretty close together. We could—we could go to the airport together, if you want.”

Chloe doesn’t want to go to the airport together at all, because every additional minute she spends with Beca, it becomes that much harder to be able to leave. At the same time, it would also mean prolonging the time they have together.

“That would be awes,” she says, now starting on her own slice of cake.

“Cool,” Beca sighs happily, sitting back in her chair. “And, uh, also, I quit my job as an escort.”

“You did?” Chloe asks, surprise rippling through her.

“Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t going to, because if this whole interview thing doesn’t work out… well, I still need a job,” Beca says practically. “But I was thinking about it, and I decided that even if it doesn’t work out, maybe it’s time for me to try to, you know, figure things out.”

Chloe knows she’s smiling like an idiot, but she can’t help it. “Bec, that’s… I’m so proud of you! That takes a lot.”

Beca smiles at her happily. “You inspired me, I guess.”

And Chloe doesn’t really know what to say to that—her heart is beating too loudly for her to really think of anything—so she settles for a wink and another bite of cake. Beca’s eyes don’t leave her as she eats, searching her expression until it starts to make Chloe self-conscious.

“Do I have something on my face again?” she asks, mostly teasing.

Beca blinks and seems to shake herself. “Oh, no, just… what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me.”

“You know,” Beca lifts one shoulder. “With the vet stuff. With Aubrey. With singing and all that.”

“Oh.” Chloe again pauses, resting her fork on the table. “That.”

Beca grins crookedly at her but doesn’t say anything. She pushes away her now-empty cake container.

“I… don’t know,” Chloe says slowly. “I’ve been thinking and… I don’t know.”

Beca shrugs. “You don’t have to know right now,” she says softly.

“Yeah, I…” Chloe sighs. “I know that I can’t stay here forever. But… vet school has always been the plan, but I don’t know… what if I don’t get accepted anywhere?”

The question seems to catch them both by surprise; Chloe hadn’t realized that such a prospect frightened her so much, and Beca stares at her for a moment, blinking slowly.

Beca recovers first. “You’ll get in,” she says, eyes wide. “You’re really smart. And, you know, on the off chance if not, there are other options.”

“I suppose.”

Beca watches her, expression turning calculating. “I could see you as a music teacher.”

“Yeah?” Chloe asks, surprised again.

“Definitely.”

“I have thought about that before, actually.”

Beca lifts a hand to her chin, narrowing her eyes in thought. “It would suit you, I think.”

Chloe snorts at her ridiculous expression. “I would want to do elementary school, probably. Because—”

“Because you could teach them to love music,” Beca guesses. It’s not a question.

Chloe stares at her. Is it really possible that Beca already knows her that well? “I… yeah, exactly. You just… exactly.”

“I like that. You’d be great at that, too.”

Chloe toys with her napkin, the harder part of Beca’s question bouncing around her head now. “I think I should call Aubrey,” she eventually says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just to see,” Chloe shrugs, a finger tracing absently over the details in the grain of the wooden table. “I miss her.”

“I hope it works out between you two.”

“Me too.”

They both fall quiet, the gentle rain the only sound breaking the silence. Chloe shifts in her chair, a weird mood settling over her and pressing on her lungs. She finds herself thinking that if she and Beca had met sooner—maybe while they’d both been at Barden—they each could have figured out their lives that much sooner.

Maybe sensing Chloe’s shift in mood, Beca clears her throat. “So, do you want to watch a movie or anything?”

“A movie would be good,” Chloe replies gratefully, her wishful thinking scattering to the wind as she and Beca rise simultaneously from their chairs to clear the table.

It doesn’t take long to gather the empty food containers and utensils. With another look over the balcony at the darkening Munich horizon, Chloe follows Beca back inside the room and slides the patio door closed. They place the food containers on the room’s service cart and, without further ado, Chloe climbs onto her king-sized bed, props a pillow against the headboard, and leans back against it.

Still standing at the foot of the bed, Beca hesitates, her eyes flicking in the direction of the armchair as if she isn’t sure if she should join Chloe. Refraining from rolling her eyes in amusement, Chloe pats the space next to her on the bed pointedly.

“Right,” Beca mutters before joining Chloe on the bed. The mattress dips and moves as she crawls on her hands and knees to get to the head of the bed, and for some reason, the sight makes Chloe’s stomach flutter. Reaching her, Beca also props a pillow against the headboard, glancing up at the bottom of the storage cabinets above their heads.

“Comfy?” Chloe asks.

“Yep,” Beca says happily, settling back against her pillow. “Uh, I guess now we find the movie channel?”

“Thought you didn’t like movies,” Chloe remembers, reaching for the remote. “You sure about this?”

“Just don’t pick a boring movie,” Beca teases.

“I’ll do my best.”

She clicks the remote to turn on the TV, not sure what to expect. The first channel seems to be a news broadcast, given in German. She frowns and clicks the remote, scrolling through channel after channel, hoping for something watchable. Except...

Beca laughs as Chloe circles back all the way to the original news broadcast. “It’s in German. All of it.”

Chloe huffs. “I know we’re in Munich, but every channel is in German? Really?”

Beca bumps their shoulders together playfully. “It’s all good. Or I should say gut.”

“Okay, let’s just…” Chloe trails off, scrolling back a couple of channels until she goes back to what could be a German soap opera. She gestures to the TV, an actor’s dramatically brooding face filling the screen. “What do you think he’s saying?”

“Hmm,” Beca muses, staring at the screen for a moment. The actor mumbles something in rapid German, his face twisting. “I think he said, ‘I had a bad chalupa for lunch and now I regret it.’”

Chloe lets out a snort.

“All right, let’s see you do any better, nerd,” Beca goads her.

The soap opera cuts to an actress, tearful and heavily pregnant. She stares beseechingly at the handsome actor, asking him something in a quavering voice.

“Okay, so,” Chloe gets ready to translate, “she said, ‘This is what happens when you swallow watermelon seeds.’”

Beca’s lips twitch as she stares at the TV. “Interesting, interesting. I could see that.”

“I’m so good at German.”

“Definitely,” Beca says, looking over at Chloe, locking eyes.

Chloe’s breath catches in her throat; she hadn’t expected Beca’s face to be quite so close to hers.

The world around them fades away until Beca consumes Chloe’s every sense. She’s very aware of Beca, of every quiet breath she takes, of the blue of her eyes. She’s most aware of Beca’s proximity to her, the space of only a few inches separating them.

Beca’s eyes flick down to her lips. “What happens now?” she breathes.

“I don’t know,” Chloe whispers.

Beca lifts a shoulder. “Maybe it’s time for both of us to go home.”

A dull pain races through Chloe’s chest at the thought. “I… I don’t want to go home without you.”

Beca’s eyes close and she takes a deep breath. “Chloe, we can’t… tomorrow, we’re both—”

“I know.”

Beca’s eyes open again. “Okay,” she sighs, but then a corner of her mouth quirks up. “You want to play twenty questions?”

Chloe nods, her breath catching in her throat. Allowing her own eyes to drop to Beca’s lips, she asks, “Can I kiss you?”

It’s Chloe’s question, but it’s Beca who moves first. A hand rises to cup Chloe’s cheek gently at the same time Beca’s lips meet hers. She starts slow and soft, all gentle pressure that only builds when Chloe sighs into it, parting her lips.

Beca’s lips, soft and slightly chapped, meet hers again and again, each time at a new, more perfect angle. The hand on Chloe’s cheek slides around to the back of her neck, as if Beca instinctively knows the angle of the kiss is harsh.

Chloe’s own hands move, one bracing herself up on the mattress and the other resting on Beca’s hip. Under her touch, Beca is warm and solid. Their breath mingles, and Chloe is able to taste the hint of chocolate on Beca’s. Chloe’s lower lip is snared gently between Beca’s teeth; it pulls a soft whimper from within her chest and Beca smiles into the kiss, pressing closer.

Chloe has never been kissed like this before, so slow and thorough. She’s had her share of good and great kisses. Every kiss with Beca prior to this had been nothing less than amazing. But this is different. Chloe had always believed her body belongs to her, and to her alone. Right now, though… yours, she thinks as Beca deepens the kiss. I’m yours.

The curl of Beca’s tongue around her own makes Chloe’s fingers curl into the denim at Beca’s hip. She pulls, guides, until she’s lying on the bed with Beca half on top of her.

“Chloe,” Beca breathes, pulling back slightly, and for a second, Chloe’s terrified she’s about to stop. But then Beca’s mouth descends along her jaw, until Chloe has to tilt her head to expose more of her neck to Beca’s lips. Her fingers wind themselves into Beca’s tresses, and when Beca pauses at her pulse point, Chloe knows she must be able to feel how quickly her heart is pounding.

At the first touch of Beca’s tongue on her skin, Chloe gasps and arches. Again, Beca pauses, only to pull Chloe’s skin into her mouth more firmly, marking her. Chloe chokes on air, desire welling inside her and building low in her gut, and her hands drop to Beca’s backside, pulling her hips forward.

This time, it’s Beca who gasps, a broken breath leaving her and dissipating over Chloe’s overheated skin. “I…”

Drawing her lip between her teeth, hoping above all she isn’t reading things wrong, Chloe takes her hands from Beca’s ass to instead reach between them, unbuttoning Beca’s top. Beca goes still above her but doesn’t say anything. Her breathing becomes rapid puffs as Chloe undoes the last button and the shirt falls open.

Chloe just looks for a moment, stares at Beca’s chest in her simple black bra, before reaching to touch her gently. Beca’s eyes flutter and her head drops so she rests her forehead against Chloe’s.

“Chloe,” she whispers again. “You know—”

“I know,” Chloe says, her hands sliding over Beca’s bare skin to rest on her lower back. “But I don’t care.”

Beca stares down at her for a moment, eyes jumping between each of her own. Chloe waits, her entire body screaming for Beca’s touch. When Beca sits up, Chloe’s stomach plummets. But then Beca allows her shirt to slide the rest of the way from her shoulders and reaches to the headboard; she flicks a little switch, and the room lights go out as soft light emits from above the bed.

Chloe blinks up, surprised. “How did you know about that?”

Beca smiles down at her, features soft in the warm lighting. “I saw it the first time I was here.”

Chloe gives a small laugh that breaks off as the tips of Beca’s fingers toy with the hem of her shirt. They trace back and forth for several long seconds, until Chloe becomes impatient. She reaches down and sits up so she can whip the shirt over her head and off the side of the bed. Beca’s eyes drop immediately, and when Chloe lies down again, she pulls Beca back down on top of her.

Beca kisses her again, deep and searing, again breaking away to kiss down her jaw, her neck, her chest. She shifts again, her thigh landing high between Chloe’s. Fire races down Chloe’s spine and she arches, her own hand winding into her hair.

“Bec,” she gasps, and Beca’s lips return to hers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Beca says between kisses. “So, so beautiful.”

Completely overwhelmed, Chloe squirms under Beca, trying to pull her closer. Her hands slide over Beca’s bra strap, and she drags her nails lightly down Beca’s back until she finds the waistband of her pants. Beca stills over her as Chloe’s fingers slide around her hips to rest at the button of her jeans.

Beca pulls away so they can look into each other’s eyes. “Chlo…”

“Do you—” Chloe has to pause to moisten her lips. “Can we—”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.” Chloe doesn’t hesitate. She has no reason to.

Beca’s eyes flutter again, and when she looks at Chloe, it takes Chloe’s breath from her lungs. “Okay,” she says, pressing a gentle kiss to Chloe’s lips. “Yes.”

With trembling fingers, Chloe opens the button and draws down the zipper.

*****************************

They’d taken a train to the airport. They’d gone through security together. They’d wasted as much time as possible wandering the hallways between gates, hand-in-hand as they looked through the ridiculously overpriced shops before returning to Beca’s gate, as her flight leaves first. Chloe knows they’ve only delayed the inevitable, though, and before she’s entirely ready (not that she’d ever really be ready), it’s time.

The desk attendant calls for boarding and, though it’ll take a little while until Beca’s zone is called, Chloe knows they have to say their goodbyes.

“So,” Beca starts, glancing over at her.

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs, something in her chest giving an uncomfortable tug.

“Yeah.”

They look at each other for a long moment.

“Um—”

“Beca—”

They try to speak simultaneously, and it breaks off into an awkward laugh. Beca rubs at the back of her neck.

“You go first,” Chloe says, knowing Beca would rather get it out of the way.

“Well,” Beca huffs with a small smile. “I was just gonna say that I’m glad you were bored enough in Munich to hire an escort to play twenty questions.”

Chloe feels a corner of her mouth lift. “I’m glad, too.”

Beca grins at her crookedly, then rubs at the end of her nose with the palm of her hand. “Um, what were you gonna say?”

“Oh, uh, I was going to say that I’m glad it was you,” Chloe says delicately. Because it would have been entirely inappropriate to voice what she’d really been wanting to say—Take me with you—and what she ended up saying is completely true anyway.

Beca gives her that signature close-lipped smile. “So, um, I don’t know if this interview… I mean, it’s still early stages,” she says, as though she isn’t almost guaranteed the job. Chloe knows she’ll get the job; how could she not? “But either way, I think I’ll be staying there—New York—for a little while. And, you know, if you want, when you get back—”

“I’ll call you,” Chloe promises, entwining their fingers together. “Definitely.”

“I don’t know for sure what’ll happen.”

“Neither do I. We match.”

“Cool,” Beca laughs right as the desk attendant calls for final boarding. “I should—”

“Totes,” Chloe says, trying to force a smile as they stand from the uncomfortable gate seats.

Beca checks that she has her bag and hadn’t left anything behind before meeting Chloe’s eyes. “Good luck out there, Chlo,” she says, blinking more often than she normally might.

“You too, Bec,” Chloe manages, her own eyes starting to sting.

There’s a beat of silence where Chloe isn’t sure if they should kiss or not, but the crowd around them makes the decision for them. Instead, she pulls Beca into a tight hug, burying her nose into her neck and inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

She hadn’t known Beca long, but Beca feels like home.

Beca has to pull away first. With a nod and a vague gesture in the direction of the dwindling line to board the plane, she starts walking. Chloe thinks she might make some parting noise, but her own throat is too tight to respond.

Still, she watches as Beca joins the line, watches Beca had her boarding pass to the ticketer to be scanned. With barely a glance back and not much fanfare, she watches Beca turn and enter the tunnel, and then she’s gone.

Walking to her own gate, Chloe smiles. She’s definitely texting Beca as soon as she lands.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #chloe beale #beca mitchell #escort!beca #final chapter

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thevintagebluebird · 4 years

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Unpinned - French Onion Chicken

Welcome back, my lovelies! Since we last met the entire world has turned upside-down. Everything has changed! Holding hands is from the BEFORETIME. Being in other people’s houses is from the BEFORETIME. Restaurants are from the BEFORETIME. I could go on and on about the darkest timeline we find ourselves in, but after losing all sense of self and purpose in this nightmare reality, one thing has become clear: we still gotta eat. On a recent Zoom call with dear friends (the bizarre irony of how we’d never met face to face until a pandemic was not lost on me) I was reminded of this blog. Bless their hearts, they had kind words to say about my ramblings. So I thought WHAT THE HECK, IT’S NOT LIKE I DON’T HAVE THE TIME! (Ha, time and any semblance of meaning are *also* from the BEFORETIME) so here we are. I cooked a thing and now I’ll tell you about it.

French Onion Chicken! From the folks who make those cute facebook cooking videos, Delish! I guess they have a magazine too. I get a little suspicious of any publication that claims the majority of their recipes are ‘TEH BEST EVAR’, but after this dish I could be convinced.

Verdict: Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? - I’ll let you be the judge when you see the photo of my finished product, but I’m going to quietly sit over in the corner nodding furiously in the meantime.

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? - The only pricey ingredient was a block of gruyere, and it was worth every single penny! It took about 45/50 minutes from start to finish but time is a cruel joke anyway so who cares? It was pretty straightforward and easy!

Does it taste good? - YES. MAKE IT.

French Onion Chicken

Ingredients

3 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil, divided

1 large onion, halved and thinly sliced

2 tsp. freshly chopped thyme

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 3/4 lb. boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1" pieces

1/2 tsp. dried oregano

2 tbsp. all-purpose flour

1 1/2 c. low-sodium beef broth

1 c.shredded Gruyère

Freshly chopped parsley, for garnish (optional)

Preparation

In a large skillet over medium heat, heat 2 tablespoons oil. Add onions and season with salt, pepper, and thyme. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally until onions are caramelized and jammy, about 25 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook until fragrant, 1 minute more. Turn off heat and remove onion mixture. Wipe skillet clean.

In a large bowl, season chicken with salt, pepper and oregano, then toss with flour. Heat remaining oil in same skillet over medium-high heat. Add chicken and cook until golden on all sides and mostly cooked through, about 8 minutes.

Add beef broth and return caramelized onions to skillet. Bring mixture to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until chicken is cooked through and beef broth reduces slightly, about 10 more minutes.

Add Gruyère and cover skillet with a lid. Cook until cheese is melty, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and garnish with parsley before serving.

Here’s what you need! You’ll notice a small pile of leaves at the front and may wonder why I’ve thrown foliage onto my counter. Long story short: Allan’s lovely Aunt Kathi and Uncle Eli gave us bags of fresh herbs from their garden, and we’ve been making such fancy herby dishes! These are the last fresh sage leaves; I know the recipe calls for thyme but we’ve got sage so now the recipe calls for sage.

First thing’s first: oil up your trusty cast iron. You’ll notice that it looks like I’ve smeared dark gritty mud along the bottom of mine, and that is because I am a lazy no-good cast iron owner who does not properly season her pan. It’s frankly a disgrace. I will pay someone to fix it for me.

Slice yer onions! Somehow this giant beast didn’t even make me tear up!

At this point the meal could be done and I’d be pretty happy - who doesn’t love a pan of hot onions? They started to smell tasty, which was great ‘cause our apartment has lately had a weird smell of old meat, which is EXTRA concerning because we haven’t cooked any meat at all this week. Why does it smell like meat.

IT APPEARS WE’RE OUT OF THYME. AHAHAHA AREN’T WE ALL? Sorry guys, I’m realizing now that this cooking experiment was also a litmus test of my current five-months-into-lockdown mental state. Clearly I’m fine. Also we had sage so it was all good.

Sage-y onions. The kitchen was smelling very, very good.

I really had to trust the recipe on this one and let the onions cook for the full 20+ minute time even though I was oddly anxious they would burn. I ended up turning the heat down to low when I started to see a lot of crisping. To distract myself, I started chopping the chicken breast into cubes. They were meant to be about 1″ x 1″ x 1″ but most of them came out more like .5″ x 6″ x 2.89″.

My patience paid off! The onions, looking quite “jammy” and caramelized! I kept wondering what “jammy” would look like but I think it’s just a fancy way of saying “sticky and mushy”. Adding my scoop of jar-garlic because even in lockdown I don’t have time to mince fresh garlic.

This bit was a little tricky: it called for two tablespoons of flour to “coat” the chicken but I wasn’t sure how such a tiny amount of flour was going to “coat” jack squat. So here’s the heavily-seasoned chicken on the cutting board, and my tentative first attempt at adding flour.

It just sort of made the pile of raw chicken into a slightly more-beige, stickier pile of raw chicken. I was unconvinced.

Ok I got them in the pan to start cooking and it looks vaguely like normal chicken? Now my instinct is to cook the shit out of chicken until it’s just little shreds of carbon to avoid salmonella, but I see that the recipe says that to let it finish cooking once we add/boil the liquid, so against my better judgement I just cooked them “medium rare” and moved on.

It called for a cup of shredded cheese but I just shredded the whole block because honestly when in history has a dish ever been ruined by too much cheese? (Spoiler: never)

Oh wow! It looked so good when I added the stock and onions back in! We used mushroom stock ‘cause we’re trying to minimize our beef consumption and also mushrooms are delicious.

BUT THEN IT TURNED INTO THIS WATERY MESS WHEN I ADDED AND STEAMED THE CHEESE!

This is not staged, this is 100% exactly the face I was making as I saw what my end result was looking like. It was definitely straight-up soup, and no thickening instructions in sight.

So I harkened back to my years of training as Thanksgiving sous-chef with my grandma! Whip out your trusty cornstarch and turn that soupy frown upside down!

Take out your commemorative New Milford mug (whoot whoot hometown pride oh god I miss traveling across state borders) and make a cornstarch slurry. Starts as cement-like glue-chunks, add drops of water and keep scraping until it becomes an opaque liquid.

So here’s how it looked immediately after adding the ~1.5 tbsp cornstarch slurry and then after a good stir and extra minute on the heat. No more soup!

And finally plated: atop some brown rice (cooked with homemade chicken stock) and little zucchini pizza bites (made from one of the monster zucchini from my garden).

Final final verdict: It really did NOT look like the Pintrest photo, but to be fair I did skip the (apparently essential) step of adding fresh parsley - between you and me I’m pretty sure they hit it with a blow torch to get that nice crispy top. BUT! This was actually DELICIOUS. Like, really really good. The chicken was moist, the cheese flavor was sublime, the onions were jammy to the extreme: I’m definitely going to make this again!

#unpinned cooking pintrest pintrestfail

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lovelylogans · 5 years

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where you lead, i will follow

chapter one / next chapter

here’s the whole thing!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism,

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 11,088

notes: so, remember these posts? this was the fic. it’s a gilmore girls au. i thought it was gonna be a bullet list fic, which is why it’s written Like That. anyway it’s ballooned into a ten chapter fic. i know, okay, i know.

(extra note: i haven’t watched all of gilmore girls, and what i have seen was a while ago. however i have read some a+ fics with this concept. if you are in the check please! fandom please see this one, and also read all of shellybelle’s works because they’re That Good. and if you are in the 100 fandom please read this one, and also all of layalioness’ works. layalioness also introduced me to the concept of a practical magic au, which i also wrote in the sanders sides fandom. we stan.)

all right so picture this: very tiny town. let’s call it uhhhhh... sideshire. why not. the tiny town of sideshire. it’s early morning. there are certain things that happen in sideshire every morning. ms. prince and her son are leading the sunrise yoga class in the dance studio the prince family has owned for nearly fifty years. other small town stuff. you get it. i’d set the mood but this is a bullet list fic. but the most famed is patton pleading with virgil to get one more cup of hot cocoa/coffee.

(yes. hot cocoa/coffee. it is a mixture of hot cocoa and coffee. it is specific to virgil’s menu. patton attempts to consume enough of it on a daily basis to match the amount of blood in his veins so that his body runs only on hot cocoa/coffee. don’t you mean a mocha? you ask. no, i say, and refuse to explain further.)

logan, on the other hand, is using the distraction of his father pleading for caffeine/sugar to feed his burgeoning coffee addiction.

“DO NOT THINK I DO NOT SEE YOU, LOGAN SANDERS,” virgil bellows, as if he is not already slipping logan a half-caf to-go cup across the table. “YOU WILL GET AN ULCER AND I THE ONLY THING I WILL TELL YOU IS I TOLD YOU SO. CUT IT BACK.”

he is also passing logan a chocolate chip muffin baked with protein powder even as he is lecturing very loudly. it is baked with protein powder because he tends to hide healthy things into food that is probably not healthy otherwise alongside the other things. the ones he tends to reserve for the people he never sees eat a single vegetable, and also for literally every person in the town who could be seen as still growing. virgil loves likes patton a lot, but he also knows that patton has a sweet tooth and adores junk food and is not much of a cook. so he tends to save a lot of the sneak-attack healthy stuff for them.

also perhaps he has a soft spot for logan, probably because logan has grown up in this diner: he’s fallen asleep in every booth, sat in every seat while he colored pictures or did homework or made his own copies of a newspaper out of printer paper, took his first steps on this tiled floor. it’s hard not to develop a soft spot for someone you’ve known since he’s been three weeks old. it’s a Thing. logan only abuses this power sometimes.

“—but i just want a liiiiiiiiittle more hot cocoa/coffee,” patton pleads, trying for his best puppy dog eyes. they always work eventually. “c’mon, i’ve been so good, i even ate your super healthy breakfast—”

“—patton, that was an omelet and i put in maybe two vegetables among the bacon, ham, and absurd amounts of cheese, and do not think i did not see your grocery run last night how can one fully grown man only know how to make box macaroni and ramen and microwavable meals you have a growing son who needs things like vegetables and protein—”

“—but the past is the past! and if i don’t have enough caffeine, i might crash, virgil. i will crash asleep in the middle of this diner. and then you will have to steer all of your customers around me. and then you’re going to have to deal with me eventually waking up and pleading for more hot cocoa/coffee. so if you just give me a cup right nowwwww...?”

virgil folds. he always does. he has the world’s biggest weakness for the way patton’s eyes light up when he gets his way, as if virgil would truly deny him anything (within reason, obviously. if left unattended patton would have the dream diet of a six-year-old.)

“....you’re getting this smoothie to take with you to work.”

virgil has stocked it with protein powder and spinach and literally as many healthy things he can shove into the blender without overpowering the flavor of mango and pineapple. he chose those fruits specifically because they are more powerful than banana and strawberry to mask the flavor of more healthy things. literally all of patton’s healthy eating falls to virgil. it is Kind Of A Problem. virgil has no idea how he hasn’t gotten scurvy.

“deal!”

“you are drinking ALL OF IT, do you understand?”

“yesyesyes, now hot cocoa/coffee!!!”

“....fine.”

“you are an angel sent down from heaven, virgil, i swear.”

at this moment, roman prince attempts to stroll casually into the diner as if he has not just sprinted from the studio for the sole purpose of walking logan from place to place. patton and virgil exchange knowing glances over their heads.

logan obliviously looks up from his newspaper (it is a small town newspaper, as in, it is about six pages and printed on cheap newsprint—most of it a glorified pta newsletter nestled in along stories brought in from the wire around the state, and ap stories for national/international stories. he has underlined and circled various errors in red pen. there are cramped notes along the sides of each column. he will drop it off at the town’s excuse for a “press” on the way back from school. he has been doing this since he was seven years old. he got his first byline then too. patton has every single one of his bylines framed/otherwise in a scrapbook.

when he drops off the paper every day, the sole reporter/editor/photographer of the sideshire courant will attempt to not throttle him, mostly because he’s a good part-timer/intern/free labor. the whole town knows he will work for some bigshot city paper someday. but for now his know-it-all-ness is lovably infuriating. emphasis on infuriating.)

and he says “good morning” as if he does not notice how roman lights up when he says it.

patton and virgil exchange an even more knowing glance.

virgil does give roman a good meal that is easy to eat to-go and is also good for replenishing calories after a workout, though. virgil also might have a soft spot for roman prince. this particular soft spot is mostly overridden by bickering. no, virgil is not too proud to engage in bickering with a teenager. shut up.

roman, vaguely related, has also somehow become virgil’s sole confidant when it comes to his crush on patton??? it has also applied vice-versa when it comes to roman’s crush on logan??? how did this happen, you ask? virgil literally could not tell you. he just knows that sometimes roman will come into the diner to Scream about logan sometimes and then will say something along the lines of “sanders men, amirite,” and virgil will grumble at him in commiseration.

logan and roman depart soon after to walk to do their summer shenanigans (today, roman will win out their argument, and logan will dangle his feet in the town’s excuse for a swimming hole as he reads poetry aloud to roman, who’s diving to get what he hopes are pretty rocks for logan. most of the time they’re covered with moss. logan appreciates the effort. not that he’d ever say it.) patton whips his head around, looking over each shoulder in the most obvious way that he could possibly telegraph I AM ABOUT TO TALK ABOUT SENSITIVE THINGS I DON’T WANT OVERHEARD in a town full of gossips, and ducks closer to virgil, as if he can somehow avoid the town’s eavesdroppers that way. virgil does NOT find it cute.

“i got the letter,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“did you open it???” virgil demands immediately, ignoring the old man gesturing angrily for a coffee refill down the bar, because he could wait and honestly if he didn’t get how patton had priority by now did he even live in sideshire???

“no, i was waiting for you,” patton admits and virgil’s heart does NOT melt a little.

“well?? open it,” he demands.

patton takes a breath and unearths the envelope from chilton.

(backstory: patton started the campaign for logan to get a spot since his freshman year, since his son is so smart and deserves every single chance to succeed. logan does not know his dad has been applying for him, because he would inevitably start fretting about money and transport, but patton’s the dad, okay, he can worry about that stuff. but it’s now hit logan’s sophomore year and it’s the first week for chilton next monday and this letter came and WELL.)

patton does open it. and then patton starts screaming. and then virgil shouts a little too.

BECAUSE LOGAN GOT IN!! but of course he got in, he’s so smart and his grades are so good and of COURSE he would get in but logan would be so excited and virgil virgil VIRGIL MY SON IS GOING TO AN IVY LEAGUE—

patton is maybe crying a little he’s so excited. chilton wasn’t for him because he wasn’t the traditional kind of “book smart” they valued, and he never wanted to go to an ivy, and he’d never really fit in with the whole ‘high society’ thing, plus he was the first openly trans student there, plus like teen pregnancy, but all these opportunities for his son—

and then his face falls a little.

“what??” virgil says, already running through literally every single worst case scenario in his mind. “what is it?”

patton slides over the letter and silently underlines the tuition with his finger. virgil cringes away out of sheer instinct.

patton is a bit late to work that morning because he’s tried to talk out every possible way to make it work with virgil (sell something? sell a lot of things? mortgage? sell all the things???) but he knows there’s a surefire way to get that money without putting himself into major debt.

enter emily and richard sanders. (yes, i’m keeping the names emily and richard. they work too well and i can’t think of anything else. i’m handling it)

so they were a little rocky with accepting that their son is trans, but they’ve always had a... not the best kind of relationship? so they aren’t specifically transphobic (after patton ran away and had logan and they were trying to make amends, they actually paid for his top surgery) but they... well, let’s go with patton wasn’t the kid they were expecting (read: wanted) to have?

they’re v attached to their high society lifestyle, and they expected a kid who would follow that, they expected a kid who was book smart and would be in the top of his class, and they expected a kid who would want to go to an ivy league and settle down in a very cis/hetero-normative relationship and uh it was clear p early on that patton Wasn’t Gonna Do That. so patton’s whole childhood was him chafing against these all expectations, and then he came out, and then pregnancy, and he felt like he’s done everything possible to disappoint them, and the final nail in the casket was running away to sideshire when logan was barely three weeks old in the dead of the night when his parents were out at their first public appearance since logan’s birth, and he took a car and packed up everything and left, the only goodbye a note left in logan’s crib.

but again, they tried to make amends. it has only worked a little. they have stilted contact on holidays. it is polite and frigid. neither patton or logan like it.

so patton begs off work early and makes the drive to their massive mansion. he is very aware that he is in a holey, stretched-out sweater and jeans that are messy from him running around in the kitchen and playing on the grounds with the group of kids that had come up for a debate tournament. he wonders if he has gotten too old to feel rebellious about things like that, and then he deliberately messes up his hair too. just to complete the image.

it’s for logan, patton reminds himself constantly as he squeaks up the stairs in the sneakers that have a hole in the left sole that he’s duct-taped over, it’s for logan, it’s for logan, it’s for logan. his son, who he loves more than anything in the world.

he knocks. his mother opens the door. patton kind of has the feeling that he’s about to sell his soul to the devil.

he talks with his parents. he makes it very clear that it is A Loan He Will Pay Back, and that it is For Logan. patton escapes with three slightly barbed comments about his hair, five about his wardrobe in general, and eleven about his life choices, but he gets out knowing that he and logan are going to have to have weekly dinners with his parents and that he’s going to have to call his parents every week to talk about logan’s schooling, too. but he definitely got the tuition money for chilton.

so, he definitely kind of sold his soul to the devil. just a little.

he also wonders if this knowledge is gonna deplete logan’s excitement over chilton.

patton slumps into virgil’s diner. virgil immediately pours him a hot cocoa/coffee, because patton should never ever look so much like a drowned, kicked puppy.

“so,” he says, tracing the circle of the mug with his pinky, “good news, i got the tuition money.”

“you starting with good news implies there’s bad news,” virgil says, leaning against the counter. his part-time workers, used to this, scoot around him in the quest to serve the other customers.

patton grimaces. “so you know my parents.”

(virgil had a brief run-in with patton’s parents one easter. virgil might have thrown some dyed eggs at their fancy car. it was not a particularly great run-in, even if nine-year-old logan had shouted “COOL!” with delight in his eyes because he was young enough then to not worry about looking serious all the time and patton to this day looks a little smug whenever he sees people starting to dye eggs.)

(virgil had met them one other time before that, actually, but patton wasn’t in a place to remember it and logan was too little to remember it, so.)

“aw, patton, no,” virgil says, putting the pieces together.

“patton yes,” patton says unhappily, “and patton and logan will have to go to weekly dinners until patton is dead, probably, and patton might not escape it even then.”

virgil wordlessly dishes up some of the double chocolate fudge layer cake. it is a mark of how patton feels right now that he does not start crowing about dietary victory over virgil’s extremist vegetable agenda.

(he maybe spends a little too much time hosting roman prince in his house, but hey, any kid is welcome in his house, okay? especially when they’re definitely absolutely in love with his son. patton might have a bet going with himself on who confesses first. his money is on roman, because bless his son, but he is Terrible With Emotions which he probably inherited from patton but in, like, a whole new different way. genetics, right?)

“i mean,” patton sighed, dragging his fork through the icing, “it’s worth it. for logan, anything’s worth it. it's just—”

“your parents suck,” virgil finishes bluntly.

“they don’t suck entirely.”

“not being as much of a transphobe as they could be is a low, low bar, patton. it is literally the most basic bar they should be able to clear, because they’re your parents.”

“...yeah. okay.”

patton finishes the cake, tries to shake off his mood, and asks virgil for an order of takeout so that he can get dinner ready at home for logan, to tell him the good news. virgil sighs a little and barely even makes a comment about how they better eat the side salads he’s included for each of them.

⁂

logan walks into the cheerful yellow clapboard house his dad bought as soon as he could afford it, after a morning at the swimming hole and an afternoon spent 1. heckling the one-person staff of the sideshire courant, 2. pestering the librarian for the latest shipment of books she said would be in last week, and 3. reading quietly on the wooden pews that the princes repatriated from the old church before the church got the nicer ones with cushions and sits outside of the prince dance/yoga studio, glancing through the windows to watch roman laugh and spin with little girls who are wearing matching tutus with him, doing ballet lifts with them when they shout and plead MISTER ROMAN MISTER ROMAN MAKE ME FLY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! and squints at the table.

“did you... make dinner? you never make dinner. you made sure the smoke alarms were on, right?!”

“how can you not recognize virgil’s spaghetti and meatballs, i’ve literally been feeding this to you since you grew teeth?”

“i’m just used to it in takeout boxes. wait. why did you put it on actual plates?”

“can you just sit down for dinner, please?”

“is someone dead?”

“logan!”

“it’s a reasonable question!”

“no! no one is dead! it’s a celebration dinner!”

“... that doesn’t mean someone isn’t dead.”

“logan!”

so logan sits down, squinting suspiciously at his father. usually they just go to virgil’s. or they stay in and make stuff that takes less than fifteen minutes and would probably give virgil heart palpitations from stress.

this is Not Normal. which means something Abnormal has happened. and usually Something Abnormal means Something Bad.

his dad takes in a deep breath, and says, “you’re so smart.”

logan knows this. no one ever accused him of being humble. he cannot possibly pinpoint why this lead to a celebration dinner, though.

“you’re so smart,” his dad repeats, “and you work so hard, all the time. and i know you have such big dreams for the future.”

“dad,” logan says.

patton takes a breath in, and slides a piece of paper across the table. (the tuition sheet, he triple-checked, is not included.)

logan takes it, flips it over, and takes in the coat of arms. then dear mr. sanders, we are happy to inform you we have a vacancy at chilton prepatory for this school year. due to your son’s excellent grades and recommendations, and your enthusiastic pursuit of his enrollment...

he can’t keep reading from there, though. because his eyes are too blurry and his throat is too tight. he probably needs a new prescription and he might be coming down with strep. or an upper respiratory infection. maybe some variant of throat cancer that is also making his eyes too hot. that’s all it is. he should make a doctor’s appointment.

“dad,” he manages to say.

“oh, hey, hey,” his dad says, and he crosses the table to kneel by logan’s chair and pulls logan down into a hug, and logan shuts his eyes tight.

“you applied to chilton for me?” logan whispers.

logan, of course, knows about chilton. the franklin is consistently rated the best student paper in the state, winning awards both at state and national levels. a diploma from there’s practically a gilded invitation to an ivy league. seven chilton graduates have pulitzers. he knows how good their programs are. he also knows the limited stories his dad has told of his two years at chilton before he dropped out to have logan.

“and i’m... you... i’m in?”

“yeah, kiddo,” patton says. “you’re in. they were practically foaming at the mouth when i showed them your gpa, plus your bylines. they wanted you there so bad. ”

“but it’s so—” expensive, far away, you hated it so much there...

“hey, i’m the dad, okay?” patton says, drawing back and wiping his thumbs under logan’s eyes, offering his own watery smile. familial allergies, maybe. logan should check the filters and possibly update any medical files. “let me worry about all that stuff, that’s my job. your job is school.”

“i’m going to chilton?” he repeats.

“you’re going to chilton,” patton says, and hugs him one last time before rising to his feet and sitting back in his chair. “plus an ivy.”

logan’s cheeks hurt. “i’m a sophomore.”

“yeah, but you’re my sophomore,” patton says, as if that makes sense as a term of endearment, “and you’re gonna get into any college you want, because you’re logan, and you’re so smart, and you work so hard, and you deserve a spot at chilton or any old ivy league that you want, and i am gonna bend the earth and sky to make sure you have all the opportunities you could ever possibly need.”

if logan gets up to hug his dad one more time... well, his dad would never tell.

"eight, dad," he mumbles into his shoulder.

"aw, kiddo," patton says gently, and holds him tighter. "sixteen."

⁂

so, patton isn't a particularly strict parent, but logan has the feeling that if patton knew how much logan snuck out that his windows would probably be bolted shut and he’d be treated to a lecture about how “sideshire is a small town but that doesn’t mean it’s always safe all the time, okay???” as if logan hasn’t written the defining articles on the crime statistics of sideshire for the past two years, since he was old enough to see pg-13 movies and thereby old enough to see pg-13 statistics.

patton would probably be even less pleased if he knew that logan had perfected his sneak-out route at the age of ten. there’s a trellis of ivy that’s very easy to climb down from his bedroom window, and logan has been hopping the backyard fence since they’d moved into this house. and from there’s it’s just following the well-worn trail to the middle of the town, to the fairy-light-strung gazebo. it’s the perfect halfway point between their houses, and so it was Their Place.

roman grins up at him from where he’s sitting on the gazebo steps, waving his phone at him. “usually i’m the one who calls midnight crisis meetings,” he teases. “i figured that you might want something.”

he holds up two styrofoam to-go cups that logan’s sure are full of milkshake. see, logan is a virgil’s diner man through-and-through, it’s a family thing, but when it comes to ice cream/milkshakes/other ice cream based products, he has to get it from lucy’s. virgil gets it, he gets all of the ice cream he serves from lucy’s.

anyway, he and roman have been getting milkshakes from lucy’s for years: we-gotta-do-these-book-reports milkshakes, screw-the-bullies milkshakes, just-cause milkshakes, logan-i’ve-been-trying-to-teach-a-class-full-of-toddlers-a-waltz-routine-for-two-hours-let-me-have-this milkshakes. so on.

logan accepts his (salted caramel to roman’s chocolate-covered cherry) and sits on the gazebo steps, stretching his legs out. roman sits next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, and logan’s heart does that strange squeezing thing that it’s done around roman for as long as he can remember.

(they met like this: they were both in mr. geller’s kindergarten class, and there’s no one with a q last name in their grade, and the only r in their grade was in ms. lansing’s, so he and roman ended up as table buddies. they were supposed to decorate the nametags that were taped onto their desks. logan drew leminscates on his, and roman drew an expansive, wild garden of red roses that leaked over onto his. logan had gotten mad. roman had drawn blue and orange universes over them in apology without ever actually saying the word sorry and he told logan a story about how the flower-world had been populated by aliens and a brave scientist touched down to try to get the prettiest flowers in the universe for his husband, the most handsome prince there ever was. at snacktime logan had traded his strawberries for roman’s jam cookies. they’d been inseparable ever since.)

(logan’s nervous about a lot about chilton, but he’s most nervous about changing this. losing this.)

logan takes off the lid, and drags his straw through the whipped cream, attempting to eat it first, so that the whipped cream wouldn’t sink down and prevent him from finishing off the milkshake with a mouthful of caramel-tinged whipped cream. roman steals his maraschino cherry. that’s all normal. it’s all so normal, sitting here together in the gazebo in the dying heat of summer, the only light from the stars and the fairy lights, and logan stares at his shoes—his formal-ish black shoes—and how they look next to roman’s red high-top converse, scrawled all over with multicolored sharpies because roman was a horrible fidget, and he was most prone to drawing all over the nearest surface (paper, his hands and arms, his legs if he’s wearing shorts, his shoes, logan, sometimes, if they manage to get seats close enough together in class and sometimes when they lay in the gazebo in silence, chasing sugar highs and enjoying the stars—)

“i’m going to chilton,” he blurts to their feet. “my dad’s apparently been trying to get me in since last year, but a spot opened up, and—and it starts monday.”

there’s silence. logan almost can’t bear it, before an arm slings over his shoulder.

“logan,” roman says, and he’s... smiling. maybe.

“you’re not mad?” logan says, confused, and roman blinks at him.

“why would i be mad?” he says. “i mean, you didn’t know, right?”

“right,” logan agrees tentatively.

“so,” roman says. “i mean, i always knew you were gonna, like, go off to stratospheres of academic excellence, it’s just happening a little earlier than expected.”

there’s something wrong with his smile. something brittle. logan doesn’t like it.

“roman—”

“i’m happy for you,” he says, and there’s something biting there.

“roman.”

“look, i just—whatever,” roman huffs. “you’re going to fancy prep school. good for you. it’ll be great. you’ll be great. tell me about the stupid franklin.”

“the franklin isn’t stupid,” logan says, shaking off roman’s arm. “it’s one of the best student-produced papers in the state. that includes high schools and colleges.”

“right,” roman snaps, “of course. the franklin’s fucking perfect. my mistake. like your stupid chilton uniform’s gonna be perfect, and all your new snooty chilton friends are gonna be perfect, and your ivy league is gonna be so fucking perfect, because you’re just too perfect, right?”

“i—what?!” logan says, trying to shake off his confusion like it’s something as physical as roman’s arm. “you said you weren’t mad!”

“i’m NOT!” roman snaps, and then he falls silent.

“i thought you would be happy for me, because that’s what friends do,” logan snaps right back. “i want to go to the best place for my future, what’s so wrong with that?!”

“nothing,” roman spits, getting to his feet. “absolutely nothing’s wrong with that.”

“then act like it!” logan hollers back, surging to his feet because he hates anyone looking down at him, literally or metaphorically. “what is your problem?”

“my problem??? my problem????”

“yes! YOUR problem!”

“fine! i guess it is my problem! because i’m not smart like you, logan sanders, otherwise known as mr. right-all-the-time—“

“wh—i don’t even know why i cared!” logan snaps. “it’s just that this is important to me, roman, i’m not going to apologize because i’m doing something that’s going to be good for me, that’s—”

“going to get you out of sideshire?” roman says, bitter.

“fine! yes! i want to do things, i want to write about important things, and i can’t exactly win a pulitzer covering the latest town meeting for the courant, okay?!”

“oh, so some fictional pulitzer’s important to you, but i’m not?” roman snaps, and logan’s mouth snaps shut, and his voice catches in his throat, and his brain runs over the conversation because when had he said anything that could possibly be interpreted like THAT?! but he realizes when roman’s face drops and then screws up that he’d taken too long to answer.

“wow,” roman scoffs. “i—you know what? have fun at chilton, walter crank-kite. i hope you and your imaginary pulitzer become the best of friends.”

“roman,” logan manages to say, but roman jostles his shoulder on his way out, and he slams both the salted caramel and the chocolate-covered cherry shakes into the trash, stomping back toward the prince studio and apartment.

and logan’s left standing in the middle of the gazebo, wondering what just happened.

“emotions,” logan huffs, and kicks one of the railing posts.

⁂

when logan slouches down the stairs the next morning, hair mussed and scowling, patton doesn’t really question it. sanders men aren’t morning people. it’s a fact of their nature. he figures it’ll get better after a mug of coffee from virgil’s.

it does not get better after a mug of coffee from virgil’s.

patton gently mentions how it’s his last friday of summer, and logan makes vague mumbling noises, stabbing his scrambled eggs with his forks more than actually eating them.

“well,” patton says, keeping his voice chipper. “no matter what you decide to do, be back at the house, okay? we’re having dinner with my parents at seven.”

logan stiffens. he drops the fork with a clatter. “it’s not a holiday,” he says suspiciously.

“well, no, but—”

“we only see grandma and grandpa on holidays.”

“it’s about chilton,” patton says. “they’re excited that you’re going. it’s a celebration—”

“we already had a celebration dinner,” logan grumbles. he picks up his fork and starts stabbing his eggs again. “i liked that celebration dinner. dinner with grandma and grandpa is a punishment dinner.”

“hey,” patton says, trying to be a little stern, but, well, he’s right. “they’re excited you’re going to their alma mater. they want to have us over for dinner more often. it’s like a peace offering.”

“did i do something?” logan says suspiciously. “you said no one was dead. i should have rephrased—is someone dying?”

“logan, what?! no!”

virgil, swinging by, frowns at logan’s plate.

“you need more protein,” he says. “eat your eggs, don’t kill them. they’re already dead.”

“i don’t need more protein.”

“yeah, i see the vast majority of your meals, kid, that’s not gonna fly,” virgil says. “eat the eggs.”

“words can’t fly and you sneak protein powder into every pastry i eat anyway,” logan mutters, and rebelliously shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. virgil nods in approval and goes to drop off a plate of pancakes for the nearest gossips.

“no one is dying,” patton says exasperatedly. “what makes you think someone is dying, anyway? why is that always your first thought lately?”

“statistically—”

“let’s not get into depressing journalistic statistics first thing in the morning, huh?” patton says hastily, because he has made that mistake before and spent the rest of the morning in the throes of an existential crisis or general misery about the state of humanity or the planet.

(not even just, like. generally depressing statistics. journalism-specific statistics can be plenty depressing too! i went digging for some and then it turned into a couple paragraphs of me presenting paragraphs of statistics about journalists. and then i tried rewriting it like three more times. it basically boils down to me lunging through your screen to scream “support journalists,” okay???)

anyways, to get back into the fic, patton is aware of these statistics. he has rambled nervously about them to virgil, who has internalized these worries. am i basing that instance off people in my life who similarly care about me but aren’t Into Journalism like i am? yes. buzz off. i said i was getting back to the fic.

anyway, patton briefly mentally flashes through the “photojournalists can be as likely as combat veterans to develop ptsd/journalists tend to self-medicate with caffeine and alcohol and sugar/the job market isn’t great/you absolutely Do Not go into journalism for the money” statistics that i just summed up for you instead of ranting for five paragraphs you’re welcome, and says,

“do you want more coffee? you’ve barely had any.” because, you know. he’s a sanders. caffeine’s gotta work some kinda magic. and also the whole “journalists love caffeine” thing is Real Okay it’s Backed By Statistics.

virgil, on his way back to dump an armful of empty dishes back in the kitchen to be washed, is about to start lecturing, before he stops and frowns.

“yeah,” he says. “i... logan, i haven’t even caught you trying to sneak a refill.”

this is a cause for Concern. logan has usually attempted to get at least one refill at this point in the breakfast.

logan jerked up a shoulder in a shrug, and shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

virgil frowns, tops up his mug, jabs a finger in patton’s direction and says, “not a word,” before he vanishes to drop off the dirty dishes.

“do you know what you’re gonna do today?” patton prompts. “there’s some debate kids in the inn. i’ll look the other way if you want to totally wreck them.”

this is usually a temptation for logan, who gets into arguments the way cats get into any visibly box-shaped object. debate kids in town on tournament meant kids being ready to practice arguing, and logan tended to delight in taking on their arguments and poking holes into their arguments, their fact-checking, their general take on debate—

“maybe,” logan says listlessly.

“i saw that the courant had a spelling error, right on the front page,” patton offers encouragingly, because he is getting more and more worried about his son right now. “i bet rudy’s been waiting for you to storm into the office since he noticed it.”

this is also usually a temptation for logan. he’s usually gleefully ripping the courant to shreds at this point in the morning. he hasn’t even glanced at the paper dispenser or asked patton for a spare quarter in case he forgot to grab something from the family piggy bank to be able to buy the paper.

logan never forgets to get change to be able to buy the paper.

logan shrugs again.

“are you feeling okay?” patton says abruptly. “let me feel your forehead. do you think you’re coming down with something?”

“i’m fine,” logan says sharply, ducking aside so that patton doesn’t have access to his forehead.

except even being sick wasn’t an excuse for logan to not want to look at the paper, patton realizes, because what delights logan most when patton stays home to look after him when he’s sick is when patton brings back the spare copies of the new york times and the washington post and the wall street journal from the inn, and will be confined to bed rest as long as he has something to read in his hands.

“are you okay?” patton repeats, and logan sneers at his eggs.

“i’m fine,” he says.

“if you keep making that face it’ll stick like that.”

“that doesn’t make any sense!”

which is typical for logan to say, whenever patton busts out a dad-ism like that, except logan doesn’t usually yell it and slam down his cutlery loud enough to make half the diner look in their direction.

“whoa,” patton says, “kiddo, hey—”

“nobody is making any sense,” logan seethes, and grabs his stuff. “i’ll be back for the stupid dinner.”

“hey!” patton says, stern, but logan’s already storming out of the diner, the bell above the door jangling, discordantly cheerful.

“what,” virgil asks, coming up behind the counter, “was that?”

“i,” patton begins, and frowns. “i have no idea. i mean, he’s been in a bit of a mood all morning, but i just thought it was a morning thing, but i mentioned the dinner and he got all...”

(oh, patton, bless. you have no idea. keep working under that assumption, though.)

“he and your parents only sometimes get along, right?” virgil says in an undertone.

patton lets out a slow breath. “usually, it’s like a flip of a coin,” he says. “either they’re all thrilled that he’s, you know, as smart and talented as he is, and he preens under all the attention. or, well. they say something about how smart and talented he is, and how we could work to apply it better, and he...”

“gets snappy,” virgil says, because he bore witness to quite a few of toddler/little kid logan’s temper tantrums and has seen them age, like really terrible wine. “yeah.”

patton hesitates, before he looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. “can i get another hot cocoa/coffee to deal with my son going very teenager, all of a sudden?”

virgil snorts, and fondly snatches logan’s freshly-filled mug away, holding it out of patton’s reach when he jokingly tries to jump for it, and that’s a little better.

⁂

so. logan’s not having a great day.

he couldn’t sleep because he was too busy trying to figure out what the hell happened with roman. he bit his tongue so hard it bled when his dad had off-handedly mentioned going to the prince studio as an idea for what logan does with his day. he apparently has to go to dinner with his dad and his grandparents.

logan’s relationship with his grandparents is, in a word? stilted.

(logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows his dad well enough to spot the way his shoulders tighten up and hunch over whenever his parents say something with that particular twist of their lips, to see how he starts absently rubbing the sleeves of his sweater or cardigan between his fingers or over his face like he needs comfort, the way he always makes sure to hug logan tight and firmly tell him that he supports logan, always, no matter what he wants to do, as if logan has not known this since he was capable of knowing anything at all.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows the way his other father slips up and starts to call patton something that doesn’t share any of the syllables of his name and the way the blood drains from his dad’s face, every time, and he can count the times his other father has remembered his birthday on the day of and contacted him that day on one hand, whereas his dad wakes him up every birthday morning at 4:03 am to tell him all about how he was born no matter how much logan groans about it.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows that’s not a man his dad should have been married to, ever, no matter how much his grandparents insist on how good it would be for the three of them, how they both needed someone to take care of them, as if patton hasn’t been taking care of the both of them on his own since logan was three weeks old.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he has grown up surrounded by the people of sideshire who love and support his dad, who have never called him the wrong pronoun or name, and logan may be terrible with emotions but he is smart and so it’s been easy for him, over the years, to compare high-class to the town that his grandparents seem to look down upon, and logan may want to leave sideshire but he still loves it.

logan is terrible with emotions, so he gets snappy when his grandparents get snappy, but that’s not the way a proper young man should behave, logan, because he’s more obvious with his barbs than they are.

oh, they love him. he knows that. they fawn after his school work and exclaim over his bylines and send clumsily impersonal gifts for each holiday and take him out to a fancy dinner within the week after his birthday every year, he knows that they love him. he knows that they love his dad, too. it’s just hard to remember that when his dad got into the driver’s seat after last christmas and burst into tears because his parents had sprung a visit from his other father on them without any warning at all, and his other father had messed up and called him by the wrong name, again, and how his grandparents always call the inn a motel, and how they always look down on the cozy yellow clapboard house patton bought them, and a million other little things in their lives that become targets, and how it wasn’t the first time logan had ever seen his dad cry after a family function but it had been the first time since logan was a little kid, and it still hurt to see that his dad, who probably had more capacity to love people than logan had ever seen, had grown up with people who always had terms and conditions to their affection and their presence in his life and yet still had the audacity to insist that they were trying, patton, can’t you meet us halfway?

so. yes. stilted is certainly a word for it.)

so when he gets back from hiking angrily around in the forests surrounding sideshire, and sulkily takes a shower, and puts on the most formal look that his grandparents will probably be displeased with but cannot actually disapprove of (he’s particularly fond of the trans flag tie part of it, in addition to the rainbow handkerchief he’s put in his blazer pocket) he’s still in a bad mood.

“ready to go?” his dad says, from where he’s nervously tugging at all his clothes. he always dresses a bit extra masc whenever they go to his parents’ house, and he usually spends the next couple days in his coziest sweaters with his hair as messy as it possibly can get like he’s trying to reassure himself that he can be a bit of a mess without people lecturing him for it as long as he’s comfortable, and logan really, really hates going to his grandparents, along with the world in general right now.

“if i have to be,” logan says.

the whole car ride there he sits with his arms crossed and glaring out the window, not engaging with his dad’s slightly subtle “so how was the rest of your day?” to his more telling “you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” to his very obvious “if you aren’t okay, i can call and tell them to push it off to another night.”

when they get there, patton shuts off the car.

“i know your grandparents’ aren’t—”

“i’ll be civil,” logan says, cutting off the pep talk, and gets out of the car before he can get the whole lecture. he hears his dad sigh before logan shuts the car door.

logan straightens his tie, puffs up the handkerchief so that it’s blatantly in the line of their vision, and patton gets out of the car. they walk in silence to the front door.

logan mutters, “let’s get this over with.”

his dad laughs, breathlessly and nervously, and knocks.

his grandmother opens the door almost before they’ve finished.

“logan!” she says, fondly. “patton,” she adds, less enthusiastic.

“mom,” he says.

“right on time,” she says.

“traffic was... fine,” patton says lamely, and they both walk into the house.

“i can’t tell you what a treat it is to have you boys here,” she continues, and patton looks cautiously optimistic.

“yeah, we’re pretty excited too,” patton says.

“now, let me look at you in the light, logan,” emily says. “oh, look at how handsome you are. growing up all the time. just the picture of a proper young man. it’s so good to see you.”

she gives logan a long hug. logan stiffly holds his arms in place, looking to his dad as if to say, help. patton shrugs. logan rolls his eyes to the heavens and pats her once on the back.

“it’s, um. it’s good to see you too,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“so!” she says, drawing back and grabbing logan’s hand, pulling them toward the Fancy Fancy living room. “tell me all about chilton.”

“i haven’t started yet.”

“richard! look who showed up!”

logan’s grandfather looks up from his paper and squints at him. “you’ve gotten tall.”

“i suppose.”

“what’s your height?”

“five eight.”

“tall. still growing, i assume. i’m on the edge of my seat to see how tall you become.”

he looks back to his paper. logan, not for the first time, thinks he knows where he gets it from.

“hey, dad,” patton says.

“patton,” he says, without looking up. “your son is tall.”

patton grins. “yeah,” he says, remembering how he shot up nearly six inches after he got back on t after logan was born, and how logan’s probably going to get even taller than him soon. “remember when he used to fit in the dresser drawers?”

“dad,” logan complains.

“champagne, anyone?”

“oh, um,” patton says. “champagne, wow. fancy.”

“well, not every day i have my boys here for dinner on a day the banks are also open. a toast?”

she does not ask patton if logan should have champagne. he probably would have said yes, but still. it’s the principle of the thing. patton grits his teeth for a moment.

“to logan entering chilton,” she says, raising the glass. “and an exciting new phase in his life!”

“here here,” richard says, still reading the paper, and they all drink the champange.

“this is so exciting,” emily continues, “an education is the most important thing in the world, after family.”

“and cookies,” patton blurts out.

his parents both look at him.

“joke.”

“ah.”

logan hesitates, still staring at the paper. the front page isn’t visible but the design styling’s so obvious logan already knows, but—

“is that the times?”

"yes,” his grandfather says. “interesting article about the effect of delivery on local restaurants and grocery stores today, have you read it?”

“no,” logan says, “i haven’t really read much of the news at all today.”

richard, without looking up, hands logan a copy of the washington post from where it’s folded up beside an already-read copy of the wall street journal and the latest copies of national geographic and time. logan, smirking a little, takes it.

“can you please wait to read until after dinner,” emily says wearily.

“oh, let them have their bonding time,” patton says, grinning widely now, and picks up the national geographic (pretty pictures!)

patton likes to imagine that his mother barely quashes the urge to throw her hands up in defeat.

the dinner, however, is much more awkward than all of them reading their publications of choice in quiet (patton’s mother had selected ladies’ home journal, in a move that patton isn’t quite sure was a masked hit or not) and he absently tears a roll to shreds in his hands, ignoring the way his mother is glowering at the little bread bits he’s littering on the table.

“logan, how do you like the lamb?” she says instead.

“it’s good,” logan says, as if he has not been poking it with his fork more than eating. patton figures it’s better than stabbing, but he would prefer if his son actually ate.

“too dry?”

“no.”

“hm. shelby always leaves it in too long. i’ll have her make something else.”

“please don’t,” patton says hastily.

“it’s fine,” logan says, when it looks like emily is about to mow over patton again.

“well. all right, then.”

a pause.

“how are things at the motel?”

“inn,” logan and patton correct simultaneously.

“i’m the executive manager now,” patton continues. “run the whole place.”

“oh,” emily says. both his parents startled. logan looks offended on patton’s behalf. patton tears off another chunk of the roll.

“dad’s done a great job with the inn,” logan says, defensive.

“speaking of which,” emily says, “your father called the other day, logan.”

logan goes stiffer. “my father’s right here.”

“he’s doing very well, out in california,” emily continues. “he’s got his own practice now. very talented man, your father.”

“i know,” logan says, glowering. “dad’s worked his way up to executive manager. he’s the youngest executive manager in the whole inn’s history and he’s getting his business degree. he’s thinking of buying an inn of his own someday.”

“logan,” patton murmurs quietly. a please be civil.

“well, that’s a bit different, isn’t it?” richard says. “christopher was always a smart boy. top of his class at chilton, and then at stanford, you know. you must take after him.”

“excuse me,” patton murmurs very quietly. he goes into the kitchen. logan gets to his feet, and so does his grandmother.

“i’m going to—”

“please keep your grandfather company,” she says, and goes into the kitchen. logan sits down reluctantly, before he says directly, “have you ever heard of howard gardner?”

“no.”

“he identified the seven distinct types of intelligence.”

“hm. seven, really.”

“yes. seven. linguistic, logical, kinesthetic, spatial, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal,” logan finishes, jabbing at the lamb. “dad might not be traditionally book smart, but he’s very smart in his own way. intrapersonal, specifically, but interpersonally too. i’d be proud if i inherited any of his particular types of intelligence. clearly he’s the only sanders man to have them.”

richard is about to retaliate, before there’s noise from the kitchen.

“—how could i have possibly taken that the wrong way? what was left open to interpretation?!”

“keep your voice down.”

“no! why do you pounce on every single thing i do that isn’t enough for you?”

“you’re being very dramatic.”

his father laughs bitterly. logan digs his fingernails into the silver of the knife and fork he’s still holding.

“dramatic. right. of course. i’m always the dramatic one. silly me, i must have forgotten, like i forget everything else, because logan gets any smarts from him, right? i’m the one who raised him, but any good part of logan, it always gets credited to him!”

“well, that’s not true—”

“why else would you bring him up like that?”

“we like christopher.”

“yeah, well, i remember you having a very different opinion when he got me pregnant.”

“oh, please. you were sixteen, what were we supposed to do, throw you a party?! you had such bright futures, we were disappointed.”

“yes, and by letting him go to california and having me raise logan, we got to keep those bright futures.”

“when you get pregnant, you get married! a child needs a father and a—“

she falls very silent. logan feels what little lamb he had churn in his stomach.

“finish your sentence,” his father says, and he sounds cold. like logan. he sounds like logan when he gets angry.

“i didn’t mean—“

“yes, you did. you did mean it. you were about to say a child needs a father and a mother, weren’t you?”

“patton—”

“logan was never going to have a father and a mother. he was always going to have two dads. and i’m a good dad. i have done fine with logan on my own.”

“that’s right. far away from us.”

“mom—!”

“you took that boy and you completely shut us out of your life!” emily shouts, and logan is very pointedly not making eye contact with his grandfather right now. “we came back to a note in a crib in the middle of the night, no idea if you were safe, if you and logan would have gotten hurt—”

“i would have suffocated here.”

“oh, and you’re so perfect, and i was so controlling, hm? i put you in good schools. i gave you the best of everything. i made sure you had the finest opportunities. and I am so tired of hearing about how you were suffocated and i was so controlling. well, if i was so controlling, why couldn’t i control you running around getting pregnant and throwing your life away?”

“mom, if you don’t stop, i’m leaving. i swear. i will leave, and i’ll break out agreement, and you’ll be lucky to get christmases ever again, do you understand me?”

“what?!”

“i’m not going to keep trying to rebuild a relationship with you if you just keep telling me i threw my life away!” patton snaps. “i have a life. it has a little color in it so it might be a bit weird to you, but it’s a life, mom. and if i hadn’t gotten pregnant i wouldn’t have had logan.”

“you know that’s not what i meant—”

“maybe i was some uncontrollable terrible child like you said but logan isn’t! he’s smart and careful and ambitious and a hard worker and a good kid, and i raised him, mom. he’s my son.”

“you were still a child raising a child.”

“that stopped as soon as that test went positive. i figured out how to build a life, i found a good job—”

“as a maid,” she hisses.

“housekeeper, actually, which is a perfectly fine living, for your information, but in case you didn’t hear your grandson, i worked my way up. i run the place now. we have a good life with no help from anyone.”

“yes, and think where logan could have been if you accepted a little help from anyone, hm?”

“why do you think i’m here right now?” patton shouts. “i opened my life back up to you when i established myself enough in sideshire. i accepted the top surgery that you gave me instead of an apology. i have been coming for holidays for years. and now i’ve asked for help for logan. now logan is going to chilton. you have your weekly dinners. i’m back here. you win. aren’t you thrilled about it?! isn’t that all you want?!”

logan sets down the silverware. he thinks he might be a little sick.

“is that what you think?”

“yeah, well. you haven’t really done anything to show me otherwise, have you?”

“i have no idea when you became so sensitive. you used to be such a pleasant child.”

“...you seriously just didn’t listen to a word i said, did you? for your information, being sensitive is one of the things i love most about—you know what, forget it. fine. let’s just have dessert. logan and i can go home, we’ll try again next week, i’m sure we’ll fight again then. and then you can keep telling me all about how i used to be so pleasant without thinking about how maybe i got some things from my parents, too.”

the door opens back up. logan looks back to his grandfather in a panic, only to see his head tipping forward onto his chest.

how could he have possibly fallen asleep during that? logan thinks in disbelief.

⁂

patton gets into the car and lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding since he walked into that house, logan buckling his seatbelt.

“do you want to stop at virgil’s for coffee?” he says, a little timid. like a peace offering.

patton chews his lip. “how much of that did you overhear?”

“...snippets.”

“all of it, then.”

“just from her telling you to keep your voice down,” logan says, and patton huffs out a humorless laugh as he puts the car in reverse, glancing through the back windshield as he carefully backs the car out.

“okay, yeah, all of it. sure. coffee sounds good.”

they’ve been driving in silence for about three minutes before logan blurts out, “maybe chilton isn’t such a good idea.”

“what?!” patton demands, and immediately pulls over to the side of the street so he can park and look at his son, face-to-face. “no way, chilton is a great idea!”

“it comes with these dinners as a condition for my tuition, the bus ride is forty minutes both ways which i could be using to study or helping you at the inn or working at the courant, we don’t know if i can’t get into an ivy if i stay where i am,” he lists off, but patton’s already shaking his head.

"these dinners might be bad sometimes but not all the time, you can still read on buses because i know you don’t carsick like that, you’re going to be harassing rudy at the courant for as long as you live in sideshire because you have been doing that since you were seven and i’m pretty sure it somehow works as stress relief for you, and isn’t it better to improve statistics than risk it?”

“i don’t like the way they talk to you.”

“i can handle it,” patton says gently.

“you shouldn’t have to handle it,” logan grits out.

“look,” patton says. “the dinners are mostly so they can keep tabs on you, okay? they want to get to know you a bit better. and you know that they aren’t always like that. tonight was a bad night.”

“dad—”

“right, i’m the dad. and i know that most of the time i make sure this house is a democracy, but i gotta pull the dad card here, okay? chilton is a good idea and you’re going. it offers too many good opportunities for you to not go. and sure, going to these dinners isn’t... the best, but i can handle it. i handled it for years before you were born, and it’s better now than it was then. besides, i already paid tuition, so.”

logan lets out an irritated sigh.

“so,” his dad repeats. “you’re going to be great at chilton, and i’ll be okay going to dinners. if there’s a day where i can’t handle, i’ll call out sick. promise.”

logan looks back out the window.

“is it just the dinner that’s bugging you?” patton tries. “because you’ve been in a bit of a mood.”

“i’m not in a mood.”

patton lifts his eyebrows silently at his son, until logan turns to see the expression on his face, scowls, and looks back out the window.

“i thought we’d said we’d go for coffee.”

“yeah, sure thing. it’s just that i’m worried about you, and i want to make sure you’re okay. if it is the dinner, fine. if you want space, that’s okay too, as long as you know i’m here to talk it out. i know emotions aren’t your favorite thing.”

logan pauses, scuffs his shoe, and mutters, “emotions don’t make sense.”

patton briefly flashes back to that morning in the diner, thinks about nobody is making any sense! and the only other person who could get his son in such a state, and has an aha! moment. “yours, or is it someone else’s emotions that have you like this?”

logan hesitates. just long enough that patton thinks he might get it. (also, okay, he knows that needling logan isn’t the Best parenting move, but sometimes logan needed to be prodded until he blows up and rants about everything that's bothering him, like the world’s most cathartic volcano.)

“...a certain dance teacher’s assisstant, maybe...?”

“coffee,” logan grits out.

patton obligingly puts the car in drive and keeps going. also logan is still trapped for thirty more minutes, so patton will get there eventually. he loves his son dearly, but patience is not one of his virtues.

“someone who shares a last name with a royal title? that rhymes with wince?”

logan almost audibly grinds his teeth.

“someone whose first name is also the longest lasting empire in history?”

“the longest lasting empire is the empire of japan, then the byzantine empire, then the holy roman empire which is different from the roman empire,” logan blurts out, and then he snaps his mouth shut.

patton stifles his grin as he signals to turn onto a new street. gotcha.

“so,” patton says innocently, “definitely not him, then?”

logan is inhaling. patton has to pay attention to the road but he would have money on his son practically inflating on a pufferfish, which meant that in three, two, one—

“he’s infuriating!” logan howls, and boom, yes, there’s the volcano.

patton is treated to about ten minutes of ranting about how roman prince is the sole cause of emotional distress, not only to logan, (”i mean—if i had emotions,” logan scoffs, and patton quietly saves that talk for another day because they’ve had it before) but to every person in sideshire and possibly the whole world. patton, knowing his son and his best friend, mostly lets this slide in one ear and out the ear, nodding and “mhm”-ing in the appropriate places.

“so,” patton says, when this dies down, “what did he do to cause a rant of those proportions?”

“i told him about chilton,” he says. “somehow that turned into him saying that he wasn’t my friend anymore.”

“okay, whoa,” patton says, “did he say that exactly?”

“...basically.”

“you’re a journalist, you know all about the dangers of having a bias, plus paraphrasing versus quoting directly. give me some context.”

“how dare you use journalism against me,” logan mutters, before he starts telling him about it. (unbeknownst to patton, logan changes the story so that he gave roman a phone call instead of sneaking out. he has to have some secrets.)

they’re nearly to sideshire by the time logan tells him that he was trying to figure out where he went wrong and didn’t answer roman immediately, and patton has been gently cringing for the past three minutes but that turns into a full-on wince that logan could not possibly miss.

“what?” logan says.

“sweetheart,” patton says gently. “he’s scared.”

“what???” logan says. “that’s ridiculous. what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

“scared, or jealous, maybe?” patton says. “think about it. you’re going off to a great new school. you’re going to get way more opportunities to pursue your interests. there are going to be other people who have those same interests, who you will probably get along with very well, and you’ll make new friends. he’s staying here. he’s scared that you’re going to forget about him and leave him behind.”

“but—but that’s absurd,” logan says, but he’s a little less defensive now.

“he’s going to go to school without you for the first time since you both started school, you know? same as you. it’s like he has to re-evaluate his whole school social circle,” patton says. “plus, i mean, then he asked if he was important to you, honey, and you hesitated, which when you add in all that other stuff...”

logan’s quiet.

“he’s scared of losing his best friend too, kiddo.”

logan heaves a massive sigh as patton turns onto the sideshire main road. patton also notices that logan does not deny that he’s scared of losing his best friend.

“i have to apologize, don’t i?”

“i mean, he said some not-great stuff too, but yeah, you should probably initiate.”

logan groans to himself, dropping his head onto the dash, and patton pulls into the parking lot of virgil’s.

“what do i even say?” logan says miserably.

“you’re a smart kid,” patton says, shutting the car off and opening the door. “i bet you can figure it out.”

logan follows, and virgil looks up at them, squinting at their slightly-fancier dress.

“so, dinner with the hellbeasts?”

“they’re my parents,” patton scolds at the same time logan says, “yes, they were terrible,” and hops up onto the barstool.

��coffee,” he says. “and fries. plus a jam tart.”

“logan, you’re killing me,” virgil says. “could i possibly steer you toward ordering something healthy? for once?”

“i only said i wanted coffee, fries, and a jam tart, in no way is that tantamount to murder. plus i get salads all the time.”

“yeah, after i tack them onto your order,” virgil says.

“you know what,” patton says. “make that two jam tarts. and maybe make logan’s order to go?”

logan looks at him, panicked. “what, now?”

patton shrugs. “why wait?”

logan sighs, and repeats, “to go.”

“plus a coffee and a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream for me, please.”

“...plus a salad?”

“virgil,” logan says, anguished, “we had lamb for dinner. that included a side salad. and grandma was mean to dad. let us be unhealthy.”

“...do you want a warm brownie with that ice cream?”

patton smiles a little bit, directing it down at the counter. “if you wouldn’t mind.”

he passes over a twenty to pay. he then hands the change to logan.

“maybe lucy’s wouldn’t be a bad call?” he says to logan, under his breath, and logan nods, taking it.

virgil dishes up their coffees, and then hands logan a bag.

patton pats him on the back. “you got this.”

logan gives him a jerky nod and takes the bag and his travel cup, heading out of the diner.

“so,” virgil says, leaning on his elbows, putting his chin in his hand. “going to see roman?”

“going to apologize to roman,” patton corrects. “he was in a mood this morning because he and roman got into a fight.”

“ahh,” virgil says. “well, they’ll, you know. patch it up.”

“they always do,” patton says, “but, well,” he glances around, “it was about chilton, and logan might have implied that roman isn’t important to him, so.”

virgil flinches.

“yeahh,” patton says. “i mean, he didn’t mean it, obviously, but. jam tart. lucy’s. him going to actually say sorry.”

“yikes,” virgil says. “um. speaking of yikes... do you wanna talk about...?”

patton shrugs a shoulder. “just my mom disapproving of my life, as usual, and crediting any of logan’s achievements with his other dad, as usual, and she nearly said something pretty trans slash homophobic before catching herself, which, you know, was a new kind of not great, or at least a kind of not great they haven’t been bold enough to say to my face until now,” he says, like it doesn’t hurt. “plus i lost my temper and actually, like, yelled at her, which logan of course overheard.”

“you?” virgil says. “yelling?”

patton nods, drooping.

“jesus,” virgil says.

“yeah,” patton sighs, and takes a huge gulp of coffee.

“if you want me to egg their car again—”

patton nearly snorts coffee out of his nose, and then there’s, like, what would be the closing scene of an episode that makes viewers think oh they’re in LOVE love, all fond smiles and laughing at each other as the camera slowly zooms out, showing them looking like they’re wrapped up in their own little world in the middle of virgil’s diner.

#my post #my fic #sanders sides fanficiton #moxiety #logince #wyliwf

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airlock · 4 years

Text

so, folks, having put a great deal of time into staring at the dining hall menu on Fire Emblem: Three houses, I decided to attempt a fun little exercise: what if I set about putting together a list of what my dislikes, neutrals and likes from the list would be if I were attending Garreg Mach?

and see... due to my presently undiagnosed neurodivergence, I have a hypersensitive palate, as well as a hypersensitivity to textures. I have been described by sufficiently rude people as “difficult to feed”. if y’all have seen and remember that one post where you tally up everything you would eat and get a higher score the less of a picky eater you are, well, I scored like a two or a four on that. so, y’know... this is going to be fun y’all

The Wretched Food Sins (dislikes)

Beast Meat Teppanyaki, Pickled Rabbit Skewers, Gronder Meat Skewers, Garreg Mach Meat Pie

see, I’m just going to get this one out of the way immediately: I don’t like red meat. when I tell people that, their first assumption is usually that I’m a vegan or avoiding the shitload of growth hormones or whatever, but no, I still eat some other types of meat and health is obviously not a priority in my diet; I just find that red meat tastes and feels something awful. we clear? we clear.

Onion Gratin Soup

(Onions stewed with white trout and baked with a layer of cheese on top. Will warm you up from the inside out.)

onions I’m also not very fond of. when they’re used for flavor, they’re normally used in small enough amounts to be safely ignored, but here it seems that the idea is to eat whole baked onions off a soup, like... is that a thing that human people do with the single lives that they have??

Country-Style Red Turnip Plate

(A balanced meal including red turnip and verona stew, red turnip salad, and sautéed red turnip with garlic.)

just not sure about this one; I mean, it’s not that I actually recall ever eating a turnip, or that a “verona” is a real vegetable that I can compare to any extant thing... I just don’t think I’ve ever had a good time attempting to eat a plateful of vegetables and I don’t have much faith that the monastery cantina is breaking new ground there

Vegetable Stir-Fry

(A dish of dried tomatoes, cabbage, chickpeas and other vegetables, stir-fried with egg. Nutritious and very filling.)

I might just be mixing up terms, but if I understand correctly, I’ve never heard of stir-frying before. it sounds like a cool thing, though! I do love the the idea of using egg as a base for this, too! it’s a pity that they then proceed to pick nothing but ass ingredients for the entire rest of this particular recipe

Fish and Bean Soup

(A soup made by simmering white trout and chickpeas. A simple yet wholesome dish.)

sorry, head chef, beans are a horrific mouthfeel and you cannot and will not convince me that a dish featuring them is uwu wholesome

Pickled Seafood and Vegetables

(A Dagdan dish of raw fish and turns pickled in a vinegar-based seasoning liquid. Rarely eaten in Fódlan.)

so, I’ve actually had the idea for this post quite a ways ago, and one of the very first things I had in mind was the precise burn I was going to deliver unto the smell of vinegar. right? thing is, it’s been so long since then that the anedocte I was going to use as a delivery vector for that burn has since taken a dark turn. it won’t really be worth the while to unpack it at this point, so I’ll just skip to the punchline: the smell of vinegar is indistinguishable from the smell of dog piss

Cabbage and Herring Stew

(Cabbage and Albinean Herring stewed whole. The fish guts lend this hearty dish a superbly bitter kick.)

ew, what the hell? what sort of florida man recipe is this? “oh, let’s stew some fish, but make sure the entirety of its intestines are stewing in there so that the final product can punch you in the mouth with bitterness”. what? who’s that supposed to appeal to? I can understand this being one of Hubert’s favorite meals but why would absolutely anyone else do this to themselves? and it’s with this demon fodder here that we finish the hell section on an absolutely burning note and proceed to...

The Purgatory of Eh, I Guess, Maybe (neutral)

Pheasant Roast with Berry Sauce

(Well-roasted Fódlan pheasant drizzled with a berry reduction sauce.)

we’re getting somewhere; poultry is like, 80% of the protein in my diet, and sweetness is precisely the only flavor I can tolerate in major excess. alas, in gastronomy, one plus one doesn’t always make two; I’m not sure this combination here works or just clashes frontally

Vegetable Pasta Salad

(Pasta with a blend of fresh vegetables from various regions of Fódlan. This popular dish sells out almost instantly.)

we’re out of the hated food list, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe yet from listening to me maw about foods that are supposed to be super common!

you know how I prefer to take my pasta? over water, butter or olive oil with absolutely no sauce. additional seasoning also needs not apply, although salt is welcome. fun fact: my ideal instant noodle is cooked with only a small amount of flavoring powder. so yeah, there you have it, that’s the “hey guys I eat bread with nothing in it and have a good time” moment of the jour

but back to the point -- how does this particular pasta measure up? well, I took a look at the in-game model of it and it appears to pass the most important bar: no sauce -- or, at least, if there was any, it was thick and yellow and it made a fool of me. anyways, I might not particularly dig some of the vegetables thrust into the pasta here, but the beauty of it is that I can probably pick and choose which ones I will actually eat, which makes this a solid ehhh it’s solvable

Fruit and Herring Tart

(A baked tart with stewed herring and Noa fruit mixed into the batter. Popular in Enbarr, the Imperial Capital.)

again, I don’t object to the components but I’m not sure about it all adds together. is that a real thing, like, putting a god damn fish into your fruit pie mix?

Fish Sandwich

(A simple dish. Airmid Cabbage is pickled in vinegar and served with cabbage between two slices of bread.)

a fish sandwich plain and simple, I would happily chow down; fish is the other one of my acceptable meats, after all. thing is, as non-domestic sandwiches usually do, this one comes with a bunch of add-ons that I absolutely do not want and it’s hard to tell how much can be salvaged. like, there’s old man vinegar/piss again, and besides, I swear I’ve eaten leaves off the ground that had better texture than cabbage. so, like, can we go even simpler, head chef? bread, fish, and no wicked ideas?

Spicy Fish and Turnip Stew

(Spicy stew made with Teutates loach and turnips. The monastery’s unique recipe features spices from Dagda.)

come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten a stew. if it’s very much like a soup, then it might have as much of an annoying texture as one, but if it’s just a soggy filet, then that might work out. anyway, between that and the non-specification of what those spices from Dagda are intended to do with the recipe, I’d have to taste it to believe it

Super-Spicy Fish Dango

(A light snack, popular in the Empire. Small, spicy balls of fried dough packed with white trout and dried tomato.)

ugh, that was so close. fried dough and fish sounds AMAZING, it really does. but the first strike here is “super-spicy”; I did mention having a hypersensitive palate, yes? now add that to the fact that I’m white. the real crushing sin here, however, is the inclusion of fucking tomato. we were so close to greatness! we were this close! anyways, depending on how exactly the dried tomato is meant to be implemented here, it might be possible to just pull it out with a fork and accept the mouth-hurting substances in a bid to have a good time anyway

Sweet and Salty Whitefish Sauté

(Whitefish is coated in spices and sautéed with dried tomatoes to bring out an addictive salty-sweet flavor.)

tomatoes again! seriously, you creeps keep throwing that in with one of my sole acceptable approaches to meat! although fortunately, I gather that, with this one, the goal is not for the tomatoes to be eaten, just popped on the juice that this fish is jumping around in while it roasts, so maybe there’s salvation for it yet... I do want to find out whatever in the world an “addictive salty-sweet flavor” is supposed to mean, admittedly

Sautéed Pheasant and Eggs

(Thin slices of bird meat and shredded cabbage, mixed with scrambled eggs and sautéed with spices. Invention of a certain noble.)

again, we broke it right at the finish line. I like the idea of a pile of chicken strips and scrambled eggs; would have some fun digging through it and all. alas, Alfred von Certain Noble had to go and throw cabbage into the mix. at least, maybe, if it’s shredded, then the awful texture is eliminated and that makes it straight-up just eating some leaf? it might be sufficiently non-intrusive

Gautier Cheese Gratin

(A gratin of bird meat topped with heaps of Gautier cheese, which is famous for its low fat content. It has a unique flavor.)

I... do I want to know what “unique flavor” this is? because chicken gratined with cheese sounds good, but you could potentially go wrong with the type of cheese, and the fact that this apparently counts as a bitter dish doesn’t leave me particularly hopeful...

Small Fish Skewers

(Made by grilling skewered Airmid gobies. With a muddy flavor and dry texture, this dish is beloved by few.)

okay, yeah, “muddy flavor and dry texture” isn’t exactly the sales pitch of the year, but these sound like reasonably ignorable things in favor of what would just be grilled fish on a skewer with no more of those terrible nonsense ideas like adding some fucking tomato

Fried Crayfish

(Fried and breaded Caledonian crayfish. Looks much tastier than it actually is.)

looks are all we have to go by here, but besides that, intsys, you’ll have a lot of labor to do if you want to convince me that a fried and breaded anything isn’t good if it’s not, like, inherently ass as an ingredient. what keeps this one from reaching the heavens is most likely not the taste or the feel itself, but mostly just the fact that I’m probably allergic to shrimp

The Blessed And Divine (likes)

Saghert and Cream

(A baked confection coated with Noa fruit cream and a currant reduction, often enjoyed as a dessert at family gatherings.)

first, I have to get this much out of the way: does anyone know what the hell a saghert even is? cursory searching has only led me to results about Fire Emblem, so it might be a made-up word altogether...

... that said, the aforementioned cursory searching has also brought me to this blog where I got to see someone’s idea of what the thing would be in real life, and the result is definitely something I’d want in my mouth, stomach, and soul, so there we go!

Sweet Bun Trio

(Traditional pastries from Faerghus, known for their subtle sweetness. The dough is made with eggs and sugar.)

is this supposed to be like sweetbread or like, dumplings, which might actually be made with eggs and sugar...? oh, who am I kidding, I’d scarf the hell out of either one. and hey, no need to be subtle with the sweetness, either!

Peach Sorbet

(A sorbet made with thin slides of magically frozen peach, dusted with bean flour.)

o, ice cream... I have a rather layered relationship with that one. I’m never one to turn down plain desserts, least of all when tradition also permits me to dump six layers of whatever the hell else to (sweetly) spice it up, but the hypersensitivity in my mouth also extends to temperatures, and ice cream is normally and understandably served in very low ones. I usually try eating when it’s, like, nearly melting or already melting... but is that even on the table if we’re talking about pre-refrigeration ice cream made with very strangely applied magic? thoughts to mull over. but I won’t let them get in the way of yum, ice cream

Daphnel Stew

(Minced poultry and onions boiled with salt. The simple recipe lets high-quality ingredients speak for themselves.)

simplicity goes a long way, as usual! again, I have no idea how a stew tastes, but again, poultry is pretty much the backbone of my diet, and I suppose it doesn’t sound objectionable to take it soaked in saltwater. at least, if I’m presuming that the onions are there for flavoring the stock and not once more for the absurd suggestion that I should be eating them whole

Deirdriu-Style Fried Pheasant

(Pheasant meat pounded flat and fried. Can be served as a sort of sandwich, with cheese between two strips of meat.)

holy shit this sounds great. like, I want this in real life, especially the whole pseudo-sandwich arrangement. I’m optimistically assuming that we’re picking a decent type of cheese and not, like, cheddar, but that's really the only possible stumbling block

Grilled Herring

(Herring caught off the coast of Albinea, shredded and grilled in an earthenware pot with sliced turnips.)

I’ve expressed not being familiar with the taste of turnips, but even if I hate those too, it sounds like it’s pretty easy to ignore them here in favor of what’s just some shredded and grilled fish, which hits the spot

Fisherman’s Bounty

(Freshly-caught fish are cut into chunks and stewed together to make this hearty dish.)

right, so I’m not actually 100% sure about this one, if only because the model of the dish appears to contain some unidentifiable bits of disgusting red whatever, but if the description alone covers it, this just seems to be plain and nice

Two-Fish Sauté

(Two types of fish are cut into strips and sautéed in butter. This lavish meal hails from Enbarr, the Imperial Capital.)

and this sounds similarly plain and nice, but also even better, because the sautéeing in butter sounds like a great addition. now we’re finally on the right track with regards to fish meals! keep the red devil testicle fruits away from those!

Bourgeois Pike

(A gourmet dish with Airmid Pike, vegetables, and a sprinkle of expensive spices. Popular among nobles.)

the punchline writes itself, doesn’t it? but don’t get me wrong -- while I haven’t grown up wanting for money, being bourgeoisie is just what my family wishes were the case.

as for the meal itself: the in-game model appears to be just fish filet, served without any gross sauce, so I’ll happily take it, as long as this “sprinkle of expensive spices” isn’t doing anything too janky in there. ... but hey, most expensive things exist primarily for the purpose of being janky, so maybe I’m being too optimistic

Sautéed Jerky

(Jerky aged in the monastery and sautéed for a delightfully salty flavor. A perfect snack to go with your favorite drink.)

my first instinct was to throw this right onto the undesirable meat section because it’s jerky, but apparently, this is poultry jerky? I’ve never heard of such a thing existing, but I need to try it sometime. for now, I’ll just assume it’s as good as it sounds

so, there you have it! it seems that quite a bit more of this menu is edible than I would have expected? or perhaps I’m just being very optimistic, since I’m not face-to-face with whatever offputting smells and textures I could potentially be dealing with here

#my stupid text posts #Fire Emblem is tagged in this post #Fódlan FE is tagged in this post

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years

Text

What type of bread did you use on the last sandwich you made? White bread.

& What was on said sandwich? Bologna, sharp cheddar cheese, mayo, and spinach with a bowl of some olive oil mixed with basil and oregano for dipping.

How many doors are in your house? Like 10.

Got any bad habits? If so, what are they? Biting/picking at my nails and the skin around them, biting/picking my lips, picking acne, poor self-care...

What was the last compliment you recieved, that made you smile? I don’t even remember the last time I received a compliment.

Do you ever lie to your friends? Everyone lies.

If so, do you feel bad about it after? Depends what the lie was about.

Think you need to lose weight? How much? Definitely not. I actually need to put a little on.

When was the last time you watched a VHS movie? Uhhh. According to Google, DVDs became the norm in like 2000/2001, but I feel like we still used VHS tapes for maybe 3 years after that.

What event would you go back in time to see, if you could? Hmm. That’s a tough one.

Do you remember the last thing you said you wanted? Coach did a collab with Star Wars and they have a backpack that I really like. It’s too expensive, though.

Who was the last friend you hung out with&what’d you do together? It’s been like 4 years since I’ve hung out with anyone outside of my family.

Who is the person, other than a spouse, that you are closest to? I don’t have a spouse, so no problem there. I’m closest to my mom and younger brother.

Do you know when to use ‘to’ & ‘too’? Yes, I know how to use both. I know how to use there/they’re/their, too.

Who do you currently live with? My parents, younger brother, and doggo.

Favorite board game? I have a few. I love board games.

If you watched it, who was your favorite 'Hey Arnold!’ character? Ha, it’s on my TV right now. I like the whole gang.

Have any good school pictures? or do they all just suck? My early school year ones are cute. The ones from 4th grade and up are ew.

How old were first kiss? 16.

Do you ever wonder what people think when they look at you? I used to think about that a lot more. It’s weird cause like... I’m very self-conscious and my self-esteem is shit, but I really just stopped even trying with my appearance. Me from a few years ago would be mortified with me now and the way I let myself go out the house.

Do you like trying on clothes or not? & Why? No. It takes more energy than I care to give. Or just don’t really have.

What are your thoughts on marriage? I don’t see it ever happening for me.

What was your favorite toy as a kid? Barbies.

Do you still play with it or have it? I have them stored away in the garage.

Are you currently IN love with anyone? No.

Difference between loving someone&being in love with someone? Yes or no? Uh, yeah. Big difference.

Don’t you hate when reruns on TV are in a random order? Depends on the show. If the storylines aren’t connected then I don’t care. Like with a show like Catfish, it doesn’t matter. A show like The Golden Girls, it does.

Do you ever watch any crime shows? I watch the ID channel sometimes with my mom. That’s her favorite thing to watch.

If so, which do you watch the most/is your favorite? Various shows on ID.

Ever smoke pot? Yeah.

Don’t you hate when people you love/care about annoy you with stupid crap? I definitely don’t enjoy being annoyed.

Do you ever get frustrated&say 'nevermind’ when people just don’t get it? Yep.

Still have feelings for an ex? No.

Have you ever SERIOUSLY considered any kind of plastic surgery? No.

What was the last thing you cleaned&why? I cleaned off my bed yesterday cause my mom was changing the sheets and such. I had to move stuff cause my bed has become a storage space for clothes and a desk for my laptop, coloring book, colored pencils, phone, remotes, and Nintendo Switch.

Don’t those weightloss pill commercials just irritate you? No.

Before taking this survey, what were you thinking of? I was irritated about something.

How long have you lived in the current place you’re living? Almost 10 years.

Do you plan on moving anytime soon, if so where? We want to, but there aren’t any plans to as of now. As soon as we’re able to we will.

Does blood make you queasy? Yes.

Do you ever walk alone at night just because, or does that freak you out? I definitely wouldn’t do that.

What happened in the last TV show you watched? Phoebe got to move up to the 6th grade, but she didn’t end up liking it so she went back to the 4th grade with her friends. It was an episode of Hey Arnold lol.

Do you ever correct grammar/spelling errors your friends make? Only in my head. I’ll sometimes point out typos to my mom and brother, though. I just tell them personally, I don’t put them on blast.

Or do you just not care about that stuff? I don’t put people on blast for it.

Don’t you think things are getting wayyy too pricey? Yeah.

Facebook, wasn’t 'become a fan’ better than 'like’? No.

What do you think was the best year you ever had? Childhood years.

Are you more of a follower, or a leader? Be honest. I’m more of a wallflower, ha.

Are your dreams/nightmares in black&white or color? Hm. I honestly don’t know?

Or do you not even remember any of them? There’s that, but also I just can’t seem to recall if they’re in color or not.

Have you ever wanted to be some sort of hero outside of videogames? No. I’m no hero.

Will you admit that you’re at least somewhat superficial? I don’t think I am.

Most attractive actor/actress that comes to mind right this second? Alexander Skarsgard of course.

How often do you go to the mall closest to you? I never go anymore. I used to go pretty regularly back when I had a social life.

What physical features can you just not stand about yourself? Just about everything.

Do you still count with your fingers, even if only every so often? I still do.

The last flavor of gum you chewed? Minty gum is the only kind I like.

Have you ever gone on a road trip with just friends? No.

What was the last thing you had to drink & was it yummy? Yeah, it’s a white chocolate Starbucks Doubleshot.

What word or words do you think you say the most? “I don’t know” and “like.” There’s more, but there ya go.

Without trying, do you act differently around different friends? I acted a little different around different people. Not in a fake way, just different levels of comfortableness and different people bring out different things in you. You might be more outgoing and chatty with one person, but more chill with another.

What was the last thing you drew/wrote on your own or someone elses’ skin? I have no idea.

Did you know your nose continues to grow/get longer as you get older? I think I’ve heard that. I don’t recall if it’s true or not.

The last time you spent money, what was it on & how much did you spend? Christmas presents.

What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on one piece of clothing? Hm. I don’t know.

Don’t you believe you’re not really a vegetarian if you still eat chicken Chicken is a type of meat and vegetarianism is abstinence from meat, so...

Who was the last person you avoided/ignored? Blah.

In elementary school, were you more of the bully or the bullied? Neither.

How much do you say you walk in a week outside of school &/or work? I spend majority of my day in bed. Most activity I have is going from my bed to the kitchen, bathroom, living room, or my parents’ room. Then there’s the doctor visits twice a month and the occasional trip to Walmart, the movies, or some other random outing.

Did the last person you talked to in person annoy you in anyway? They said something that kinda rubbed me the wrong way.

Where are you sitting right now? On my bed of course.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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flawlesspeasant · 5 years

Note

You were the author who wrote about jo and alex’s Kids Lyla and little Alex right? Do you remember writing a prompt about little Alex choking on like a chip and going to the hospital. Could you please please please repost it? Thanks a bunch!!!

Hi! Yes, that was me! I do remember writing this prompt, and sorry it took me super long to get back to it, but I had to do some SERIOUS digging on my computer to find all four parts. Here you go! :)

Part two | Part three | Part four.

_____________________________

“Really? And what happened after that?” Jo tried to sound enthusiastic as she talked to her daughter but in reality, she was exhausted. Alex was working until 4:30, which meant that she was totally in charge of childcare for the day.

For the last two months since the baby was born, she and Alex had been working together to ensure that everything got done efficiently. The two of them had worked so well together that Jo had actually begun to think that having two kids was easy, but now that she had to do it herself, she was beginning to understand exactly how hard it is to do it alone without Alex’s help. “Did you end up winning?” She huffed, out of breath from climbing the steps while holding both her daughter’s hand and her son’s car seat. “Uh-huh. We winned and everyone say…they said I was a good um…kicker.” The five year old continued to gush to her mother, telling her all about the great day she had in gym class despite the bright pink and black striped cast she sported on her left arm.

Although Jo was tired, she genuinely did want to hear about the kind of day her daughter had. After having a stint with bullies that resulted in Lyla’s broken arm, she demanded that the school switch Lyla’s classroom. Today was the first day the new classroom was in effect and already, she could tell that her daughter was doing better at school. She never had exciting stories to tell upon coming home from school and suddenly, she was gushing to her mother about everything that went on in her new classroom now that she was finally separated from the bullies. “I made a fwend, mommy.”

“You did?! That’s awesome!” Jo leaned down and placed the baby’s car seat on the ground so she could mess around with her keys and find the right one to open their front door. In the car seat, the bright-eyed baby boy lay happily cooing and grabbing up at the multicolored animal figurines hanging from the handle of his car seat. “What are their names? Are they nice to you?” She shoved the key into the lock and twisted it, opening up the door to their loft. She picked the baby back up and shuffled into the house right behind her five year old daughter. “Were they nice to you?”

“Their names are…Cassie and Megan and Gage.” Lyla plopped down on the floor right in front of the door and began untying her shoes. As much as Jo didn’t want to admit it, she was actually glad that Alex talked her out of switching Lyla’s schools. She reluctantly agreed to keep Lyla in the school district that she was in, but she demanded a classroom change and it seemed to have been working. It was just the first day and already Lyla was making friends. “I sit by Megan. Her shared her cwayons wiff me.” The little girl tossed her sneakers to the side and sprung up. “They colored on my arm mama, see?” She held her cast out for her mother to see.

Jo knelt down on the floor to unstrap the baby from his car seat but she looked up momentarily to appease her daughter. It took her a while to get used to having two children to pay attention to and although she wasn’t proud, she admitted that she didn’t know how to equally divide her attention between the two. She was beginning to get the hang of it though. “Woooow…that’s so cool.”

She pretended to be very interested in the two chicken-scratch handwritten names on the elbow of Lyla’s cast. “You said Gage though…” Since the little girl’s arm was still in her face, Jo jutted her head forward and kissed the parts of her hand that were left out of her cast. “You said Gage?” She gently nestled her hand underneath her baby boy’s head and carefully lifted him up out of the car seat, planting a kiss on his downy soft brown hair. “Is Gage a boy?” Embarrassed, Lyla looked down at the floor and wiggled her feet to avoid her mother’s question. “Oooh! I’m telling daddy!” While laying on Jo’s shoulder, Alex grabbed a chunk of his mother’s hair and smacked his lips together while trying to put it in his mouth. “You know better than to have boyfriends, don’t you?! I’m telling daddy!” Noting that her son’s actions meant hunger, she switched the baby to her other shoulder and winced when he didn’t let his grip on her hair go. “Lyla’s got a boyfriend…mhm, I’m tellin’ daddy.”

“He not my boyfwend!” With reddened, rosy cheeks, Lyla looked up and gave her mom a cheeky smile. She thought about how her mommy never went a day without telling her how pretty she was. Usually in the mornings while Jo was brushing her hair for school, she would make it a point to tell her daughter that she was either “gorgeous”, “so pretty” or “beautiful”. Lyla never really thought her mommy meant it. Even though she was only five, she was still pretty smart for a five year old and she knew that it was her mommy’s job to tell her how pretty she was. “All him did was gimme a stwawberry at lunch.” She did think that Gage was cute though…and she liked the way his hair was spiky and his shoes lit up when he walked. And Gage told her that she was pretty today too…but she wasn’t going to tell her mommy that.

“Look at you! You’re all blushin’ and smilin’!” Jo teased, cradling the baby with one arm and making a bottle with her one single free hand. “I’m tellin’ your daddy. Lyla’s got a boyfriend…he gave you a strawberry at lunch? Uh-huh. You got a boyfriend. What do you think daddy’s gonna say?” Once the bottle was made, Jo began to shake it up. Although she really wished Alex was home to help her out—especially with the fact that she was about to cook dinner—Jo liked spending alone time with just her and her babies. “I can’t believe you got your first boyfriend, bubbles…you’re growing up on me.”

“Mommy…mommy.” Lyla happily skipped over to her mother and patted her on her lower stomach. “Don’t tell daddy…but Gage tell me…him say…him say I pwetty. Shh!”

“OH MY!” Naturally, Jo took the baby off her shoulder again and situated him in her arms. She held the bottle in his mouth and gazed down at his big, round, deep green eyes while he sucked hungrily on the bottle. “I’m so telling your dad! I can’t wait for him to get home!” She braced the bottle against her chest and reached down to her daughter. Lyla closed her eyes and Jo pressed her finger to the corner of her eyelid, getting off a pesky green eye-booger. “I’m telling your dad. Just wait.” Lyla giggled and shook her head at her mom. “You hear that, fat man? Your sister’s got a boyfriend. And yep…I’m telling daddy.”

Baby Alex just gazed up at his mother with nothing but adoration in his eyes. Jo was his most favorite person in the world and sometimes he would wake up and cry in the middle of the night just because he missed her. Jo and the baby had a very strong bond, like she had with both her babies. She leaned down and kissed the top of his forehead. “Hey flirty mirty…” Jo called her daughter, catching her creeping to the snack drawer. Lyla looked at her mom innocently. “Will you hold your brother’s bubba for me so I can cook?”

“Can I have chips?” Lyla put her hand on the snack drawer and challenged. “Not too many…you’ll spoil your dinner.” Jo carried the baby to the living room and slowly placed him in his favorite swing right in front of the TV. Lyla snatched a bag of nacho cheese flavored Doritos from the snack drawer and happily skipped to the living room to help feed her brother.

Today was the best day she had at school in a very long time. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel threatened at school. She loved her new classroom and she loved the fact that she made friends. She plopped down on the floor with her bag of chips and replaced her mother’s hand with her own.

The five year old girl had become pretty efficient at multitasking with her cast on. She held her brother’s bottle with her casted arm and chomped on her chips with the free one. Jo turned on the TV for her to watch and stroked her hair.

“Let me know when he’s all done with it, bubbles. Daddy should be home soon.” Lyla nodded her head and tuned into the latest episode of Austin and Ally. In his swing, baby Alex continued to suck hard on his bottle. In the recent weeks, Lyla had really grown to like her baby brother. She thought of him as a real, live baby doll and when she thought of him that way, she thought he was a lot of fun.

She also liked it when her mommy and daddy would praise her for being such a big girl when she helped feed him or brought her mommy a diaper. She also felt important because she was the only person that could get him to stop crying when his belly was hurting; even if it was only for a little while. With her mouth full of chips, she glanced at her brother’s bottle. When she saw that it was almost empty, she tilted it higher like her daddy taught her how to do.

“Mommyyyyy….him done!” She called back to the kitchen with her mouth still full of chewed up chips.

“Just take it off of him then. Give him his nini.” Jo called back from the kitchen. Her hands were too dirtied up with the ground beef she was pressing into hamburger patties to rush to the living room and help. She was only slightly surprised to know that her son had finished the bottle so quickly. She had only given him four ounces and she knew that he was going to dust it off pretty quickly. Baby Alex was all too much like big Alex…he loved to eat.

“His nini is in his playpen…grab it and give it to him.” The fact that Lyla wasn’t trying to hurt the baby anymore took a weight off of Jo. The little girl really had been being the picture-perfect big sister lately.

Lyla scooted on her butt over to her brother’s playpen and plucked the pacifier out of the side pocket. In a very motherly kind of way, Lyla sucked on the baby’s pacifier first like she had seen her mother do sometimes. She looked at it to make sure there was nothing on it and stuck it in her brother’s mouth. “There Ally.”

Alex sucked on his pacifier and stared at his sister intently. “Why you lookin’ at me for?”

She rubbed his hair forward and stood in front of him. She covered her eyes with her hands. “Peek-a-boo!”

She took her hands away and shouted. Alex’s lips curled up into a smile and his pacifier fell out.

Lyla covered her eyes again. “Peek-a-boo!” Alex giggled, looking at his sister with such fascination. He was amazed that she could just disappear and appear like that! Jo watched her daughter play with her son with a half-smile on her face. The fact that Lyla had finally warmed up to her brother really made her happy.

Just then, the door to the loft slid open again and through it walked Alex. “…Hey.” She wiped her hands free of ground beef on the dishtowel and walked over to greet…whatever he was to her. He was still her ex-husband but she didn’t feel right referring to him as that. “How was your day?” She raised up on her tiptoes and pecked Alex on his cheek.

The two of them still had never shared a kiss since the day their son was born but Jo thought that would change soon. She just didn’t want to be the first one to kiss him and likewise, Alex didn’t want to be the first one to kiss her. “Busy…glad to be home.” Alex shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up. He was slightly confused about why Jo was suddenly kissing him on his cheek when most of the time, she wouldn’t even look at him.

Things between him and Jo had been looking up lately but he didn’t want to jinx anything. He finally felt like he was getting the family that he lost back and he didn’t want to mess that up for himself. “What’s going on there?” He motioned with his head to the living room, referring to how Lyla was still playing with her brother and how the baby was shrieking with laughter.

“Don’t question it.” Jo mumbled and walked back to the stove so she could start placing the hamburger patties into the frying pan. Just as she started to put one in there, something crossed her mind and she turned back to Alex. “Oh yeah, guess what…Lyla has a boyfriend.”

“…No the hell she doesn’t.” Alex shook his head and opened the fridge in search of something to quench his thirst. “She’s five. She doesn’t have a boyfriend.” He dismissed. “What else happened today?”

“She really does have a boyfriend though. He gave her a strawberry at lunch and told her that she was pretty. His name is Gage. I say we meet him.” She knew how much it bothered Alex to think about Lyla being involved with boys so she decided to tease him a little longer.

“Lyla doesn’t have a boyfriend. End of discussion.” He mumbled. Back in the living room, Lyla kneeled in front of her brother and stuck her tongue out. She liked to make him laugh but Austin and Ally came back from a commercial, so she plopped down on her butt again and paid attention to the TV.

She grabbed a handful of chips and shoveled them into her mouth just as her brother began to whine. Without his sister to entertain him, Alex had begun to think about the fact that he was still hungry. Lyla glanced at her brother again but when she saw that he wasn’t fully crying, she just continued watching TV. Alex poked his lip out and his eyes welled up with tears as another crying whimper came out of his mouth.

“You want some?” Lyla plucked one chip out of the bag, noticing that her brother was staring at her the entire time she was eating. He was staring at the chips so surely he wanted one, right?

“Here you go.” Nicely, Lyla placed the clip on her brother’s lip. Instinctively, Alex opened his mouth just like he did when ANYTHING touched his lips. Lyla pushed the chip in his mouth and smiled when she saw him smacking his lips together.

Alex’s natural sucking reflex kicked in and he pushed the chip back with his tongue and swallowed like he did whenever he drank his milk. The chip wasn’t soft and liquidy like every other thing Alex had ever eaten was. The chip was hard and jagged and it hurt him on the way down and he wanted his mommy…mommy always made things better.

He poked his lip out again and contorted his face up to cry but as soon as he look a breath to let out a wail, the chip lodged in his throat and he gasped. Lyla had never heard her brother make that noise before so she looked away from the TV again and when she looked at her brother, she suddenly got scared. Baby Alex’s lips were turning light blue and his usually creamy white skin was turning blue too.

“MOMMY!”

“Alex, she’s going to date someday. You might as well get used to the idea.” Back in the kitchen, Jo smiled, still teasing Alex.

“She’s not dating until she’s 40, Jo.” Alex remained stern.

“MOMMY!!!!” Lyla ran to the kitchen and frantically tapped her mom’s belly. “MOMMY!”

“What, pumpkin?” Jo looked down and immediately, she sensed that something was very wrong. The look on her daughter’s face was something crossed between terror and sadness. “What?”

“Ally, mommy!!!! Ally!” Lyla continued to tap her.

“What about him?” Jo’s eyes roamed into the living room and she instantly saw that something was horribly wrong. The baby laid in his swing completely limp, all color drained from his face and his lips an unnatural shade of indigo.

“ALEX!!!!!” Jo screamed so loud that everyone’s ears rang and she bolted straight to the living room. “ALEX GET IN HERE, NOW!!!!!” She dropped to her knees and picked her baby up out of the swing. “No, no, no, no…” Alex dashed to the living room seconds after Jo and kneeled down to see what he could do.

“Jo, move…move, I need to see.” He tried to remain calm. He had handled asphyxiation cases more times than he cared to count….he knew how to give an infant CPR. “Jo, move.”

“He’s not breathing! ALEX, HE’S NOT FUCKING BREATHING!” Jo put her ear to her son’s chest to listen for a heartbeat but she was too worked up to properly listen. “…WHAT HAPPENED?!” She turned to her five year old, since she was the last person with him.

Lyla stood by the couch, shocked and horrified at the sight of her brother’s limp, lifeless body on the floor. She saw this on an episode of Monster High. Cleo almost drowned in the Nile River and her lips were blue…she knew that this wasn’t good. “WHAT HAPPENED, LYLA?!!!! I NEED YOU TO TELL MOMMY WHAT HAPPENED!!!!” Lyla wanted to tell her.

But how could she tell her mommy that she’s the reason her brother’s like this? She didn’t want a brother anymore. Just when she thought she was doing good with being a big sister, she hurts her brother.

She didn’t want to be a big sister anymore.

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mai-stories · 5 years

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The Florist and The Mercenary - Chapter Five: A Break from the Rain

Lily had been washed back towards the trees, downed by the miniature flood. When he came over to help her up, that would be a problem. Due to the amount of water that had soaked through her clothing, her involuntary magic activated, her boots and stockings pushed off as her legs changed into a thick, glimmering tail. Aquamarine scales lined the fish tail, a light blue fluke curling idly as she struggled to gather her footwear back into her grasp. Her eyes came up to meet Irvine's one, an embarrassed blush washing over her pale cheeks. "I.. Can't get up." She admitted, brushing damp locks from her face.

Using her magic to dry off was pointless, as the rain had yet to cease. The only option would be to get that tarp up and dry off slowly. Lily's bodyguard stood over her, one eyebrow quirked up rightfully so when faced with this new development. So it was true, she was definitely a mermaid Considering that they had just met a few hours prior, she was a meek thing and merfolk fetched notoriously high prices at the black market for their scales and tails and tears, and slave trade typically for their natural beauty... He could understand her worries. Irvine reached out and petted her head gently.

"No worries." He told the mermaid girl.

There was an automatic flinch when he reached out to touch her, though she relaxed when he told her not to worry. He lifted her, as dragging her undercover, especially her tail, seemed rude and probably painful. Despite her looks, Lily was surprisingly heavy with that thick tail of hers, so she hoped he wouldn't be taken off guard by that, as well. She hung on when he picked her up, pale fingers curling into the cloth as if she'd slip right out of his hold. He set Lily down, moving to realign the pitons to anchor the tarp over their heads once more, with a little tilt to it to allow water to run off. They now had reprieve from the downpour and could dry out. While he had readjusted the tarp, she took to slowly ringing out her hair and clothing, taking off her apron and ringing that out, too. He went to collect Lily's boots and stockings for her as well. With some extra rope, he made a clothesline to hang up said stockings as well as his soaked jacket. He shrugged off his boots and let a bit of water dribble out. Lily handed him the garment to hang up, looking over at him when they had finished hanging up clothing.

"Despite this, I still love the rain.." He said offhandedly, looking out of the grassland under the rain.

"I do, too. Even when I was confined to staying inside, I liked to watch the rain fall." She said in agreement, pulling her skirt up to about hip level to allow her tail to dry out. It would take a while, however, as she had no towel to dry with, and using her magic to dry would do more damage than good. "There's something soothing about the sound of rain, and the smell afterwards. It's calming." She murmured, curling up and hugging her tail close like anyone would their knees.

"Agreed.." And he took a moment to enjoy it. The constant heavy patter of rain mixed with the water filtering through the treetops didn't bother him in the slightest. He simply reclined against the opposite tree and brought out a cigarette just to hang lazily between his lips. "Never seen a real mermaid, didn't think you actually were one to begin with. Some milquetoast house girl who spent her days inside more than out, yeah, but not a mermaid.." He eyed his charge up and down, lone eye lingering on her tail. "Just thought you were imitating the race for fashion.. I can see why you don't get out to meet people.. The vast majority of us are jerks." He said, taking a long drag before blowing away from the tarp.

Lily looked over at him, noticing his gaze. It made her only slightly uncomfortable, as she wasn't used to exposing her tail to others, so she shifted a bit where she sat.

"Wouldn't make much sense for a gardener to stay inside all day, would it?" She said with a slight smile, the scales drying off in due time.

As it did, the scales started to glow every so gently, beginning to fade and evaporate away from her toes up. The fluke faded into nothing, her toes and ankles slowly reappearing, then her shins and knees. More and more scales disappeared, the girl covering up her legs with her skirt. There would be no need for him to see her blindingly pale skin, as it would only embarrass her further. Still, despite having legs again, she had to wait for the bones and muscles to realign and settle before she could stand, otherwise she'd break or tear something as soon as she tried.

"You're not really that bad.. Better than others, I'd say." She told him, pulling a small comb from her skirt pocket to brush her hair. He had shown some of his colors, but she had yet to see if they were true or not. Unlike herself, Irvine didn't seem to wear his hear on his sleeve. "Could we build a small fire? Something to keep warm?" Lily asked, looking around for some sticks to dry and make a campfire, wanting to warm up while the rain was still coming down.

Without a word, Irvine leaned in and began to dig a hole in slightly sodden earth. Their spot had not been long for the soggy weather to soak in deep, so he dug until he had reached a dry point and made a small pit. He took the relatively dry bark and created something of a nest, then brought out a red crystal. The crystal's lighter center glowed and danced like an encapsulated flame, the edges warm to the touch. The mermaid tilted her head when he brought out the crystal, eyes captured by the dancing flame. Fire was another thing she enjoyed, in moderation, as the small flames were warm and comforting.

"Ever seen a condensed bit of mana? Mainly forms in an elemental way or its pure magic energy. I like to carry a few around. Small ones are pretty cheap since this stuff can be found in the wild if you look hard enough." Irvine explained as he let it fall into the pit, the stone starting to glow. It immediately ignited and created a cozy flame that swallowed up the bark, remaining bright and lively. Hearing this, she wondered if water crystals existed, her hand reaching up idly to touch around her neck. Was that something like her heirloom? "Good for a few hours. Only water magic can put it before then," Irvine told her. "It's gonna burn, burn off all of that magic energy.. I'ts so packed with the stuff that natural water takes longer than most to put it out. You know, throw a fire or lightning crystal hard enough and it explodes," The lightning mage said with a smirk. It was quite the morose fun fact, which may explain why Irvine knew such a thing in the first place.

Lily, however, was so lost in thought, spaced out until she heard him mention exploding crystals.

"That sounds.. really bad if you fall on one hard enough." She told him, looking a little uneasy at the thought of exploding crystals and the shrapnel that would produce. "Do you want something to eat? We can roast some of the meat, if you're hungry." She asked, scooting over to open up her recently bought bag. She dug around to get some bread and a little bit of that cheese, only a small amount to eat so there would be more later. She also got out some of the dried meats, as he seemed like a carnivorous guy.

"I'd uh... like that.." Irvine seemed... uncomfortable now. It might have been a stray drop of water coming down his brow from what had soaked his head, or perhaps a bead of sweat as the usual straight-faced bodyguard brought out a small satchel and stared at it for a moment before gently, very gently, setting it off to the side. Odd how he had never considered that before, not that he was ever knocked on his ass to ever run that risk... but it made him sweat. That movement didn't go unnoticed by the mermaid, a slight smile on her face as he seemed newly wary of the crystals. It was a bit amusing, to say the least. "I'll take some of that meat. Pass me some fruit, too.." A little fireside meal with some chat might be nice. Pleasant, at least... Hopefully. Maybe.

The two of them were quite the contrasting pair. As long as his charge trusted his judgement and his words when it counted. Lily passed him some of the meat and a few pieces of fruit, passing that as well before beginning to make her own meal. A little bit of melted cheese on bread made for a nice snack, she found, and would really warm her up in no time. Irvine had used a stray stick to impale his bit of meat to cook over their open magic fire while peeling the rind from his orange. Meat and fruit, better than most meals that crap hole pub served up to him as half-assed payment for keeping the drunks at bay. He offered a couple wedges to Lily. The mermaid reached out and took the orange wedges, popping those in after eating her own food. The salty taste of the cheese and nearly sour citrus made for a strange yet exciting flavor in her mouth.

"I wish I had bought some tea... Tea goes so nicely with rainy weather." She lamented with a sigh, tying her bandanna back behind her ears to get her hair out of her face. The full force of the storm seemed to have waned, the rain ceasing only slightly in severity.

"You wouldn't guess it by the look of her store, but Zara, the woman who ran the apothecary, sells some great tea. Lots of flavor.. Kind of a gamble whether you get hallucinogens or not, though." It was a note worth sharing, Irvine however murmured under his breath to avoid scaring Lily. She seemed the easily startled type.

He gained her attention by speaking about the kinds of tea that strange old lady sold, and that he guessed right that she would've been startled by that. Being in her right state of mind was definitely preferred.

"It's a little after noon, so when the rain let's up, we could probably keep moving. Do you have that map?" She asked, unsure if he had kept it with him or put it in the bag. Regardless of his answer, she'd look in the bag anyway.

"Map.. map..." With no room to roll it out and Lily still grounded for the moment, he sidled over to sit next to his charge to unfurl the map across their legs.

She did little to no protesting, as it was necessary for them to look over the map. Road markers connected every town, mountain ranges lay to the far west and north, thick forests scattered about, but little in between. Lily looked it over, recognizing where her own home was, though it wouldn't be home after so long. Hollifern was her new home, a place where she could be safe and with her own kind.

"Woodmoore is over here.." The mermaid could not gave been further from any ocean water, though Woodmoore did have its small lake to the east outside of town. "We left from the south and have been following the road. Not terribly far, though.. If we continue then we're going yo see Bardale off to the side.." He rubbed his chin. "Hm.. We'll stop there. See if we can't by coats for the rain or umbrellas. If we have to stop whenever a strong rain pops up, you'll be broke before long." Irvine said. An umbrella sounded useful, or even some sort of waterproof cloak to keep most of Lily's hair under wraps with a hood.

She had spaced out once again, daydreaming now about all kinds of magically waterproofed items they could find in order to keep any accidents from happening. Irvine rubbed his chin again, mulling over a couple things. His lone eye drifted to his partner, his charge, as she seemed to drift away into her own happy thoughts. When the time came that she ran out of funds.. Just what the Hell was he going to do?! No doubt the girl was worried about that herself, what could a gardener selling flowers really make? His hand migrated to the back of his head and rubbed it, the bodyguard heaving a soft sigh and deciding to deal with that when it was necessary. This girl would be eaten alive! A yipping puppy might just scare her out of her skin if she wasn't paying attention! He looked out in to the rain and it had lightened up some. Probably not enough to keep the fish tail issue under wraps, but soon enough.

"Oi," And he gave Lily's temple a poke to get her attention if his voice wasn't enough. "How much gold do you have on you?"

Lily was shaken out of her thoughts by the poke, having tuned the world out, not listening until he made that little bit of contact. She looked up at him, head tilted as he asked her about her funds. She pulled out her wallet out, pouring the contents into her lap and letting her skirt catch the coins. She counted it out: eight gold, two silver, and seven copper.

"This is all I have." She said quietly, eyes drawn back up towards his face, an unsure look crossing her own. Did he not have his own money? Was that why he asked her to pay for all their supplies? She only hoped he wouldn't extort her for more by upping the price now that he knew her secret. "Will this be enough to get to Hollifern? I don't have anymore flowers to sell, so I can't make anymore money. All of my savings went to traveling to Woodmore, even my rent." She said, looking down at the money in her lap, gathering it back up to put into the wallet.

"Depends on how many days it takes us." Irvine shrugged his shoulders, giving his charge the simplest and most factual answer he could.

The rainy season could be rough, thunderstorms and monsoons aplenty sure to assail the land in time and soak their particular part of the country to the core. Given Lily's race and the side effects of her getting too wet, well, her tail suddenly appearing could be a hindrance. Slavers on her fish tail wanting her for their auctions, even worse. He gave her damp head a couple pats and reclined against her tree.

"Don't worry about it. You'll get to Hollifern. Plenty of towns have jobs open if you're ever in need of cash." He said, relaxing now that the danger was gone and he had a snack.

So long as Lily had her magic, rain wouldn't be too much of a problem. Buying some sort of waterproof cloak or raincoat would help keep her dry, and her boots would keep water off her feet for a good while. The idea of doing oddjobs along the way did give her a bit of hope, however. Her skills were meager and common, so she could do just about any job that required cleaning or cooking. She'd even help out with gardens and stocking stores if she had to! She had rested long enough for her legs to stabilize, using a bit of magic to withdraw water from her hair and clothing, refilling her water pouch with it. She reached over and grabbed her stockings and boots, looking over at him for a moment. They were the type that went all the way up to her waist, so putting them on in front of him would be a little embarrassing.

"Could you.. turn that way, please?" She asked meekly, still holding the barely damp hosiery and her boots.

Irvine heaved another soft sigh and sidled off to the side. He turned his back to Lily while sitting just under the edge of the tarp.

"Make it quick." He told his charge as he turned his gaze to the sky.

She took that precious moment of privacy to pull her stockings on, glad there was no resistance and that the rain didn't damage the thin fabric. She laced her boots up before patting her skirt down, making sure it was dry enough before slipping her apron on, tying it into a neat bow behind her back. The clouds were starting to thin out, and rain lightened up to a gentle sprinkle. It likely would not last, but the issue before had been the flood brought on by that... thing. Oh, right. Those monsters.

"Ever seen creatures like that before?" Irvine asked, knowing it was a definite gamble to ask, but he had doubted her before.

"Those monsters? No, not really.. They sounded familiar, though, like something out of a nightmare." She answered, making sure the bag was tightened, secured so none of their food or supplies jostled out. With everything checked, she tapped his shoulder to let him know she was done, though it was gentle and light, as if just touching him would shock her. He turned and nodded.

"Figured I would ask. I've never seen anything like that either.." Irvine couldn't help but shake his head thinking about those monsters. "As far as I know.. There is no natural born creature, with magic abilities or not, capable of doing... all of that." He just gestured a bit, the image of those creatures evolving at such a rapid rate to defend against the damage they take was... Interesting. Her bodyguard ultimately shrugged his shoulders. "I don't even know of a magic that can summon like that. There wasn't anyone nearby... My opinion doesn't matter. I dunno why I'm thinking on it so much... but those creatures, I think they were made of mana. Pure magic energy. ... That's as far as my educated guessing goes," He said as he lit his a new cigarette.

"Whatever they were... I'm sure they weren't the only ones." Lily murmured, lifting up the bag, the straps snagging her hair again. She gave an annoyed sigh, dropping the bag down on a rock before reaching up and braiding her hair into a thick braid down her back, keeping it all in one place to prevent the straps from pinching and pulling at it. The bag was not that much heavier than she had originally thought, so carrying it wasn't a problem. "Pure magic? Hm.." She murmured, thinking back on it. It seemed that the more magic he used, the bigger those things got. They absorbed the magic, but it seemed not all magic was a good combination. The lightning completely tore through their water based bodies, and water could remove the mud quite easily. A cycle of the elements, it seemed. "If it helps, I could use the tarp as a wrap to keep dry." She suggested, looking over at their cover. Sure, she'd look like some kind of ragamuffin homeless girl wrapped up like that, but at least she'd stay dry. Irvine nodded in agreement.

"Better than nothing. Wouldn't want that fishtail popping out out of nowhere," He told his charge. He really did not want to deal with hunters and slavers.Gradually, the rain lightened to a degree that should have been safe for Lily. Luckily, he was down to his last drag and he snuffed out the cigarette butt with a quick, firm stamp of his boot. "I'll throw it over you if need be. Let's get a move on.." He got out under the misty rainfall and tore down the tarp quickly, folding it up and keeping it under his arm for quick access. He took the bag as well. It wasn't heavy, but he didn't want to burden Lily. "We've got another mile... mile and a half, before Bardale. We can definitely make it before night." He said, looking down at her.

Lily looked up in return when he had taken the bag from her, not complaining as it made her walk easier. Puddles from the rain had formed in the pock-marked road, the mermaid couldn't resist stepping in a few, playfully splashing like her kind was meant to do. Her boots were water resistant, all the way up to her knees so there was no threat of water getting to her feet. It was a little fun, and definitely took away the thoughts of danger and hostility that the world had no control over. With the rain nearly gone, the sun would come out to shine, a faded rainbow across the northern sky. Lily hardly glanced up when rays of sunshine came out, a smile on her lips as she happily tapped Irvine's arm and pointed up at the sky. When she was relaxed, it seemed her childish nature came to the surface, the mermaid coming out of her shell now that she felt safe with him. Irvine's gaze followed her eager finger and he eyed the arc of light, and he nodded. Quite the sight, but that was of little interest to him compared to the the little mermaid that had been so meek before. She skipped and hopped into the light puddles, splashed him a bit, but it wasn't like that was of any consequence to him. It was actually pleasant, a breath of fresh air, to see his charge actually having some fun. The child-like wonderment came as no surprise to him. Hell, he gave his cute charge a couple pats on her head she was so cute. Would he admit that? Hell. No. Lily happily accepted the head-patting, as it gave her a sense of security. There was no flinch or even a recoil, the mermaid's trust now in his hands. It was clear to her now he had no intentions of harming her, so her guard was completely down. A couple field mice scuttled out of their muddy homes, as wild as wild rabbits whose fur was dark and matted, sticking up in stray directions. They hopped about in the sunlight, bouncing across their path. One took a sharp turn bounced around Lily even, but it went on its way as well. The quick movement of small woodland creatures caught her attention, making her stand absolutely still. Not in fear, but to keep from scaring the animals. It wouldn't be right for them to scare the little things back into still flooded grass, so she would prefer not to spook them. It still brought a smile to her face to see them bound across the path, and once they were safely out of the way did she continue walking. With abundant sunlight and cleared up weather, the walk to Bardale would be much more relaxed. The rainy season brought its fair share of strife, but there was no denying the change brought on after rain. Something was washed away for a new moment, the air cool and fresh. It was definitely his second favorite time, after a nice rainstorm itself.

#original #fantasy #adventure #story

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