#because it just made it Worse. I had a soft sandwich for dinner Saturday and and yesterday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelemmerpie · 3 years

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You look at your watch, and the same question since the beginning of the school year crosses your mind.

Why having classes on saturday morning?

Everyone is tired, except the teacher. Everyone will have to work this weekend. Students never have a vacation, only stolen time paid from sleepless nights.

Whatever. Since you know Mandy, your saturdays to you two are as free as possible and almost nothing prevents you from seeing each other. Every week, you end up in your favorite italian restaurant for a dinner, often accompanied by a night of pleasure in your flat, or hers. Even if it's still impossible for you to live with each other, spending the weekends together is not uncommon. So much that she has clothes and toilet stuff in your appartment, and vice versa.

You thought about her face floating above a table, lit by candles. It perfumes your spirit and you quickly forget the courses. Gracious, her smile revealing so cute dimples, her long and willowy hair tumbling down like a waterfall made of the most sleeked mirror on her oppulent chest, more or less revealed according to her mood...You're already on a cloud only by thinking about her. The day is beautiful, your eyes closes while you're smiling, and nothing can lift you out of your contemplation.

-Mr. Johnson seems already on weekend. Unless he's still in dreamland?

Almost nothing. The comment is as striking as a bucket of iced water. You turn your head to the old vulture who serves as a teacher. The bun as tight as her thin pinched lips, she looks at you with eyes ready to throw lightning. You stutt.

-Sorry mam'. Tiredness.

-Think about sleeping at night, young man.

As if you could afford it...This first year of master's degree in plastic arts, sculpture course, is more exhausting than expected.You wish you could rest your head every night on Mandy, which is impossible. Since she obtained a bachelor's degree and works on the other side of the city, she had to take a flat. You, you stayed on the campus. Life is good inside it, but not as much as with her.

The rest of the class is deadly boring, but you strive to make as many notes as you can. Finally, after what seems like hours, the old harpy frees you by asking you to return a project for the next time.

You turn on your phone and the notifications appears. Mandy sent you a text. You open it right away, hoping for a soft message to wait until tonight.

"I'm sorry, I have to cancel dinner tonight"

A fleeting moment passes, then an immense disappointment falls like a hawk on his prey (and on your heart. And on your libido). This is not the first time that one of you cancels at the last moment, but it's always unpleasant. Nevertheless, you decide to not hold it against her, even if it saddens you.

"Too bad :'( All you alright? I miss you so much ".

The answer doesn't take long to arrive.

"Yes, I'm fine, but I really cannot go out yet."

She doesn't give you more details, which worries you a bit. Usually, you immediately tell to the other the reasons for the cancellation. You are puzzled, but you trust her and don't insist.

"If you need anything, I can go to your house tonight. Shop, or anything else. What about pizzas and a movie on the TV ?"

"Yes ! That would be wonderful, and much better ! If I can't go out right now, I can at least let you in ~~ I'm sending you a list."

It's autumn, but the heat persists and the blue sky makes you want a sandwich. You would like her to be there, by your side, lying in the still soft green grass, but she never liked the heat for a simple reason : finding suitable clothes to go out in such heat is almost impossible. Not because of being overweight, no. At least, not all over her body. It's a very local overweight: a macromastia.

As a teenager, her chest was already growing at an impossible rate. At 17, she was competing with the most buxom models you'd ever seen. Since then, her chest continues to grow steadily. Every four months, she is forced to buy new bras. Whole boxes of old underwear hang around her house.

She learned to do with it. As soon as she's back home, she unravels the torture instrument to free her chest. If it excited you at first, it fast becomed as common as taking off your shoes. Ignoring her chest is clearly impossible, especially when it jumps in all directions. But the moments you prefer are those quite ones where you are together to the couch, watching TV while behaving and more if you're in the mood. These moments are still too rare. You hope this will change one day. In such a big city, your respective obligations separates you and if you get closer, it would be your obligations that would be too far from you.

You sigh. In just over a year, you'll be able to live together. Her father has promised you a job in his molding company, and he already considers you two as married. Maybe you'll even be able to take up his business later. A clear path, a good job, a dream girlfriend, and a lovely family in law. It's well worth it to endure on saturday mornings with the vulture and work like a madman.

You finish your sandwich when your phone vibrates again. It's Mandy. A short list is displayed. She doesn't need much : food, some medicine...And new bras.

There, you frown.

She bought some two weeks ago, and they were already costing a fortune, in addition to being horribly uncomfortable. Having a big chest is considered as chance, but the bad sides can be counted easily : besides the expensive and inconvenient underwears, you can cite the look of others and the lustful solicitations from complete strangers when you go out in the street.

And yet, you've never seen her complain. No back pain, a body of foolproof flexibility, and an amused satisfaction when she surprises the eyes of others dive into her deep cleavage. She likes to seduce as well, but has always looked for someone who would consider her as something much than a toy for a titfuck. Her breasts didn't leave you indifferent, but you quickly became interested about her to the point that even naked, you can discuss with her as when she wears a triple layer of thick clothes, in autumn and winter, the only seasons where she can go out without problems. Her two favorite seasons have quickly become yours as she feels comfortable.

And yet, what a pair !

You could carve it from memory on pink marble, with all the details that her body offers. Round, no, a little oval. Glossy, smooth, plumped in her clothes, looking like a silicon bag that other women implant themselves. Except that she's natural. It's so unlikely that many people find it hard to believe, at the point that "fake boobs" yeled loudly always been an insult. Harassment, she knows that. But she has always been proud of her body, and you have always been proud of her. People talk, you live your love, that's enough for you two.

You keep thinking about your sculpture. Her tits would be nothing without gravity, of course. A challenge, to account for a chest so beautiful, so full, but that falls so little. Languid into the lustiness of her own pleasure, as she is after love. She's like her chest: proud, but so smoochy when she loves...

And the nipples, of course ! Small, discreet, as cute and innocent as infants. Two small chicks hatched by two aerolas, soft hen mums. Everytime, you vacillate between kissing them softly or sucking them. Everything in her is so perfect that to soil her would be a crime, if she wern't agree to welcome you near her and into her.

Nevertheless. New bras just two weeks after buying other is strange. Have they broke ? With a chest like hers, nothing surprises you anymore.Those before were worse than grandmother's bras. Thick sackcloths, oversized sports bras, with braces stretching out day after day, until her breasts overflowed and compressed her too much. A sexy photo later, you left to buy others. Shopping with her is always a pleasure, even if shops providing sizes at her convenience are increasingly rare.

You call her, and her voice soon rings in your ears.

-Hello, Danny ?

-Mandy, sweetie, I got your list. Had you not...already bought new bras recently?

It still gets you to be embarrassed to talk about her breasts, sometimes, and you must carefully prepare your words in order to not blush. You prefer to look at them and touch them, in silence, without any other noise than her pleasure moans.

-Sorryyyyyyyy ~~ . But I can't do otherwise. I can't go out with the old ones, it's getting worse and worse.

-Better and better, you mean ?

-For you, yes.

-And for you too. I know you love your breasts.

-Stop, she said, laughing. Or I could cancel the pizza tonight.

-You wouldn't dare !

The indignation in your voice is falsely exaggerated, which makes her laugh once again.

-If the handsome and brave knight carries out his mission and goes shopping, maybe the princess will send him a foretaste of what awaits him...

-An antipasti before the pizza, hm? I'll be curious to see what you're making...

-First, shop. I will prepare everything for tonight.

You're about to say goodbye to her, when a genius idea comes to you.

- What if I buy candles?

- What for?

- You know...candlelit dinner?

- For delivery pizzas ? No thanks. And then, I'm lazy to do the dishes. They have grown so much that I start having back pain...

-Really? In this case, prepare your oils for a long and good massage.

You hear hear murmuring with satisfaction.

-Very well, brave knight. If you manage to kill the hunchbacked dragon, the princess will offer you more than an antipasti.

-It's a great honor you give me, my lady.

-Come on, hang up. The shop will not make it himself.

- See ya, sweetie.

-See ya, cutie.

You hang up, a smile on your lips. Never in your life had you had such spars with anyone before. Each of her words brings you joy. Hurry the day you move in with her : your happiness will be complete.

But now, groceries. Your phone is vibrating again. It's a text sent by Mandy.

"I called Georgina this morning, you just have to take the package and pay. It's a huge lucky break, she has just renewed her supplies and agreed to take back those of two weeks ago. I will repay you".

The advantage of being a loyal and regular customer for out-of-the-ordinary clothing is that the ladies around the globe forms a small private club where they can discuss and exchange advice and services. The shop she usually goes to is far away, but it's a warm one and the woman who holds it is super great. Georgina, the manager, is a little old woman as wrinkled as an apple and had the same chest problems. She quickly decided to help women like her. If the bras remaines expensive, she gladly takes over the old ones to retouch them. She's even made customized tailor-made. But as long as Mandy's breasts will continue to grow at a breakneck pace, it will be useless and she clearly told you that : "I should take new measurements immediately after my work is done. I'd never seen that ! Go on like this, my little one, and congratulations, young man ! "

The shop bell tolls when you enter into it. Some times later, Georgina comes out of the back shop and greets you, delighted as you go forward the sale desk.

-Ah, Daniel ! I received Mandy's message. This girl beats all records, I made a new storpile just for her ! Only two weeks, and you'd think she took six months all at once !

-Thank you, Georgina, this is the first time that happens ...

-Tell me about it ! I've never seen that ! Fortunately, I have a good contact in England. Tell her to slow down, she never listened to me! It's not like you're not already happy with what she have, huh?

You try to show a neutral face, as every time Georgina talks about your relationship. Some grandmothers are discreet, but the old seamstress would be able to collapse buildings just by talking. Like every time, you fail and can only display a shy smile.

- I'll tell him, thanks. How much do I owe you?

The old woman sweeps the air with her hand and rejects the imaginary money.

-Nothing ! We'll see that when she returns the others. Knowing her, she didn't even touch it. She made her measurements, but I put her several sizes just in case. She will only have to bring me back as soon as possible.

-Thank you so much for your generosity. Without you, we don't know what she would do.

-Bah, we have to stick together! It was even worse when I was young.. Corsets that choked you even more than the things I'm selling today ! I say, I can't wait the day we can go out without it, half naked, like you men, without being attacked at every street corner! It's not Mandy that would bother ! Beautiful melons as big and as firm as the pectorals of my late husband !

You agree, but you don't know what to say. You may have an empty look, because Georgina allows you to leave.

-Ah, you men ! Go find your beauty and make us beautiful children, it will make my pleasure !

-Yes Ma’am. Thank you Ma’am.

You leave the shop, a second opaque plastic bag in your hands. Even through it, you can feel the fabric of the cup. The more Mandy's breasts grow, the less they seems thick, padded, comfortable. As for the shoulder's straps, they must be tight to cut off her skin. You can't wait the day she'll be able to wear custom made bras for her ease. You send her a text.

"I have groceries and bras, Georgina didn't charge me and she added several sizes just in case."

The answer is quick to arrive.

"Really ? Wonderful ! I'm gonna jump on her neck when I see her. How long before you get in?"

"An hour, I just went out"

"Too looooong..."

You strat to write, but another one appears.

"Here's a little something that will make you want to come even more faster..."

A few seconds later, your reward appears on your screen. It's been a while since you're used to her chest, but your mouth is opening and it takes little to make you drool.

She never sent photos of her completely naked, preferring provocation in exciting clothes. Sometimes she sends you her pretty face. Sometimes full body in a simple, wise, accompanied by her long hair that always makes you fall in love with her when you gaze at them. This time, they are tied over her head, revealing her neck, shoulders and thin arms. She seems to come out of the shower, a few drops still bead of her soft skin A new pair of diving breasts, with monstrous cleavage, overflowing beyond a towel about to explode.

You totally understand the need for new bras. At sight of the nose, only the widest will fit.

And sh's only 21 years old. And she has not finished her growth yet.

In size, yes. Not in cup size.

A new text appears.

"Have you choosed your pizza yet ?"

"I don't know, I'm in a mood for a snack right now. A stuffed sandwich, if you know what I mean ;-)"

“I thought you was in a romantic mood ? Candles of for lightning, not for BDSM, we agrée ?”

"You're impossible, as your jokes"

"No, I'm real. Why don't you touch me, if you don't believe ? I'm still waiting for my brave bra knight ;-) ".

The bus is here. You close your phone, ranks right at the bottom of your pocket so that no one can suspect your activities, and you sit down in a quiet corner.

Something tells you that you will not have time for eating tonight.

__________

Model is MandaDawn, on Patreon and Onlyfans. That photo is clearly not the best, from two or three years ago when she was on tumblr, but I don’t know why, it inspired me with the force of a train. I barely touched her story since her breasts are effectively still growing, for an actual X cup.

#MandaDawn #Story #BreastGrowth #BreastExpansion

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kerie-prince · 3 years

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We're Worlds Apart (6)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: language, smoking (cigarettes), mentions of sexual activity (but no actual scenes), Blaise (you know what i mean <3)

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: would y'all be interested if i added a smut chapter? also fun fact! the little date bit where y/n thinks about her worst date is based on my real life experience. only we didn't go to mcdonald's, we went to in-n-out. and it was terrible

(gif cred)

Blaise Zabini.

This man was the walking definition of lust. Flirtatious, smooth, and most definitely a womanizer. He didn’t hide it in his actions and you didn’t care. He could break your heart and have you crying for weeks, but man, if he wasn’t gorgeous.

Blaise Zabini looked as if he was carefully molded by Aphrodite. A man almost too beautiful for the world, and you’re going on a date with him. He nearly knocked the air out of your lungs when he asked to take you out to the fanciest, most expensive restaurant in Buffalo. And who were you to say no?

The whole window incident was completely forgotten. He could see more if he’d like— “Hey Y/N?” Your employee brought you out of your thoughts. A soft blush was on your face as you tried to act like you weren’t thinking of your neighbors’ friend. “Uh, yeah, what’s up?”

“Did you want me to put the crystal beads in the front? They’ve been really popular today.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” You had a few more hours of your day left before going back home. You had called over two of your best friends to catch up and help you pick out an outfit for your date that coming Saturday. It was currently Thursday, but in case nothing in your closet was good enough, you’d at least have some time to go shopping with them. Which was probably going to happen anyway.

It was a really good day; it got really busy with customers and the usual nuisance was gone today. But no matter how busy it was, you still felt like time was passing by slowly. In all honesty, what you really wanted was to be able to see Blaise today even if it was for just a minute, just to say hi.

Your last date was six months ago and, well. If it went well, you wouldn’t be attending the date you were going to later on the weekend. It was a horrifying date; he took you to a fucking McDonalds on the first (and last) date, only paid for his own meal, and made weird sexual innuendos nearly the whole time. And the worst bit was that even though it was a terrible date, you decided to give him another shot by texting him saying that you’d like to go to another date and he never texted you back.

Blaise was only going to be around for a month, you know this. And you kinda felt bad for taking some of his time away from his best friend whom he was visiting for, but he asked you out. So, if he’s alright with it you should be, too.

After the store closed, you stayed an extra hour just to make sure everything was cleaned up and ready for tomorrow. As much as you were in a rush, you hated clutter and didn’t want to have to wake up earlier to clean. Most likely, your friends were gonna want to drink a little. Traffic home wasn't great, but once you got home you got exactly what you asked for.

Outside, Blaise stood against a wall smoking a cigarette on Draco’s porch. God, even the way he stands is hot you thought. He saw you pull in your driveway and put out the last of the bud onto the ashtray. Blaise made his way to you and your heart was beating hard. “Good evening, gorgeous,” he said in that mesmerizing British accent. I’d kill to hear that voice in the morning.

“Hello,” you sighed in contentment. He was about to say something before your friends pulled up next to your car. Internally, you groaned. You just had to hope they wouldn't say anything to embarrass you. Without taking the chance, you started thinking of a reason to excuse him back to Draco’s house but it was too late as your friends were already rushing to your side. Act normal, act normal, act normal—

“Hey Y/N, who's this?” Miranda probed. Her voice was suggestive and you caught how she looked Blaise up and down. Bianca, the shyest of the three stood aside and waved at him.

“Blaise, these are my best friends Miranda and Bianca,” your hands gestured to the girls by your side. “Guys, this is Blaise.”

He took their hands and kissed the top of them. “Well, you ladies have a goodnight. I’ll see you later, Y/N.” He winked at you before he left.

Miranda let out a sigh before she spoke, “God, you’re so lucky.” She started heading into your house and pulled out a bottle of wine from her purse. Yeah. I am.

—

Draco has no idea what he walked into.

Santa Marie’s was absolute chaos. There was nearly a horde of injured wizards and witches that he and his team had to help. People filled the waiting room and beds were constantly being changed for the next patient.

The worst bit of it was that no one had any memory as to what happened. “This is a really strong memory charm. Not as bad as how Lockhart was left, though. Any idea who could’ve done this?” Draco worked as he healed one person after the next. He’s been running around with Ian at his side.

“Not really. This is the first time I’ve ever seen anything like this. Hell, this is probably the first time anything like this ever happened at Santa Marie’s,” Ian pondered. It was true. Something like this hasn’t been seen in this hospital. But Draco wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing about it. He became Head Healer at Santa Marie’s for a reason and he was going to prove he deserves this position.

When he found a few minutes to himself, he called his landline at home to let Blaise and Theo know that he might not come home for the night. Theo was the one to answer the call and offered to take Draco some clothes if need be, but Draco already had a bag in his office just in case something kept him there. Guess today’s that day.

“Are you by yourself?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, Blaise left about twenty minutes ago,” Theo confirmed.

“Where’d he run off to? Not like he has other friends around,” Draco chuckled. He used the time to eat a sandwich from the cafeteria vending machine. Wasn't as filling, but he figured it’ll do for now until he would be able to eat an actual meal.

“Don’t you remember? Blaise got his date with… what’s her name again? The muggle, witch one, fuck if I know,” Theo said. That’s today? Draco had forgotten all about it. Of course, if he had remembered, he’d probably be distracted from his work today. Wait, why?

Theo regained his attention by calling his name multiple times thinking Draco had just hung up. “I’ll call you later. Still got loads of work to be done.”

“Hey, do you think they’ll do it-” Draco cut the call off before he could listen to the end of that sentence. Last thing he wanted on his mind while he worked was Blaise doing… things with you. It wasn’t because he liked you. You’re his neighbor and things could get pretty weird. It took months just to get along and have one engaging conversation.

And honestly, Draco still didn't like how you were a Wiccan. He may not understand what exactly it means, but it didn't matter. What would even happen if for some reason, Blaise actually showed you what real magic looks like? That was what really concerned Draco. Showing a muggle magic. He didn't know what those laws were like under the Magical Congress, but under the Ministry it was only allowed to show muggles magic and the wizarding world if it had the promise of marriage or you were a mudbl— muggleborn.

And Draco knew Blaise. His longest committed relationship was probably three months, so marriage is a definite no. Draco didn't know why he was even worried about it, it's just one bloody date. He figured that America made him soft as he stood ther overthinking about literally nothing. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he almost didn't feel Ashley flick his forehead. “Ow! That hurt!”

“I’d be worried if it didn't. You were standing there like a damn zombie. You ready to get back out there?” Ashley sassed. Draco scarfed the last of his sandwich and followed Ashley back to the emergency room. Ugh, I want this day to end.

—

It was the best date you ever had. You weren't in love or anything, but you were definitely tired out. The dinner was amazing and the conversations were engaging and interesting. But it's the events after the dinner that you remember.

Unlike boyfriends and girlfriends before, Blaise took his time with you. Slow, sensual and just perfect. It was quite suspicious, actually. What man is this perfect? There's something up. Weird foot fetish, secret Star Wars nerd. Or worse. Star Trek you thought.

Two days after the date, your best friends drove straight to your house after a single text was sent. There was no way Miranda and Bianca were going to read about the details on a phone screen, no. They wanted to hear the explicit details with their own ears.

“He did what?” Miranda nearly choked on the wine. There was a certain confidence in your aura. You slept with a man hand crafted by the gods and it was the best time of your life.

Bianca sat bashfully listening to your story, but she leaned forward to hear you better. “Little trashy for a first date, but who the hell cares? Ten out of ten, would definitely do again.” You smirked at the end of your corny joke. Your friends looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “Alright, we get it. What now, though? He's only here for a month. What's gonna happen now?” Miranda questioned.

“Dunno. But for now, I'm just having fun. At first, I thought it'd be weird since his friend isn't the most pleasant to live next to, but Blaise is different.” You could only assume they were different, but considering you were getting along way better you figured it was safe to assume they were.

“What does your neighbor even look like? I haven't seen him anywhere,” Bianca noticed. Now that you realize, you haven't seen your brooding neighbor in a couple days. Not that you cared. “Actually, I don't know. Work, probably,” you shrugged your shoulders as you brought your wine glass to your lips.

“Where does he work?” Miranda asked.

“In the emergency room at a hospital,” you answered.

“Oh. You know where?” Miranda kept at it. “No, we don't really talk much. Took me nearly six months to even find out that he even talks, let alone what he does for a living.” Just as you were about to take another sip, a certain black car was pulling up.

From afar, you could see the dark circles extremely prominent under Draco’s eyes and noticed him wearing the same clothes he left the house in a couple days ago. You actually pitied him, but admired him at the same time.

Being a doctor is no easy task, and here was one across the yard working day and night to help people. “Is that him?” Bianca noticed him from out the window. You nodded in response and took another sip of wine.

“I'm moving to England. There's no way that they have this many attractive men. Watch me pledge allegiance to the Queen, I don't care,” Miranda rambled. You laughed at her in response. “You said there's another person visiting him?”

“Yeah, why?” you quirked an eyebrow. “What does he look like?” Miranda looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You shrugged your shoulders, “Haven't seen him yet. Never comes out but I think I heard him once in the backyard.”

After a couple hours of talking and laughing, the two best friends decidedly went home and called you once they arrived safely. The night was chilly and the sky was clear. You admired the sunset and the orange and purple hues in the sky from the bench of your porch. If you could, you'd paint the scenery.

The sound of a door opening made you look to the side and saw Draco pulling out a cigarette. He looked around and once his eyes landed on yours, he reached in his pocket for the lighter. Once it was lighted, he took a deep inhale and let the smoke out with a long puff.

“Long couple days?” you asked from across. He took another puff before he started walking to the fence separating your yards. You did the same and leaned against it next to him. “Feel like shit,” he said under his breath.

“You look like shit,” you commented. Draco glared at you and you laughed at him. It took him a couple seconds to drop his glare and then he started laughing as well. When you looked at him, you noticed how his eyes crinkled and how bright his smile was. It was the first time you'd ever seen him like this and it made you feel a bit warmer inside. You remembered how when he'd first moved in, all you wanted was to be friends with your new neighbor and have moments like this.

The silence lasted a while when your laughters died down. He finished the last of the cigarette and stepped on it as you just stood and wandered into nothing. Whether it was an awkward silence or not, you didn't know. But considering you were comfortable, maybe it wasn't.

You looked at your neighbor and reached one of your hands out to him. Draco looked confused, like he once did when you first went to his door and reached for a handshake. He stood still as he expected you to say something. The expression spoke for him so you finally explained yourself, “Friends?”

Draco seemingly thought about it, eyes going back and forth from your hand to your eyes. He then looked at his house for some reason and met your eyes again. Hesitantly, he shook your hand, “Friends.”

This was going to be an odd friendship for sure, but after months of trying, a friendship began.

—

next chp

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miekasa · 3 years

Note

and i found them! the actual ac unit snippet was hiding with the last one, so i thought i’d just drop them both here 😅 your appreciation means the world to me 🌼

💉the broken ac unit snippet [not the previous choppy summary, but the actual snippet that was hiding with erwintholomew’s]

it’s summer—dry heat, humidity, and warm winds all around. oc has been working in the outdoor makeshift hospital for her month’s rotation shift. tents of covid cases have been overflowing. it’s patient after patient, and she’s in PPE—full-on hazmat suit for 8 hours (sometimes more). food and water breaks between shifts aren’t feasible because they’re saving suits, bathroom breaks are timed before or after she suits up. it was literally hell.

levi’s been noticing his roomie coming home even more exhausted than usual. sometimes, she just goes to the kitchen and drinks down two glasses of water before heading for a nap. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. she looked like she’s lost a bit of weight. she was always a little paler and seemed to be wilted these days. he’s been trying to quietly shoulder a bit more of her chores, but he’s also pretty amazed at how she manages to keep up.

it was on a saturday afternoon when he found out. he had work and errands to run and some packages to send to his mom. he knocks on his roomie’s door to ask if she wanted him to do anything for her. he’s willing to do her groceries or make her dinner if it meant seeing her eat something other than instant ramen or a peanut butter sandwich. her muffled voice bids him to come in.

oc: oh heya

she gives him a tired wave. she’s sitting on her bed, reading something on her tablet. the first thing levi notices is that it’s way too fucking hot. her room is neat with a bit of a mess, a few notebooks strewn around her bed and a shirt hanging on the study chair, but obviously clean. the fan she has turned on was doing nothing to alleviate the heat though.

levi: you know you can turn your ac up in this heat right?

oc gives a tired chuckle at that.

oc: it’s been broken for a few weeks, but don’t worry! i already got a new one

levi is pretty speechless, considering that the heat wave has only been getting worse for the past month. she points to the unopened giant box crowding the space by her work desk.

oc: work’s just been exhausti—busy lately, but i’ll get around to it. i just need to switch them out and take the old one to recycling downstairs.

levi honestly doesn’t have anything to say to that because what the hell—

oc: did you need something?

he snaps out of it.

levi: i’m—i’m going out for errands. want me to get you anything?

oc: oh, are you passing by the pharmacy?

he wasn’t planning on it, but levi nods.

oc: yeah hang on, lemme just write the prescription for my pills. thank you!

levi shuts her door and speedwalks to his room. he knows he’s being irrational, and he knows that it isn’t his fault but fuck, she’s been living like that for weeks on top of all her work. he turns up his ac unit, rolls down his blinds, and fluffs the pillows on his bed before pulling the covers down. he knows that he could offer the suggestion of sleeping on the couch in their living room (they had an ac unit there after all), but no. she deserves better than that.

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

oc is pretty taken aback at his gruff tone, and she wonders what’s gotten him in a twist. she’s on the verge of passing out because work has been brutal and she has a golden weekend, so she was planning to catch up on a lot of rest. she follows quietly, wanting to quickly resolve whatever this was. her roomie’s always been a little...weird. it gets weirder when she realizes that he’s leading her to his room. cold air hits her when he opens the door and ushers her in, and she feels reborn.

levi: you can rest here for now

oc’s eyes widen at that. they’ve been roomies for over a year now, and respecting personal spaces has always been a huge factor contributing to their civil harmony as roommates.

oc: levi, it’s fine! i can’t, really! i don’t want to intrude, and besides, it’s fine, i—i’ve been alright anywa—

she’s cut off when he starts nudging (pushing) her towards the bed.

levi: seriously, i’ll be out the whole afternoon.

her but’s and what-if’s and i’m-fine’s fall on deaf ears. her roomie maneuvers her expertly and practically trips her to make her fall onto the bed. when her back hits the soft mattress, she feels a wave of fatigue hit. then he’s guiding her head towards the pillows while she mumbles about feeling like she’s overstepping, but levi’s room was cold and comfortable. the bed was a cloud, cool and soft and dragging her further into sleep. she feels the covers pulled up around her shoulders, and darkness claims her.

levi leaves quietly after shutting down the fan in her room. his afternoon is spent running some on-the-ground tasks for projects for work and personal errands. he does take an impromptu trip to the old deli near their place to buy some cuts of beef and a cheap bottle of red wine for a stew. he wonders if he’s breaching boundaries, but he makes an impulsive decision for once. he’ll drag her to dinner if he has to, she looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal in days. when he gets home, it’s late afternoon, but the sun was still up in all its scorching heat. he disinfects the goods thoroughly before heading for a shower himself. oc is still sleeping soundly when he checks in on her [levi thoughts: good, she really fucking needs it]. he goes into her room and replaces her broken ac unit, easily installing the new one and padding up the sides tightly. he brings the old one down before sweeping up the dust in her room that has settled from his handiwork. he turns it on to test it, and her room cools in minutes. satisfied, he leaves the ac unit on and starts dinner.

oc comes to slowly, mind still clouded and heavy from sleep. everything around her is blurry and she’s engulfed in softness smelling of black tea and spearmint. the realization of where she is hits like a freight train and this wakes her right up. the time on the clock by the bed says it’s almost half-past seven, and oc panics. she’s overstepped, her roomie’s gonna be pissed, and oh god, she didn’t mean to take that long of a nap. she practically runs out of his room. levi is setting two places at their table when she dashes in. a pot of stew was simmering on the stove. he looks up and just points to her meds.

levi: it’s already been disinfected.

oc opens her mouth for what was going to be a long apology when levi interrupts her before she even begins.

levi: i also installed your new ac unit. the broken one’s already at recycling.

oc’s eyes widen and she can feel tears welling up because it’s been weeks of exhaustion and uncomfortable hot nights and she’s been trying to find enough strength to do that and—

levi goes tomato-red when his roomie launches herself at him and wraps her arms around his shoulders tightly. he can hear her voice quivering, tone hovering on about-to-blubber-and-cry, repeatedly thanking him and apologizing for overstepping and he kind of just stands there for a moment. he pats her back awkwardly, wondering how to respond to her and decides to keep quiet and let her break the hug first. she might actually cry if he pushes her away.

oc lets him go gently, a little embarrassed at her outburst but she gives him a small smile and mutters a soft “sorry.”

levi: cut the apologies, brat. i offered. it’d be inhumane to let you sleep in that heat.

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile). he doles out servings of stew and rice, and they have a quiet dinner.

💉erwin’s own private gym in his penthouse snippet [in which erwin’s not even in this snippet, but he and his gym are catalysts of sorts]

it’s a rare occurrence that oc wakes before noon on her days off. so when she bumbles into the kitchen at 7am, craving for some tea and the little tiramisu her patient from work gave her, she bumps into levi. levi—also fresh out bed and only clad in boxer shorts. plaid dark pink ones that did wonders for his ass.

oc, completely forgetting that she’s in an oversized shirt that goes past her shorts and that her hair is a mess, stops mid-stride. her jaw drops. levi is built. not to any extreme body-builder kind to any extent. but he was fit and holy fuck his back alone was oh wow. yeah, she’s awake. levi turns at the sound of footsteps and has to suppress his smirk because oc’s appraisal was very very distracting, affirming, and ego-boosting. he thinks his roomie doesn’t even realize she is gawking [levi thoughts: she looks way too fucking cute and soft for someone half dead from a toxic shift yesterday and he wants to run his hands through her hair and knead the knots out of her shoulders and feel those legs—].

he truly has to hold in his laughter when oc literally goes “what the fuck” while waving around her hands gesturing to his abs and pecs. oc squints in the midst of her appraisal.

oc: how do you maintain all that in a pandemic??

levi sets down another mug and pours out more tea while explaining that erwin, who lives in the penthouse suite of the complex, has his own home gym. levi, hange, and moblit have exclusive access to it because they’re friends, they live in the same complex, they all work from home plus they clean up and help him maintain it.

levi: it’s a lot safer than public gyms.

oc is still chewing on this information while now blatantly staring at his thighs.

levi: i’m pretty sure erwin will let you use it too if you’re looking for someplace to work out. i can ask him if you want.

he adds some milk to her tea before walking over to oc and handing her a steaming mug of chai. he does this on purpose just to get a reaction out of her because he is absolutely basking in this. she is usually very composed and almost nothing fazes her, and he thinks he’s never seen her flush this deep. oc snaps out of it as she thanks him for the tea. she just nods, her eyes a little glazed over and unfocused.

oc: oh, th—that’s nice. i’ll think about it.

she primly grabs her tiramisu and walks back to her room, leaving levi smirking in their kitchen. she has thoughts that need processing.

oc thoughts: erwin happens to be filthy rich and roomie-free and can afford a penthouse. he dedicated a room in his penthouse to a fully-equipped gym. this is some really good chai. she pretty much stared at her roomie, with his knowledge, very disrespectfully at seven in the morning. her roommate is hot. pretty. cute. sexy. his voice—how has she never noticed? arms? abs? those thighs?? all of the above??? anyway, that v down his hips, his chest—yeah, her vibrator’s batteries die that night, and she’ll have to remember to get new ones after work. this is very for her, very bad indeed.

this was the h-word snippet 🥵 LMAO i had to give oc a little something because this isn’t one-sided after all 😌

SDKJSGHLF;DS ANON YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR MIND YOU’RE A LITTLE GENIUS YOU KNOW THAT!!! INCREDIBLE!!

when levi walks back to her room, oc’s head peeps out of the door.

oc: here, i just need three boxes and i can cashapp you the payment.

levi grunts, taking the prescription and folding it into his pocket.

levi: come with me.

THIS PART!! IS SO LEVI!! I’M OBSESSED!! I’m obsessed with the whole concept of him just... affectionately forcing her to nap in his room because it’s the least he can do to help ease her pain, and show that he cares; but this right here!! The way he had no intentions of going to the pharmacy, but is going to help her out anyway!! Begrudgingly taking the perscription, and immediately changing the subject away from the topic of her paying him back!! So good!! (And why do I get the feeling that he never accepted her cashapp lmaooo).

oc is about to argue when he fixes her with a glare that makes her sigh. she presses her palms into her cheeks in resignation.

levi: come on, i made dinner. you really need to eat something other than synthetic garbage and peanut butter.

oc sniffles and giggles. levi sets the food down and takes a seat beside her. he freezes when she grasps his hand.

oc: really, levi, thank you

levi shrugs (absolutely melting at her smile).

ALSO HERE!! I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know but the casual insulting her dinners lmaoo only to help her out; it’s the showing affection without outright saying it’s affection that’s so GOOD!! I’M OBSESSED!!

AND THE WHOLE GYM SEQUENCE!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! LOVE LEVI BEING JUST A LITTLE COCKY!! GOOD FOR HIM!! HE’S ATTRACTIVE!! HE SHOULD KNOW IT!! PLS but oc being just a little shameless and telling him how good he looks and just staring without feeling guilty LMFAOO GOOD FOR HER TOO!! GOOD FOR THEM!!

#💉 anon #PLEASE i need to see more of oc and erwin interacting if he can handle it PLEASE!!!#you don't understand i am OBSESSED!!!!!#long post

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 44: Tim

Tim can pinpoint the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Later, when he takes the time to think about it, he’ll be able to trace the progress of things and see all the signs, from his fear for them to his instinctive desire to reach out for them when he’s scared to the quiet comfort he feels when they’re together. He’ll remember that weird knot of jealousy he felt the very first morning when he saw the Primes cuddling and realize that it wasn’t a general I-wish-I-had-someone-to-love-me thing, it was specific to who was involved. He’ll figure out that he’s been quietly in love with Martin probably since the moment he saw him trying to apologize and look contrite with an armful of spaniel doing its level best to lick his face off with its tail going like a windmill, and that if there’s a moment he can point to later and say is the one where he completely fell for Jon it’s probably the soft look on his face as he tucked a quilt around Martin’s sleeping form.

But that’s all going to be in retrospect. The moment he knows comes a lot later and is a lot easier to detect.

After an exceptionally extended lunch that only ends when the afternoon crowd starts shuffling in, they part, Melanie with a promise to come by the Archives on Monday, Georgie with an offer to stop by and tell her story after she’s put her next episode of “What the Ghost?” to bed, Sasha with a cryptic reference to some sort of appointment and a promise to see them later. They discover what she means later that night when the doorbell rings and Tim opens it to find her and the Primes on their doorstep. Neither of them seem surprised to learn that Elias is forcing Jon on his grand tour, but they don’t seem pleased about it either. Jon Prime warns Jon, over and over again, to be careful. Tim would almost expect Jon to get exasperated, but he doesn’t. They actually have a pretty pleasant evening; Jon Prime cooks for them while they take turns telling him about dealing with Elias. He does seem pleased to hear Jon has reconnected with Georgie, and he and Martin Prime make the others laugh by sharing stories of dealing with their Melanie and Georgie. They pull out some board games after dinner, and while they all agree that with at minimum three people at the table who can literally access the sum total of human knowledge at a whim, Trivial Pursuit is right out, Monopoly is fair game.

Charlie comes over Saturday while his grandmother hosts one of her bridge nights. He’s extremely distressed to learn that Jon is going away again already, to the point that he throws himself into Jon’s arms and starts to cry. It takes all three of them the better part of an hour to get him calmed down, and it ends with Charlie curled on Jon’s lap, the two of them sandwiched between Martin and Tim. Tim looks at Charlie’s tear-streaked face and the heartsick look in Jon’s eyes and the tender concern in Martin’s, and he tightens his arms around them and tucks his chin over Jon’s head and hopes.

It rains pretty much all day on Sunday. Martin makes breakfast and brings it into the bedroom on a tray, and they sit close together and eat quietly and don’t talk about what’s bothering them. Finally, in desperation, Tim reaches under the nightstand on his side of the bed and fishes out a book he’s been meaning to read for years. He wraps his arm around Jon and manages to get a hand on Martin’s shoulder; Martin, evidently taking the hint, scoots closer and does the same, and Tim begins reading out loud. It transpires that the book is one of Martin’s childhood favorites, but Jon’s never read it before and is both delighted at the novelty and enraptured by the story. They spend the whole day curled up together, rain lashing at the windows, underneath the apple-leaf quilt Tim’s grandmother made him, heads touching as they take turns reading aloud. It’s a stolen moment of peace in a world gone crazy and Tim tucks it away in his memory to cherish later when he needs it.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls onto his side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first thing he’s able to make out is Martin, doing the exact same thing he is—just watching. Jon, curled into a knot between them, is still asleep, but from the twisted, pained look on his face, it’s not an easy slumber.

Tim meets Martin’s eyes over Jon’s head and reads there the same worries and fears he has himself. Jon’s nightmares are bad. They’ve known that from the beginning, when Martin was recovering from the worms and they were all camping out in Tim’s living room, and they’ve only grown worse as time goes on. The screaming terrors from reliving what he went through with Orsinov have stopped…for now…but Tim knows in his heart of hearts that what’s making it easier these days is him and Martin bracketing Jon and doing their best to physically shield Jon from the Eye. There’s no real stopping it, but they can at least help.

But now Jon is going to Beijing, and God knows where after that, and he’s going alone. They won’t be able to help him with the nightmares if he’s not there to protect. And that’s besides the fact that Tim knows they’re both trying not to consider the possibility of some other monster trying to take Jon away from them when they’re not there to protect him. It doesn’t even have to be a supernatural one. As easy as it is to blame every horrible thing that happens on one of the Fears, there are ordinary people that are perfectly capable of being horrible on their own, and it would be just Jon’s luck to be caught up in something at random and get hurt, or worse. And they won’t be there to help. Again.

“I guess we could just…go with him,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “Whether Elias wants us to or not.”

Martin shakes his head slowly. “I still don’t have a passport. And…I don’t think we can leave Sasha alone in the Archives. You can go, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Tim sighs and gently tucks a strand of hair back from Jon’s forehead. His skin is damp and clammy. “It’s a mess. He might be safer away from the Archives than we are, but…I worry, you know?”

“I know. I do, too.” Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “We just got him back. And we’ve got months to the Unknowing.”

Tim hesitates. He’s been thinking about that. “I don’t know that we do, actually. I—I don’t think it’s time-sensitive. I mean, I don’t think they have to wait for a certain time or anything. I think they just have to be…ready.”

“How will we know when they’re ready?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” Tim stares down at Jon’s face. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid they’ll be ready before he gets back—”

“Or hoping,” Martin completes. “Because if the Unknowing happens while he’s overseas…at least he won’t be caught up in it. At least they’ll leave him alone.” He’s quiet for a moment. “At least it’s one thing we can protect him from.”

“God. I just…want to wrap him in bubble wrap and a blanket and fight off the world with a stick. Or at least keep him right here with us. I wish we could just stay here and let the world sort itself out for a change. Why do we have to be the ones doing all this?”

Martin reaches over and brushes Tim’s cheek with his fingertips, ever so lightly. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for,” he says softly.

Tim reaches across Jon’s sleeping form and pulls Martin closer, but he doesn’t say anything further.

The alarm goes off not long after; Jon is taking an early-morning flight by virtue of it being the cheapest available option, and he’s got to be there close to three hours early to check in. It’s too early for any of them to be properly hungry, but Martin makes tea while Jon takes a shower and Tim…sits around feeling useless.

As if sensing that, Martin glances over his shoulder at Tim. “Does he have any statements with him?”

“Oh, God, yeah, let me check.” Tim heads over to where Jon’s bag is. It’s a simple messenger bag he’s probably had since university, if not longer, frayed in spots and festooned with patches and pins. Jon never brought this to the Institute, instead using a professional faux-leather laptop bag, which isn’t surprising; it’d be pretty hard for him to sell the “serious academic” persona if he’s walking around advertising that he listens to Sinner’s Gin.

He opens the bag and looks through it. Jon’s packed a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of paperback books, and of course the tape recorder, his personal one. But no statements.

Quietly, Tim goes over to the end table and opens the drawer. Inside are two tapes and a slim folder. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hold on his powers, bracing for the colors to pop up. It’s surprisingly easier to filter out the Eye and see the beneath colors than usual—whatever’s in the folder glows orange around the edges but green in the middle, and one of the tapes just seems to have indigo stripes through the green rather than them being layered on top of each other. Like the Eye isn’t hiding the truth from him anymore, like it’s letting him really See.

He files that information away to deal with after he’s got some caffeine in him and nudges the Stranger tape out of the way; it’s probably the one he and Martin listened to, so it’s no good, it’s already been used. The other one is pure, blinding green—an Eye statement that Gertrude recorded, which is unusual. Tim seals off his ability and reaches for the tape. It takes him three tries to pick it up without dropping it—his hands are shaking, he guesses because he’s upset about Jon leaving—but he finally carries it and the folder over to tuck them into Jon’s bag, then seal it up again.

“He didn’t,” he tells Martin, heading back into the kitchen. Martin sighs and hands him a cup of tea. “But you never took back the ones you brought home after that whole thing with the Not-Diana, so I put them in his bag.”

“God, I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Martin murmurs. “Still, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Tim pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “God, how has it only been a week?”

Jon comes into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower; it’s down to about his collar now and takes a while to dry. Martin silently hands him a cup of tea, too. None of them speak while they drink. It’s as if these last few minutes at home are too precious, or too heavy, for words. At last, though, Jon glances at the kitchen clock and swallows hard. “Time to go.”

Pure devastation flashes through Martin’s eyes, but he simply nods and takes the cups from him and Tim to put them in the sink. Tim worries at his lip as he studies Jon. “You’ve got everything? Passport, wallet, phone?”

A faint smile tugs at Jon’s lips briefly. He reaches into his pockets and produces the requisite items—a burgundy passport in near-pristine condition, a black billfold that’s seen better days, and the new phone they picked up for him Saturday morning that he’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up. “Charger’s in my bag.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

They take Tim’s car, not because Jon minds them driving his car but because Tim’s has a column shift and a bench seat in the front, which means Jon can sit between Tim and Martin for the journey. Traffic isn’t too bad this early in the morning, at least not until they get closer to the airport, but Jon is apparently far from the only person traveling today, so there’s a bit of a snarl before Tim is able to navigate up to Terminal Three.

He hesitates at an intersection and looks at Jon. “Do you want me to drop the two of you off at the door or—”

“No. There’s time,” Jon says softly. “You can park first. Then you’ll both know where it is.”

There’s more to that than what Jon is saying, but Tim doesn’t question it. Instead he finds a space in the short-term lot for Terminal Three, and if it’s one of the farthest spots from the terminal doors, well, there might not be a lot of people here dropping off or picking up at this time of day, but who knows what the situation will be by the time they go to leave? Jon slides out of the car and doesn’t take Tim’s arm or Martin’s, but they walk close enough together that it doesn’t really matter.

The doors open up into an enormous space. Martin, who’s clearly never flown before, looks around him with wide eyes, and Jon shrinks back slightly. Tim gently ushers them to one side of the door, where there are a couple of benches, and heads off to the departure boards to make sure they’re in the right terminal. Once he’s located Jon’s flight on the boards (on time, unsurprising for an early-morning flight), he makes his way back to where he left them. Jon has edged closer to Martin and Martin has an arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders, and both of them look both terrified and heartsick. Tim looks at them, unobserved for the moment, and he’s struck by the urge to drag them both home, shut the door of their bedroom, draw the curtains, and stay there until the Unknowing collapses on its own. As badly as he wants revenge, as much as he wants to hit back at the thing that murdered his brother, he’ll give that up in a heartbeat if it’s the only way to keep Jon and Martin safe.

The penny drops then, bounces off just the right pegs, lands squarely in the right cup and oh.

Tim stands stock-still for a moment, stunned by the swift and sudden revelation. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why it surprises him so much; it’s not like he hasn’t known he’s polyamorous since he was fifteen, and God knows he’s wanted to kiss both of them more times than he can count. But, somehow, he’s been convincing himself they’re just friends, as close as brothers maybe, but nothing more than that. And, well, maybe they are. It’s more than that on Tim’s end, though.

He’s in love with Jon and Martin both, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses either of them. And Jon’s about to go haring off across the world alone, and Martin keeps accidentally coming to the attention of things that want to hurt or kill him, and oh, God, Tim is so incredibly screwed.

He shakes himself out of the stupor. He can deal with this later. Or never, as the case may be, but he promises himself he’ll deal with it later and heads over to the other two. Jon sees him and pulls, with obvious effort, away from Martin. “Is this the right terminal, or—?”

“No, you’re good. Your check-in counter is down this way.” Tim indicates the large sign for the airline Jon will be flying on the first leg of his journey—he’ll apparently be changing planes in Copenhagen.

They stay at Jon’s side all the way up to the check-in counter, where he provides his identification and credit card to the rather stiff old man behind the counter, who keeps sneering at the three of them in a way that makes Tim very much want to hit him. The man asks rather more questions than Tim is used to, even for an international flight, and he’s about to step in and explode when the man finally, finally hands Jon his boarding pass and moves on to the next person waiting.

“How did he manage to make ‘have a good trip’ sound like a curse?” Jon says under his breath as they turn towards the security checkpoint.

Martin snorts. “It’s like ‘may you live in interesting times.’”

“I’ll pass. After this, I would like my times to be as un-interesting and quiet as possible, thank you.” Jon smiles, but it melts away almost instantly.

There’s virtually no wait at the security checkpoint, Tim notices, or at least not compared to how it would be later in the day. Jon will be able to breeze through it in a matter of minutes. And according to the signs posted everywhere in huge letters, Tim and Martin won’t be able to accompany him. Martin stares at one of the signs boldly declaring TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT for a long minute. His face is implacable, but Tim knows what’s behind it, because he’s feeling it too.

Jon looks at the queue, and the security gates, and the signs telling him to remove his shoes and have his ticket and passport ready. He turns to face Tim and Martin, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then suddenly gives a small, choked sob and lunges forward, clutching them both by the front of their shirts and burying his face in the narrow dip where their shoulders touch.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Tim wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Martin; Martin does the same, and the three of them cling to one another tightly. He can feel Jon trembling and hear Martin’s breath hitching in his chest and he almost dares to let himself hope, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think that, not now, or he’ll drive himself crazy with wanting and fear. And if he’s wrong, if they don’t…it’s better to assume they don’t and possibly be surprised later than believe they do and almost certainly be crushed.

There’s soft music coming from somewhere, a gentle and soothing melody in a choked and broken voice, and it takes Tim a second to realize that it’s Martin, singing quietly so that just Tim and Jon can hear him. It’s a plaintive melody and the lyrics are a little melancholy, but the line when I return united we will be does at least warm Tim’s chest, just a little.

Jon gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back, almost reluctantly. “I—I’d best—I shouldn’t miss the flight.”

“We’ll wait,” Tim says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Until—until you’re through.”

Jon nods. “I’ll let you know when I get to the gate, and when I board.”

“And when you land,” Martin insists. “I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise. I—” Jon swallows hard, looking from Tim to Martin and back, then steps forward and hugs Martin tightly. Martin hugs him back, and they murmur something to one another before Jon eases back, turns, and hugs Tim just as fiercely.

Tim hugs him back. He’s still too thin, feels too frail, somehow. He’s barely recovered from the hell Orsinov put him through and now they’re sending him off on his own, and Tim wants to keep him here, but he knows he can’t.

“Please look after him,” he whispers in Tim’s ear.

“I will,” Tim promises. “You be careful, you hear me?”

“I hear you. And I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.” Jon squeezes him briefly, then slowly, almost reluctantly, lets go. He takes a deep breath, slips out of his shoes, and heads over to join the queue.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Tim’s strangely relieved by that.

True to their promise, Tim and Martin stay where they are, side by side, watching as Jon inches ever closer to the metal detectors and security checkpoint. When Jon places bag and shoes in a bin to go on the conveyor belt, Martin reaches over without looking and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim grips his tightly in return, and they only…watch.

They can barely see him on the other side of the security gate, but for a brief moment, Tim sees Jon hesitate and look over his shoulder. Tim waves, Martin does too, and Jon raises his hand in farewell before slowly turning and walking away.

Martin lets go of Tim’s hand, but before Tim has time to regret its absence, he puts his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. Tim slides his arm around Martin’s waist. They don’t need to say anything; they just turn and walk away.

People mostly ignore them, although one or two give them inscrutable looks. Tim doesn’t know if they think they’re a couple and disapprove or think they’re mourning something or what, but he decides he doesn’t care as long as they leave him alone. They make their way slowly back to Tim’s car, but don’t get in; Tim leans against the back of it, and Martin joins him, arms folded as they look up at the still-black sky.

“What song was that?” Tim finally asks. “That you were—before he left.”

Martin rubs a hand over his face. “It’s called ‘The Leaving of Liverpool.’ I think. It’s—it’s the song my dad always sang the night before he left, when he was putting me to bed.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then adds softly, “I fell asleep.”

“What?” Tim turns to look at Martin, frowning.

“The night he—we had this whole routine at bedtime when he was about to leave for the fishing run, and one of them was him singing that song to me. I sang along on the chorus, once I learned it, which didn’t take long.” Martin isn’t looking at Tim, his eyes still on the sky, but Tim can see the glint of tears in them. “Normally I’d settle down and close my eyes after he left, but that last time…I was tired. I don’t remember why, but I fell asleep before he got to the last verse, so I wasn’t awake for the whole song.” He turns to look at Tim. “And then he never came back. I thought it was my fault. I thought—it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but at first I thought it was like a-a magic charm or something, and I broke the ritual and that’s why he didn’t come back. I thought something had happened to him and—”

“Oh, Martin.” Tim reaches over and pulls Martin into a tight hug. Martin hugs him back, and Tim can feel the tears spilling over. “It’s not your fault. And—and Jon’s going to be okay. He will. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” Martin says softly. “It’s just…”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to finish. “I know.”

They don’t go anywhere. They probably should, probably don’t need to sit in the parking lot, but they do. They lean against Tim’s car and watch the stars, occasionally punctuated by the lights of planes taking off or landing. Jon texts them both to let them know he’s through customs, and then that he’s at his gate. Still they don’t leave, and still they don’t speak.

Finally, finally, the text comes to both of their phones. [Just took my seat on the plane. Have to turn my phone off now. Will text you when I arrive.]

Martin’s hands shake as he sends the reply. Tim waits for it to pop up on his own phone. [Have a safe flight.]

Jon’s next text comes almost at the same instant; he must have been typing it to send while Martin was trying to reply himself. Three simple words. Their meaning can’t be clearer. Still, Tim has to stare at them for a long moment.

[Miss you already.]

Slowly, Tim raises his head to look at Martin and finds Martin staring back with a look that’s probably identical to the one on Tim’s face. He’s pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s not crying. They’re probably both past tears at this point. It’s just fear and longing and the ache of missing a part of themselves.

Tim fishes out his keys and holds them up; Martin nods, and they both climb into the car. When Tim turns the ignition on, the entire dashboard flashes for a moment—there’s a short in the electrical system somewhere; he’s been meaning to get it looked at, but he doesn’t drive much these days and this doesn’t happen every time, just occasionally—and the radio kicks on of its own volition. A reedy American tenor belts out the last line of the first verse. Already I’m so lonesome I could die…

Tim scowls at the radio. “It should be illegal to play this song within ten miles of a major airport.”

Martin gives a soft, slightly broken laugh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t know that I can eat, but we can give it a shot.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin gives Tim a sideways look. “I promised I’d look after you.”

Tim grins and tries, once again, to kill the sudden flare of hope in his chest. “Same.”

“God, he’s such a worrywart.” Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know, pot, kettle, et cetera. Want to call Sasha and see if she’s up?”

“No, I don’t want to die today.” Tim puts the car in gear and backs out of the space. “Come on. There have to be a few places open this early that won’t be too expensive for us to not eat at.”

Martin reaches over and puts his hand over Tim’s, not squeezing or holding, just resting it there. Tim slips his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand and rubs it gently, feeling it catch against the very, very slight roughness of Martin’s skin. The scars from the worms have faded as much as they ever will, mere pale circles against his skin, but there’s one on his right pinkie finger where the worm very nearly went all the way through, and there’s an ever-so-faint ridging there that Tim keeps rubbing at, over and over, as if he can erase the hurt and the marks from Martin’s skin.

It’s not until they get to the café that it occurs to Tim that what they’ve just done is exactly what the Primes did in those early days when they were still trying to conceal their relationship. It seems too dangerous to consider the ramifications of that, though, so Tim settles for sliding into the same side of the booth as Martin and leaning against his shoulder, needing some of his strength and warmth and softness.

Martin lets him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #WE'VE GOT TWO OUT OF THREE REALIZATIONS FOLKS #angst #pining #heartbreak #look Jon's leaving for America and Tim has just figured out he's in love #what did you expect to happen

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Gaps in His Files (Part 12) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

This one is very heavy. Patton is spiraling hard and expresses some very unhealthy deep seated views of himself and his role in relationships. So be warned and if you want to wait to read this, feel free. Basically all of the warning in the notes apply in this one except medical procedures.

Patton’s back ached from falling asleep on the floor next to the couch once again the night before. It had been horribly quiet in the apartment in the last 24 hours since Patton returned from the hospital to find Logan gone. He didn’t know what to do.

They’d defaulted back to looking through the files that they’d already pretty much read through at this point and Patton was starting to wonder if there was even any point. They’d looked through the red ones last night and the green ones this morning before rotating back to the blue ones which were now spread all over the coffee table.

Patton had snagged one of the fluffier blankets from the closet and curled up under it, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he might feel worse because he couldn’t keep insisting that Logan pet it like he normally would.

Logan didn’t even seem to care enough to voice his obvious unhappiness with Patton. His silence just made Patton feel worse and worse and made his thoughts spin and spin. Logan was tapping his fingers against the table thinking about something. Usually Patton would respond to that action with patient fondness, but today it just made him want to curl up into a ball wondering what he was thinking. Patton’s mind kept returning again and again to that place it had been in on and off the last two months except that place was getting darker and darker every time he came back around to it.

Ever since the rejected proposal, Patton had tried to figure out what it was about him Logan didn’t like. He’d tried all sorts of things. He’d tried not inviting himself over to his apartment as much, not being as pushy about Logan taking care of himself, offering sex less, offering sex more, not being as pushy about spending time with him, being more quiet, letting him decide what they did on dates, not talking as much about his job, not depending on him as much when he was stressed, not crying in front of him when he was overwhelmed. He’d tried. He’d tried so many things.

The problem was Logan. Or at least Logan before.

What Logan hated most in life was change and he’d clearly gotten used to how Patton naturally acted over the years. Thus, he kept getting distressed when Patton tried to change something.

When Patton avoided his apartment for over a week, he’d asked if Patton was mad at him and then since Patton had that Saturday off, he’d managed to cajole Patton into spending all day in Logan’s bed napping and cuddling.

The not pushing him to care for himself had only lasted a few hours. Patton knew it had to be annoying, but he couldn’t stop himself from reminding him to eat breakfast and Logan hadn’t seemed mad when he’d started back up. He’d even brushed a kiss across his cheek when Patton handed him a plate of bacon and breakfast potatoes.

He seemed to be able to tell when Patton wanted to have sex with a startling amount of pinpoint accuracy, like he had Patton down to a science. When Patton wanted it, but didn’t start something, he initiated it himself and he looked at him with abject confusion when Patton tried something when he didn’t want it.

He showed up to the hospital to take Patton to lunch in the cafeteria when he didn’t mention meeting up for lunch because he assumed the reason was that Patton was too busy that day. He pushed when Patton didn’t speak much, citing that he was worried something was wrong and he insisted on his input on dates before he’d move forward with any plans.

Patton had kept quiet about his job for three days before Logan had gone and talked to Remy behind his back to ask if something was wrong at work. Under pressure from both of them, he’d spewed out the buildup of stress all over the place. And it was so hard. It was so hard not to cry about it when Logan pressed soft kisses to his cheeks and temples and asked him if he was okay.

But now Logan wasn’t used to Patton and wasn’t set into patterns that he probably didn’t actually like, but just allowed because he wanted to be nice to Patton and was used to it. The problems with Patton were becoming apparent every time Logan side eyed him.

Patton had been hoping that maybe he could figure out from this version what parts of Patton he really did not like. Then Patton could hold more firm about getting rid of those things once Logan got his memories back. He’d definitely appreciate it after an adjustment period. That is if Logan even wanted him after this. He hoped he’d at least give Patton a chance to fix himself.

Patton was good at pretending. He knew how to cut pieces of himself off to get people to love him back. He’d had a lot of practiced. Make sure to do your homework at the dinner table at mom’s house so she knows you’re not being lazy. Cook when you’re at dad’s house so dinner is ready when he gets home from work, but make sure you’ve cleaned up by the time he gets home, so he doesn’t see you cooking. Don’t let grandma cook potatoes; she doesn’t like them and will blame you for them being on the dinner table. Never turn on the television at mom’s house; it rots the brain. Make sure the television is on the sports channel by the time dad gets home. Don’t touch grandma’s remote no matter how loud the volume is. Sit up straight for mom. Don’t cry in front of dad. Be quiet for grandma. Pretend dad doesn’t exist for mom. Call dad’s new girlfriend mom. Don’t try to correct grandma when she calls you by your dead grandfather’s name. Get good grades. Get into a good college. Get a job that pays well. Don’t complain. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t be gay.

Patton knew how to do it all. Logan had never asked it of him. Never, not once had he told Patton that he needed to fix himself or that he had to change for him; he deserved it more than any of them.

“We’ve talked a lot about me,” Logan said surprising Patton out of his churning thoughts especially since he had barely spoken all day. “but what about you?” he asked. “Tell me more about you. Tell me about our relationship. Why do you want to be with me or at least the me with my memories?”

“I…” Patton started. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Then tell me one.”

Patton bit his lower lip. “You read my papers.”

“Your papers?”

“I’ve written a few research papers and you looked them up and read them and tried to understand them because you wanted to be able to talk to me about something I was interested in. That was the first time in my life that someone looked at me and it felt like they actually wanted to know me. And you kept doing things like that. You remember my coffee order and bring my favorite sandwich to the ER even when you know I’m in surgery and I can’t be there to see you so you just leave it with someone else to give it to me when I’m done. You eat the stupid cafeteria food at the hospital when I only have time for a 30-minute lunch just to spend time with me and after the first time we had sex, you got up early and cooked me an omelet because you didn’t know how to cook anything else. You try to find ways to help me feel better when I’m upset even though it doesn’t come naturally to you and you’re willing to throw popcorn in my mouth from across the room with your powers just because I ask even though you think it’s silly. You once took me on a picnic to a park 5 hours away because I mentioned how much I loved it when a group of us went there on a retreat during medical school even though you don’t like eating outside because of the bugs. And you didn’t even complain… well, I mean, you did complain, but only enough to make me laugh, not so I thought you really resented being there with me. When we go to parties and I say I want to go home, you pretend to get a migraine so we can leave early and sometimes we end up having sex in the car outside. And even though you complain about how annoying you think Remy is, you know he’s my friend so you still make a point to make an effort with him and hang out with him even when I’m not there. So…” he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You really love me,” he stated, eyes intent on him and unreadable.

“Every part of me loves you Logan,” Patton said, gripping the soft blanket in his fingers. “You can have whatever pieces you want.”

“Whatever pieces?” he echoed.

Patton forgot for a moment that the man in front of him did not have context, that he didn’t and couldn’t understand what Patton was asking. “Look,” he said. “I know there is something wrong with me. I know there are parts of me that annoy you or make you angry, but if you just tell me what they are I’ll change them.”

“You think I don’t like all of you?” Logan asked.

“Clearly not!” Patton said, standing up suddenly and throwing the blanket off onto the ground. He paused and took a breath, forcing his tone to be calm and clinical, like he did when he got too emotional at work. “Look at this,” he gestured to the piles of files in front of him: blue, green, and red. “This is everything from your personal files to your work files to the files for your alter ego, but where am I? You have the receipt from the first fast food order you bought with your credit card, the invitation from your five-year high school reunion that you didn’t even go to, and your sixth-grade report card. But there is nothing in here about me. Not really. I am not important enough for you to keep. But I can be if you just tell me how. I can be whatever makes you happy. If you love me at all, I will rip myself apart until I’m what you need.”

Logan looked him directly in the eyes. “If I love you, I don’t want that.”

Patton blew up. “Then what do you want, Logan?!” He snapped his mouth closed and looked away, tears that had been building since Logan had lost his memory, since Patton’s marriage proposal had been rejected, since his mom had first called him stupid because he’d gotten a B on a math test in the 5th grade, springing to his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he swallowed and stood, a picture of calm. “It has been a stressful couple of days,” he said, flicking a tear off his cheek. “I think I need to go back to my place and rest for a while. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and we can… I don’t know, try aromatherapy or something.”

Before Logan could say anything more, Patton beat a hasty retreat.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 13

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes #unhealthy views of sex

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larchraven · 3 years

Text

SHATs RPS week: Shatsome Smexy Saturday

Title: Hot and Ready

Ship: Sips/Trott/Ross/Smith (Shatsome)

Rating: Gen

Wordcount: 1.5k

Description: Two pizza parlors, both alike in dignity....in fair Bristol where we lay our scene...

Content details: An AU that Ghost and I came up with because the town I go to for my grocery shopping has two pizza places RIGHT across the street from each other. Thus, an AU was born.

Ghost even made logos when we were first talking about this. Please thank them for coming up with the name of the Hat's pizza place :3

I really did want to write some porn for today, but while thinking about my ideas they were way too long and complicated for me to write while I feel this awful. Hopefully (hopefully) I'll be changing up my work schedule soon so I'll have longer weekends which hopefully (HOPEFULLY) might mean I get to write more. No promises, but a bird can dream, right?

Thanks to everyone who posted stuff this week, it was really nice and made me very soft for all the love still in this fandom, however small ;w;

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Trott sipped his still scalding coffee, peering out through the front windows of Pizza Hat at the street lit with bright late afternoon sun. He usually showed up to work just before the dinner rush, and today was no different. Time to check in with Ross and Smith about the early portion of their open hours, and drink a rushed cup of coffee before all hell broke loose.

It was also a good opportunity to try to catch an eyeful of the owner of Sips’s, their across the street rival in the pizza business. Trott squinted, trying to see through the other shops front window to no avail.

“Trott, mate, I know the depth of your crush on the enemy knows no limits, but we could really use some help prepping all these damn vegetables over here,” Smith yelled at him over the music from the kitchen.

“My shift doesn’t start until four,” Trott said absently. He burned his tongue a bit on an overzealous drink of coffee.

“But you’re here now, so make yourself useful, come on mate!”

Trott sighed, wishing once again that today would have been the day that he’d worked up the nerve to actually go over to the other shop and say hello, rather than walking past with lingering eyes.

Ross tried, and failed, to hide a smug smile as Trott walked past him where he stood, folding boxes by the register.

“Stuff it Ross.” He put down his insulated mug of caffeine by the register with a bit more force than was necessary.

“I said nothing!”

“It was all in the expression.”

“It’s cute Trott. In a desperate, pathetic sort of way.”

In the months since they had opened shop, business had been good. They seemed to have established themselves in a niche left empty by Sips’s, staying open later and catching the students from the nearby university and bar goers needing a grease fix. Their ice creams also drew people in, with no other business nearby. Their lunch line was present, if not as long as their rival’s. Sips’s offered sandwiches along with the pizzas, and he had a dizzying array of vegan and vegetarian options on top of the carnivore staples. Trott felt good about it, and that good feeling had been completely unfettered until the afternoon that he had decided to try out one of the sandwiches from the man across the way before he headed in to work.

It had been a mistake to open the door that afternoon in nothing but his pajama bottoms. A mistake made exponentially worse due to the fact that it was no mere delivery boy who carried two of his biodegradable eco-friendly containers in one hand, and a cold bottle of soda – perspiring and dripping onto the floor outside of their apartment – in the other. Trott had not ordered a soda, nor a small personal sized pizza. And Trott had not expected Sips to be the one standing on the stoop, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Checking out the competition?” he had said that day.

“I didn’t realize you were so hard put that you have to make deliveries yourself,” Trott had quipped back.

“Oh, I never make deliveries usually.” Sips had said, holding out the food and drink. “But I figured this one was special.”

“Lucky me.”

“Vegan Barbeque pizza and a soda with your sandwich. My treat.”

“You really shouldn’t have, there was no need to come over here to this shithole yourself.”

“But I did.”

Trott had tipped him exorbitantly, handing over the money and shutting the door with an abrupt goodbye before Sips had had a chance to argue about the bills he’d been handed.

Since finding out about it, Smith and Ross had refused to let him know peace.Their relentless comments ran the gamut from remarks about sleeping with the enemy to a newfound fetish for retirees. Trott countered with reasonable statements about how running two restaurants with overlapping but distinct menus did not enemies make, to the fact that Sips was not that old and was still very much working. It didn’t do any good, and seemed to only add fuel to the constant loving jokes from his partners in business and pleasure.

Resigning himself to the task of prepping vegetables to the tune of mild heckling from Smith, a problem he himself had caused when he insisted they diversify their vegetarian options, Trott tied on his red apron and picked up a mandoline.

Humming along to the music that played through their aged stereo, only loud enough for himself, he set to work. Smith let him be, apparently contented with his brilliant remarks earlier. He even patted Trott’s shoulder as he walked past to join Ross at the front, as if consoling Trott for his heart’s futile whims.

Up to his elbows in onions, Trott had a bit more on his mind than the conversation Ross and Smith were having. He didn’t notice it had stopped until he heard a familiar voice that sent a bolt from the top of his head straight down to the soles of his worn and tomato sauce stained shoes.

“Hi boys.”

Trott whipped his head towards the register. Wearing a baseball cap with the words “THE GUY” embroidered on the front, still in his flour dusted apron, was Sips himself.

Ross and Smith looked back at Trott simultaneously. He glared at them, and they turned back around hastily.

“Can we get you anything?” Ross was the one who regained his composure first. Smith’s neck was looking a bit redder than it had a moment before.

“I was hoping that maybe you guys would be willing to do me a trade.” He held up a paper bag, hidden until that moment behind the counter. Trott abandoned the onions, and hurried to wash his hands. “Some sandwiches for a couple pints of ice cream. The air con broke over at mine, and the boys in the kitchen could use something to cool off.”

He set the bag on the counter, pushing it towards Smith and Ross. His smile broadened a bit as Trott appeared from the kitchen.

“Hi Trott. Well, how about it? If you’d rather I pay, I’m more than happy to give the sandwiches as repayment for Trott’s generosity tipping the other night.”

Ross and Smith exchanged looks. Not that they would object to his sucking off the occasional delivery man, but he didn’t need to endure Sips jokes of a whole new nature.

“We’d be happy to trade,” he said, since it seemed like Ross and Smith had most inconveniently finally found an ability to shut up. “What flavors would you like?”

Trott picked up a fresh scoop and waited as Sips leaned on the glass ice cream case with crossed arms, looking up at the list of flavors.

“How many will you let me have?”

“As many as your guys can eat.”

“That’s a dangerous offer Trotty-too-hottie. Let’s go with four? Double Chocolate Chunk, Triple Berry, Cookie Blast...and Vanilla.”

“Vanilla?” Trott paused packing down ice cream into the little cardboard tub.

“I like vanilla. What can I say? I’m an easy guy to please.” Sips winked at him. Trott was pretty sure he heard Ross swear, but he was too busy focusing on acting as aloof as possible to care.

“Nothing wrong with the classics.”

He dropped the used scoop into the metal container of water, bagging up the ice cream with a handful of plastic spoons and napkins in one of their plastic bags with the shop’s logo.

“You’re welcome any time Sips. We’ve recently added a number of vegetarian options to the menu, and are working on a vegan ice cream or two, if you’re ever interested in trying them.”

“Why thank you Trott. I just might have to do that.” He plucked one of the paper takeout menus from the counter.

“Trott.” He tipped his baseball cap, and Trott had to close his eyes for a beat too long to keep from sinking to the floor. “Trott’s boyfriends.” He repeated the hat tip, and left the shop in stunned silence.

Trott crossed his arms, looking over at Smith and Ross. They stared at the door still.

“Ross..?” Smith left the question that followed hanging in the air.

“Yeah. Yeah I get it now. I understand Trott’s obsession.”

Trott barked a laugh.

“You mocked me!” He shouted, gleefully. Pointing. “You’ve mocked me for months!”

“Yes Trott, and we’re very sorry. You’re right about the hot old man,” Ross said, as if his contrition could stop Trott’s vindication.

“Oh you’re not getting out of it that easy, either of you! No, now I’m the one who laughs!”

“Trott, anything we can do to stop you from this self-righteous tirade?”

“Chopping all those onions,” he said, full of vicious glee. “Might help.”

Smith heaved a sigh, and retreated to the kitchen. Ross handed him his tumbler of coffee, and Trott, self satisfied and a bit shaky with the adrenaline of the whole ordeal, abandoned them to stew in their misery.

Trott sat down at a table in the window, watching Sips walk back across the street with his bag full of ice cream, and resumed drinking his coffee. He waved back when Sips raised a hand before disappearing back inside his restaurant. Smiling to himself, Trott took a long and satisfied drink of coffee, now at the prefect temperature.

#i did it #*lays down*#now i need a nap or i am NEVER going to make it through staying up all tonight #ill post these to ao3 shortly for those that perfer to read there #rps #shatsome #hatsfic #yogfic #raven fic #sorry no porn.......#i could not come up with anything that would have been a reasonable amount to write.....#just imagine smith and ross having frustrated sex in the walk in

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vikingpoteto · 4 years

Text

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 5 on AO3

______________________

Relationships: (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all.

________________________

Jason Todd is many things. A street rat. A literature nerd. A former hero. A crime-lord. Dealing with anger issues. Ignoring a whole lot of other issues. But he isn’t an idiot. And, while he’s been bamboozled more times he can count, he realizes Tim Drake is a bigger conundrum than he anticipated. He isn’t about to be fooled again.

He thought he had Tim figured out. Rich kid. Too smart for his own good. Smug beyond repair. No regard for his own well-being. Incapable of holding grudges. He thought the kid couldn’t surprise him, not in a way that mattered, until that first night.

That’s when he starts taking note of the small things.

Saturday is uneventful. Jason wishes he could say he forgets he isn’t living alone anymore, but, even though Tim makes little to no noise as he sleeps the morning away, Jason is painfully aware that he has a roommate. He can’t focus on his book, he can’t focus on the absurdly detailed report Tim made him. He definitely can’t focus on anything else after Tim flies down the stairs like a speedster, blurts out something that could’ve been good morning and disappears in the kitchen. Jason heads to his room, assuming the kid is getting himself breakfast, and he tries to take a nap. He fails.

After giving up and heading downstairs to make dinner, he finds the kitchen as clean as he left — did Tim do the dishes? Did he eat at all? — and he can barely hear faint noises downstairs. He makes a mental note to fix the sound proofness of his walls as he climbs down.

In his Office, like Jason calls it, he finds Tim wearing headphones. The music is loud enough that Jason can clearly hear muffled heavy metal. The computer is half dismantled, half loading something somehow, and Tim is carefully tinkering with the suit Jason gave him.

Instead of throwing something at him like he wants to, Jason walks into his field of view and waves at his face. Tim takes off the headphones.

“The fuck you doing?” Jason asks.

“Fixing stuff. I know you love Jane Austen, but do you have to use the same software she used to write?”

Jason punches him in the shoulder. He regrets it instantly and curses at himself inwardly. Tim, however, doesn’t even flinch. He snickers as though that was the reaction he expected.

Huh. Jason files that away for later analysis.

He gets Tim to suit up and they head out for the night.

They don’t go together per se, as Red Hood is still laying low, planting the seeds subtly so no one notices until he’s ready to make an entrance. He gets intel. Ruins the plan of a very misguided small dealer. And finally saves a pair of prostitutes from a harasser. He wears nothing but a domino mask all night, because there are only a few key players that must know Red Hood is back. He smiles at the girls after he’s done and they get excited asking him if he’s the Red Hood. He takes off without answering.

Red Hood has always been popular with prostitutes, as weird as that sounds. What can Jason say? The girls that worked near the street he grew up in were the nicest people he knew; he has a soft spot for them.

He meets up with Tim near the end of the night and he finds that Tim’s spoken reports are a lot briefer than his written ones: he stopped some muggings. Probably broke the kneecaps of some creep near the park. Confirmed intel he got from his research. He actually saved a cat stuck on a tree too, which makes Jason roll his eyes. They go back to Jason’s place without further ado.

Sunday is more of the same, except Jason manages to actually sleep. That is, until the sound of a hammer wakes him up.

He finds Tim in his living room dismantling an old television he got from God knows where. The shouting match that follows should make things more awkward, but instead it makes them easier.

Turns out Tim doesn’t mind exchanging insults or having dusty pillows thrown at him, and Jason feels more at ease by the time they swallow cold sandwiches and head out.

He has this unreasonable pang of anxiety when Tim vanishes into the shadows, but he shakes it off. The Red Robin suit is getting better everyday and, thanks to the cowl, Tim looks older and more menacing than he actually is, meaning no one is going to fuck with him.

It’s fine. They have a plan. It’s working. There are rumors that Hood is back, though nothing but whispers. Enough to stir his territory without getting unwanted attention from the better neighborhoods.

It isn’t until Monday at around 1pm that the other shoe drops. Jason wakes up scratching his belly and walks past Tim on the way to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Tim mumbles.

“Fuck off, Replacement,” he says back.

The kid is fucking with something that smells like oil on the kitchen table. Jason thinks to himself he should have words with him about it… after his morning tea. Morning tea at 1pm, but still.

He’s boiling water and staring blankly at Tim when he realizes: it’s Monday.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Tim stares at him. Back at the myriad of circuits spread around the table. Then back at Jason

“Wrist computer,” he says.

“No, here !”

“The kitchen?”

“Home! You’re, like, 17, right? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Tim stares at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Jason. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I stopped going to school after my father died again and I traveled abroad to work with an organization of murderers.”

“That was a fucking month ago. You get a month of skipped classes, your dad died. Now that you’re here, you can go back.”

His chin actually drops and Jason is greeted by the sight of a nearly white chewed gum threatening to fall from Tim’s open mouth.

“I’m not going back to high school. Are you insane?”

“Are you insane? Of course you’re going back to school. Don’t you have, I don’t know, friends or a girlfriend or… whatever!”

“No, I don’t?” Tim scowls. “You want me to go to school so I can date? Why don’t you go to school?”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh, heck off, you don’t get to pull the death card with me,” Tim rolls his eyes. “It works with Dick and Bruce, but I’m immune.”

“The fact that you still say heck off means you definitely should be at school around people your age. Get some bullies. It builds character.”

Tim’s pale cheeks go crimson and Jason has to bite back a grin. Knowing that Tim blushes like that opens so many teasing opportunities.

“Shut up, I got used to it because Alfred got mad at us for cursing! And I don’t need school to get bullied, I have you right here.”

Jason decides to test a theory. It’s a wicked idea, but Jason isn’t known for fighting fair.

“Tim. I ain’t raising an uneducated goblin.”

“I’m seventeen ! You’re not fucking raising me! You’re like a muscular child sharing a place with a slightly smaller child!”

“If you don’t go back to school, the deal is off. I’m not keeping you around.”

And, just like that, Tim closes his mouth and all the color drains from his face. Jason expected this. He doesn’t feel great about it.

“Y-you… Dick will notice if I start going back to school,” he tries. “This is against the plan. Batman will know we’re working together.”

“No. He’ll know you’re back in town. Make an excuse. I know you’re great at it.”

“This will affect my productivity. I won’t be able to upgrade your gear as fast and I’ll have to sleep more. This is-”

“Non-negotiable. School or no partnership.”

Jason knows it’s too late for him. It might be too late for Tim, too. But not late enough that Jason will let him give up. Tim may never have a normal life - the fact that he’s working with his almost murderer more than proves it. Jason selfishly wants to make sure he has at least a little normality.

This is about Jason, not Tim. Jason doesn’t think he can live with another deadman walking.

“Fine,” Tim says, like he’s agreeing to a death sentence. “I’m going back to school tomorrow. You happy?”

“Hella,” Jason says. He turns back to his tea. “And Tim? I’ll know if you’re skipping and I’ll kill you if you do.”

Tim starts listing a colorful collection of insults a lot worse than heck off. Jason grins at him and Tim, in his teenage rage, doesn’t seem to notice that the smile doesn’t reach Jason’s eyes.

So Jason's theory is confirmed. Tim Drake doesn’t care about attempts on his life. He isn’t afraid to fight an armed man. He isn’t afraid of having a familiar person taking a swing at him, so Jason doesn’t think that he has issues with physical abuse.

Nothing freaks him out as much as someone critiquing his work, though. And not in the asshole way, that would be way too easy. As cocky as he is, Tim doesn’t look like the type to think he can do no wrong. He wouldn’t get irrationally angry over someone pointing out he can do better. He does, however, flip out at the mere possibility that he’s done something wrong and didn’t own up to it already.

Jason thought he knew Tim until he jokingly complained about him sleeping on the job and saw genuine horror in his eyes. Horror like never before, not even when Jason beat him and tried to leave him for dead. Hell, at that point the kid said he was a better Robin right before passing out.

Who did this to him, Jason wonders? Who convinced Tim that the worst he can be isn’t a high school dropout or even a dead boy, but a person who messes up? His biological parents? Bruce? Is Tim even aware of it?

Jason doesn’t know, and he isn't sure what to do about it. Can he do something about it? He remembers far too well, thinking Bruce brought him in because he wanted another Robin. How every time he made Bruce laugh, or solved a case, it felt like a victory. How every time he got scolded, he expected Bruce to send him back to where he came from. He remembers having that fear confirmed when he heard from Talia that he’d been replaced.

Is there really something to be done?

Despite a good deal of complaining about work hours, Tim starts going to school. Jason hounds him to make sure he isn’t lying and he’s pretty sure he’ll have to keep checking regularly, because, if he learned anything about Tim, is that the kid is scarily patient and spiteful.

He stalks him all the way to school on the first day, making it painfully obvious that he’s there even if Tim puts a lot of effort into pretending he can’t see him. He pops at Tim’s classroom window and waves cheerfully as Tim flips the bird at him. Waking up early was hell, but Jason finds it ridiculously fun to make Tim annoyed.

On Friday, Jason decides to pick Tim up after class just to keep him on his toes… then he almost crashes his motorcycle into a lamppost when he sees a fancy car and a familiar man leaning against it.

Dick Grayson.

Despite the fun distractions Jason came up with, his whole damn body still remembers the beating he took. He wonders if Dick took as long to recover after that night.

His fake second death would be really short-lived but, lucky for him, Dick is preoccupied with something else. Jason parks around the corner. His height wouldn’t allow him to hide among the flux of rich kids walking out of school looking for their chauffeurs, but he has to come closer.

Well, time to get those stealthy muscles to work.

Ironically, it was Dick who taught him that the best hiding spot was in plain sight, and that’s how he casually walks behind the sports car and heads towards a beaten phone booth.

Dick doesn’t notice him.

Whether it was thanks to Jason’s skills or the fact that the older man looks like he’s having an internal anxiety attack, Jason may never find out. He does, however, hear it when Tim’s voice lets out a long word that definitely isn’t heck . He risks taking a peek at the duo and sees Dick smiling. He looks tired.

“Timbo,” he greets.

“Don’t call me that,” Tim groans. He would’ve sounded like your everyday grumpy teenager, but there’s too much tension in his jaw.

“Welcome back,” Dick says. “Were you planning on telling anyone you’re around?”

“I’m assuming you don’t mind, since you kept paying for my school. I was also checking to see how long it’d take you to find out.”

Jason almost snorts. Who knew the kid had it in him? Furthermore, it’s impressive how Tim methodically and deliberately hid all signs of displeasure. He looks earnestly happy to see Dick and he almost makes his barb sound like friendly banter.

“Timmy, you were gone for almost two months. Where were you?”

“I was pursuing a lead. It didn’t pan out. So I’m back.”

Dick is quiet after that. Jason assumes he knows damn well Tim isn’t one to give up just like that. At the same time, Jason can see Dick assessing the differences between the kid in front of him and the kid he last saw.

“Let’s go home. We need to talk,” he says finally.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m heading to a friend’s house so we can do homework together. I have a lot to catch up.”

“Tim…”

“You were right, Dick.” Tim smiles softly. “Damian needs you now. I don’t.”

Dick flinches. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he chuckles. “Let me rephrase that: I’m fine. You know, when you first asked me to help Bruce, I planned on staying for a few months. A year, tops. I was always supposed to go back to my normal life.”

“Timmy, you’re family,” Dick pleads. “Your normal life doesn’t include going home?”

Tim’s expression is empty of emotion when he replies: “I need space now. I’m not going back, Dick. I’m sorry. I have a place to stay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“ Where are you staying? Do you need help setting up anything or…”

“I’ll text you the address later. Right now I really need to go, though.”

Dick presses his lips into a tight line. He hesitates before reaching out to hug him. Surprisingly to Jason, Tim allows it and even hugs him back, even if not as tightly as Dick does.

Jason didn’t realize that. The whole time, he thought Tim needed his older brother and Dick was painfully blind to it. It never occurred to him how Dick also needed Tim. He wonders if Dick felt lost when Tim went away, or if he realized how messed up it was to rely on a teenager.

And Jason’s file on Wayne drama keeps growing thicker.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow?” Dick tries again. “Alfie misses you.”

“And annoy Damian in the process? I’d love to.” Tim deadpans.

Dick finally pulls away from the hug. “He’s made a lot of progress. You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t remember I punched him before I left.”

“Tim. Dinner?”

“Why would I say no to free food?” Tim gives him a crooked smile.

Dick moves as though it’s painful to let Tim go. He retreats to his car as slowly as it’s humanly possible, like he expects Tim to change his mind and join him. Tim smiles and waves until Dick vanishes around the corner. His look turns hollow, but none of the kids walking past him seems to notice it. Not even when Tim calls out:

“You can come out now. He’s really gone.”

Jason pretends not to hear two girls letting out startled little squeals when he leaves his hiding spot.

“That was cold blooded, Replacement,” Jason says, stretching his hand to Tim. “I knew you were a liar, but that was impressive.”

Without blinking, Tim takes out a tracker from the collar of his shirt and another from his hair. He hands both to Jason. “I didn’t lie, mostly,” he says. “I did plan on leaving after Bruce got better. Or at least when we found a better replacement. That didn’t work like I expected.”

Jason doesn’t say anything as he casually crushes one of the trackers under his boot and places the other on a random kid passing by. He knows how magical it feels to be Robin. He doesn’t think he could quit out of free will. He still remembers the addicting adrenaline that makes you feel like you’re really a bird soaring across the sky.

Until you’re not.

He notices it when Tim looks down at his own feet. Without thinking, he reaches for Tim’s head and messes up his hair.

“C’mon. I got the parts you asked. You can finish tinkering your suit tonight.”

They take the night off. It’s too risky going patrolling the night Dick found out about Tim’s return. Instead, they sit in the living room and Jason turns on the TV while Tim finishes adjusting the suit. The documentary about fish only keeps Jason’s attention for about five minutes before he notices Tim is butchering his cowl. Of course they start bickering.

The new mask isn’t quite a domino. It still has a nose guard similar to a bird’s beak that creates the illusion that Tim’s nose is more aquiline rather than a small snub, which is good to hide one’s identity. Still, Jason thinks going out without head protection is fucking stupid and Tim goes on a rant about looking like he’s wearing a condom on his head. Jason didn’t say anything when Tim replaced the old bandoliers with yellow ones with more compartments. The condom head thing hurts, though, and he ends up beating the shit out of Tim with a couch pillow.

A good deal of screaming and kicking each other later, they return to the task of redesigning. Tim replaces the RR in the middle of his chest with a bird-like symbol that hides a panic button. He switches the black gloves for sleeker red ones, although the middle finger and indicator are black. Jason thinks Tim is trying to make it more dramatic when he flips the bird (heh. Robin flipping bird) but Tim punches Jason’s shoulder and says the new gloves allow him to use his wrist pad more easily.

Jason hits him when he notices he weakened some of the defenses, and they bicker some more before Tim gives in and puts the shin guards and knee protectors back.

The cowl and the cape are gone, much to Jason’s annoyance, and he says Tim’ll look stupid. Tim calls him a knock-off Iron Man. Jason tries to smother him to death with a pillow when Tim doesn’t stop laughing.

It’s the most fun Jason had in… God, how long? He doesn’t remember the last time he could just joke back and forth like this. It doesn’t do good to your reputation as a crime lord if you give the drug dealers a noogie. Tim, on the other hand? Tim gets at least five noogies a day because he’s a dumbass.

It isn’t until they head to their rooms, later that night, that Jason realizes he hasn’t thought about his fight with Dick at all since they started working on the suit. He would've never guessed Tim’s presence wouldn’t be a bitter reminder of everything Jason lost, but rather than a good distraction.

Another week goes by before the suit is finished.

Jason swallows his pride and admits (to himself, at least) that getting rid of the cape was a smart move when he and Tim stand next to each other in full uniform. Tim’s new outfit doesn’t look out of place near Jason’s bulletproof vest and leather jacket. They’re a lot less dramatic than the Bats, and Jason likes that. They’re their own team, not one of them .

“Comms?” Jason asks.

“Tested and protected. Even Oracle would have to manually tinker with them to get into our frequency.”

“And you decided your field name yet?”

Tim hesitates. “I… Red Robin is fine.”

Jason nods. “Plan?”

“Break into Black Mask’s warehouse through the vent, plant…”

“Red Robin,” he cuts off. “Plan.”

Tim sighs. “Make Roman our bitch.”

“Atta boy. Let’s go.”

It’s an operation as simple as it is petty: Black Mask thought he could take over one of Hood’s warehouses. Jason was going to prove him wrong. It wasn’t a key hideout, but it was a relatively safe place if you were in the business of laundering money — discreet, easy to access without being noticed by the pigs, with most of the sewers around it hadn’t been blown up, which was always a plus. Hood was almost sure Roman took it just to show that he could and turned it into a drug warehouse to spite Hood. The fact that he disliked drugs wasn’t exactly a secret, after all. Szazs probably was involved in the process, Jason was sure.

In the end, Tim convinced him the stealthy approach was better. Just get in, ruin the whole operation and, by the time Black Mask realized it, he had lost a ton of money. Poetic justice and all that.

Jason complained about the plan being boring, but, as they get on their bikes to head out, he feels almost jittery. He doesn’t know if it’s just the thrill of being on the field again after so long — sue him, he’s an adrenaline junkie — or the prospect of the petty revenge. Either way, Red Hood grins under the helmet and, almost as though he can see his expression — or as though he’s feeling the same — Red Robin smirks back.

Just like that, they take off into the night. The wind howls past them as Hood leads the race, fast enough that it seems like he’s riding aimlessly. It doesn’t mean he isn’t choosing the way methodically. He knows he’s picking the right streets, the dark ones in which the dark red leather merges perfectly with the shadows. They rush past buildings with closed windows, sure that no one is stupid enough to glance at the two suspiscious riders.

Red Hood makes a sharp turn that would’ve made a less experienced driver fall into the asphalt. He hears Red Robin whooping excitedly behind him and he can’t help but laugh.

When they’re just a few blocks from the warehouse, they stop. At this point, Hood almost considers throwing the plan away — crashing the motorcycle into the place would make for an excellent entrance — but, as though reading his thoughts, Red Robin gives him a pointed look before getting off his bike.

“You’re such a wet blanket,” Hood says, even though no words were truly exchanged before that.

“And you’re a drama queen,” Red Robin retorts. And he grapples up to the nearest rooftop before Hood can give him a noogie for that.

Lighter and more agile, Red leads the way now and Hood is happy to be his shadow until they reach the strategic spot they picked — the two story building next door.

“Thank god this place didn’t crumble,” Hood comments absently. “The other buildings are too far for a clear view.”

Red gives him a strange look. “I checked whether it was still standing while we were planning the attack. Do you not verify the surroundings when you’re making strategies?”

“I like to leave room for improvisation; I’m not a stick in the mud like you.”

Red rolls his eyes under the mask as he reaches for the binoculars in his belt. Hood does the same. There shouldn’t be a lot of activity tonight if their intel is correct, and it looks like it is. They can’t see the inside of the warehouse — which is why Red Hood liked the place so much, damn it — but they can still see the roof as clearly as they can see the vent they chose to… Hood freezes.

“Hey Hood?” Red Robin calls.

Jason pulls a face under the hood. “Yes?”

“Remember our plan to lay low so Batman doesn’t notice us?”

“Hmm.”

“Remember how I wanted to check on the rogues and you told me to stop being a stick in the mud?” He hisses.

“No one likes a bitching vigilante, Red.”

“Freaking Poison Ivy is here.” Red Robin gestures widely at the roof of the warehouse, as though Red Hood can’t see the green lady trying to get in through the very same vent they planned on using.

“See, that’s the beauty of crime fighting. You make a plan. The plan goes wrong. You throw the plan away.”

“Oh my freaking God,” he groans, “this is Young Justice all over again, but worse.”

Despite the complaining, they seem to be in agreement about what to do next: they take their grapple guns and shoot at Ivy’s blindspot. Red Robin is already getting his rebreather to filter whatever toxins they’re about to face.

The boys land almost silently all things considered. Without thinking, Hood points at the other side of the roof and crosses an X in front of his lips, before closing a fist. Red Robin nods and sprints without a question.

For the second time, Jason freezes. The instructions were clear — take the other side, we’re going for a surprise attack after cornering her — but they shouldn’t have been. He didn’t realize he kept using those gestures to give orders, because he hadn’t had anyone working this close to him in literal years. He didn’t realize he still remembered the whole language — ASL, but also specific gestures that only made sense among Bats — until he had Red Robin following his orders. Something in his stomach feels heavy.

“... Hood ? Do you copy? ” Says a hushed voice in his ear.

Shit. Get it together, Jason.

He presses the comm button. “Listening.”

On the other side of the line, Red Robin sighs. “ Oh thank god, I thought the comms were suddenly fried. I’m in position. ”

Shit . “Hang on,” he says. He finally starts moving, extra careful not to make any noise.

“ You good, man?” Red asks, and Hood can practically see the confused furrow of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet before Ivy hears us.”

He finally gets close enough to see her — she’s unscrewing the air vent cover to get in, even though she could probably just get a giant peach to roll over the place or something. It looks like Red Hood and Red Robin weren’t the only ones trying to be stealthy tonight.

He takes one step closer, and many things happen at the same time: the metal roof creaks under his boot. Ivy goes stiff for half a second. Then Jason is doing a backflip to avoid being bombarded with freaking thorns? When the hell did Ivy add a machine gun of thorns to her arsenal?

“Red Hood?” She stands, frowning. “Huh. I heard you were dead.”

“I get that a lot,” he says.

He reaches for his guns as Ivy waves her hand gracefully. Red Hood watches, with mild disgust, as what he thought was a weird belt snakes its way up Ivy’s torso until she has two venus flytraps settle on her shoulders.

“Fucking gross,” he says.

“I get that a lot,” she quips.

When he shoots at her, she’s ready. A branch grows fast enough to take the bullet for her and, before he realizes, she’s already inside his personal space. Hood dodges a punch in the throat but she keeps advancing. She knows better than letting him keep her at shooting range.

Welp, brute force it is then.

Hood puts his gun away at the same time he dodges a kick to the face. He takes a swing. One of Ivy’s pet plants almost bites his fist and he barely has time to retreat before the pesky thing takes a piece out of his glove.

“Huh. My sixth grade teacher told me those things are only lethal to flies,” he huffs.

Ivy grins. “My children are special.”

She presses and attacks again, and this time Hood lets her. When her knee hits his stomach, he grabs her by the calf and uses her own momentum against her. She barely weighs anything when he throws her hard at the ground, her back hitting metal and her pained groan muffled by the loud clang. He cringes. So much for stealth.

He makes to kick her before she recovers her wits, but apparently plants are more resistant than they seem. Hood feels his foot stuck to something and he curses when he looks down and sees thick vines holding him back. Shit, why didn’t he consider she had traps prepared around her?

“That was kinda rude, Hood,” she grins, slowly sitting up. “But I’m not mad. I might even give you a little kiss.”

By then, his resistance is futile and he wishes he hadn’t put his guns away so fast, because the vines quickly wrap around his whole damn body and he can’t even shoot the b —

A flying staff hits her on the side of the head.

“ACK!” Ivy shrieks, falling to the side.

“What are you doing, Hood?” Red Robin hisses, pressing a batarang into Red Hood’s hands.

“The hell?” Ivy groans, now looking dizzy. “I thought you worked alone.”

“I’m the intern. They call me Red Robin.”

And he stands over her, looking all heroic and ready to fight. Ivy, however, stays where she is, gaping at him.

“Bullshit. You’re regular Robin,” she says. “I thought you died. We all did when we saw the smaller Robin.”

Hood snorts.

The kid deflates a bit. “How the hell do you know who I am?”

“You’re Harley’s favorite Robin,” she says simply. “She got really grumpy when we heard there’s a new Robin again.”

“I’m Harley’s — Wait, you guys have favorite Robins?”

“Of course we do. Mine’s the girl one. She didn’t die, did she?”

That’s one of the most surreal conversations Red Hood ever witnessed and he’s leading an unusual second life. Fortunately, Ivy is distracted enough — or at least hurt enough — that she doesn’t intervene while he cuts himself free.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Isley?” Red Robin asks. “Are you aware that this place is Black Mask’s?”

She scowls at him. “Are you aware that Sionis is a misogynistic jerk and he’s doing a lot of damage to the environment in this stupid warehouse? I’m going to take this thing down.”

“Hey, fuck off, this place was mine before Sionis stepped in,” Hood protests.

“I don’t care if you’re his landlord.” She gives him a scathing look. “I want him out.”

“This is great then!” Red Robin smiles. “We also want him out. And we have eco friendly plans for the place after Black Mask is out of the equation.”

Ivy gapes at Red Robin as though he started speaking a foreign language out of the blue. Red Hood is thankful for his helmet because he’s sure his expression isn’t much better.

“Are you suggesting we team up with Poison Ivy?”

“Why not?” Red Robin smiles as if he’s suggesting they should have burgers later. “The enemy of my enemy, right? Plus, I used to give her a free pass here and there because sometimes she’s right, you know?”

“Huh. So that’s why you’re Harls’ favorite.”

Red Robin shrugs again and stretches his hand to her. “Friends for the night?”

To Red Hood’s utter shock, she hesitates for less than a second before taking the kid’s hand and letting him pull her back to her feet.

“Just tonight, though,” she says.

If anyone told Jason tonight he’d be working with no one other than the Poison Ivy to take down one of Black Mask’s drug labs, he’d call them insane.

Nonetheless, he watches as Ivy throws caution to the wind — there’s no way the people inside didn’t hear their little scuffle — and uses one of their sentient plants to rip off an entrance on the metal roof. Right before jumping in, however, Red Robin squeezes his shoulder.

“What was that?” he whispers low enough that Ivy won’t hear them. “You were off. That wasn’t like you.”

Hood shrugs his hand away. “We’ll talk about this later. Come on, we can’t let Ivy have all the fun.”

They can already hear the screaming inside, so Red has no option other than compliance. Time to crash the party, he was looking forward to this.

And it’s fun. Having Tim around is fun. Watching a bunch of crooks run terrified of a plant lady is fun. Rounding up his former employees — those traitors — and watching their comically horrified faces upon realizing he isn’t dead is fun.

So much fun he completely misses the fact that there was someone else tailing Ivy. No one sees it when a young boy clad in bright colors rushes away from the place. Robin doesn’t know what to make out of what he witnessed tonight.

#red hood #jason todd #red robin #tim drake #batfam #red bros #poteto writing

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chrysaliseuro2019 · 5 years

Text

Sandy Shore

Next morning it was time to move on from Nea Moudania. There was more peninsula to discover. After another hearty breakfast this time augmented by another Theodora specialty cake. This time a sort of chocolate cake. It did not seem to involve much sponge though Liz advises there was a base of it. Above that was chocolate mousse and on top of that about 2 cms (looked like 3) of whipped cream. My heart sank about the only thing that I found appetising about that was the sponge which was thin on. Liz had to pull her weight for two of us. I was beginning to understand why the sweet section of breakfast was more extensive than the savoury one. Clearly Theodora had a sweet tooth though the spanakopita was excellent, flaky and very tasty and she said was her favourite. Time for us to move on and Liz bade farewell to Theodora which apparently involved a big hug to her ample bosom. I did not know this at the time but as I separately went to say my farewells and thank you I stuck my hand out and was on the end of a Lathamesque fist pump. Apparently Theodora gave some last pieces of advice to Liz on destinations but finalised with "after a couple of days, if it's not working you can come home ie to the Sokratis as she had rooms coming free". It felt a bit like home too. On Theodora's advice we were heading for a town called Chanioti well down the Kassandra peninsula. Very booked out so we had had to take a large hotel for 3 nights not really our preference. However it had free cancellation right up to midnight on check-in day (which seemed by odd) and so we determined that if we saw anything better on the way to it we would switcheroo. The peninsula has a very narrow channel which separates it from the mainland. We drifted down slowly trying to stick to the coast. Got out at the little town of Nea Fokea and had a look at the byzantine tower and a little chapel. It had possibilities as a little Marina there and beach but a bit too early in our journey so kept going. We stopped for a coffee at a fairly ghastly place. A beach bar where there were wall to wall umbrellas cushions and sun lounges. Average age 25 and the music pumped up to a high level of decibels. Close to the bar you had to yell to make yourself heard. We made the coffee a take-away. Further on we saw a sign to another beach but as we pulled off the road we saw a couple of buses and then in the car park there were around 5 more. Clearly a venue for day trippers. We passed on and this was the ongoing story really. Nothing really jumping out at us. Either the odd big town which did not really look the goods or quite remote places where you don't know where you might get a feed. Didn't see many vacancy signs either. One slightly disconcerting thing is there seemed to be far more apartments for rent than hotel rooms. For us, the one or two night stayers, this is less than ideal as they really want week long bookings. Also you can't always walk up and find someone on the premises though in some places the owners are on site and have just sub-divided their house. We also hit some heavy traffic as basically there is one road in and one road out. At least on this side of the peninsula. We had been warned about that but we could see perhaps a 2-3km queue of dawdling traffic heading out with congestion in various other places too. Hopefully they were going home because the weekend was looming and it was back to work Monday. Could be painful for us getting back out if this is the norm. We finally arrived in Chanioti which was a small maze in itself and very lively but found our way to the hotel. It was every bit as soulless as we feared. Smart enough but a dozen people hanging around a pool with very little atmosphere. 3 nights here would not be fun. We went and had a look at the beach which was about 200 metres away and things went from bad to worse. Umbrellas and beach beds as far as the eye could see in either direction with the music going loudly as well. Not much serenity here. We retreated thinking - where to next? This joint was a last resort if we drew a blank elsewhere but we had now been going for 3 hours+ without a sniff re ally. On we went towards the bottom of the peninsula. Went down several back roads pointing to little towns but either nothing much there or on one occasion the 5 star resort complete with a fleet of Greg Norman yachts and the $$1000/night price tag. As we crossed over and started to make our way up the other side (western side) of the peninsula we found a nice little town called Loutra Beach (not to be confused with a similar place that seems to be on an island). Liz googled away looking for a room while I knocked on several doors where apartments were for rent. Liz had one possibility while I drew blanks. We headed into the centre of town to check Liz's lead but she had been led up the garden path by someone she spoke to. Nothing. We hadn't eaten anything since breakfast except for a few nuts so stopped for a Greek salad and soft drinks. Now around 5.00 and no closer. We tried one final hotel on the outskirts which was up a very steep hill, so great view, but nada. On we went steadily heading down the peninsula but nothing much jumping out. Tried a couple more hotels by walking up at Fourka Beach but again nothing and then Liz's perseverance on booking.com paid off. The hotel Paralio at Possidi beach which was close by had a room free with sea facing balcony. We whipped down there Liz took a look while I waited with the car in an area which didn't allow you to park ie residents parking (a local nicely tried to shoo me away but was happy when I said it would only be a few mins). Thumbs up from Liz and we were in. It was around 6.00 pm and a big day really but soon realised that the effort was worth it. Dinky room right on seafront ie sea across the road with balcony just above street level. Immediate dip in the sea as we were pretty hot. Enjoyed some drinks on our balcony post that. Also we decided that we weren't going to find anything much as user friendly and well located as this so booked a second night. For dinner we tried a couple of the nicer restaurants in town but both fully booked (as they were the following night which was Saturday). A very nice couple of locals who had just sneaked onto the last table in one of the restaurants sympathised with us. As soon as he heard where we were from he broke into a "throw the shrimp on the barbie" routine. Life must have been a bit too easy as there was no sense from the guys in the restaurant that a table might free up if we came back in 20 mins. It looked like one sitting even though some people were clearly going to finish in the near future. Even the young couple had had to talk them into giving them a table which was free but sort of in the passageway. We ended up going to the restaurant 50 metres away which was not as flash but just as full. Total bedlam as it was quite large. Seating seemed to be arbitrary. In fact also went there the next night and after I enquired of the boss lady who took all payments if we could sit at a certain table I was told if it's free just sit there. Service took a long time and we didn't choose particularly well. Liz had the stuffed peppers which can best be described as ho hum. I had the moussaka, tasty enough, but the copious amount of béchamel sauce fixed me up big time. The digestive system is not fond of creamy stuff. Also of course had a Greek salad. Very amusing young waiter who was not allowed to take orders (he was a meal deliverer and table setter upper) though he could get me a beer. As he spruced the table up by putting the table cloth down and separately brought the meals he stopped us if we tried to assist him in any way, saying - "that's my job". All with an infectious smile to go with the braces on his teeth. Despite the fare we enjoyed the ambience and were right by the sea. A short stroll around the very small village before heading home. The béchamel kept me awake and even tried a minnie heave (unsuccessfully) so have sworn off that. The next day was all about the beach. Breakfast was a disappointing event. Because the breakfast room was small we were encouraged to take our breakfast back to our own room. No hardship that as we had the balcony. Choice was very ordinary. Three sweet cereals no muesli, fried eggs sitting in a Bain Marie together with minuscule saveloys, cold pancakes. One of the pastries with custard was good as was a slice of cake with jam. Greek yoghourt was good though not much effort required there. We felt they are just going through the motions. Breakfast was included in the deal so they had to provide it but had skimped and didn't give a "toss", breakfast was not winning then business. Their location across the street from the sea was. Off to the beach though for a pretty full day of relaxation. I did go past the two flasher looking restaurants and managed to book one of them for the Sunday night. We also adjourned to a neighbouring cafe for lunch as our hotel was not serving food that day due to some kitchen issue. A very healthy club sandwich and chips was shared. That night we decided we liked the previous night's place enough to return. Just would choose differently. In truth its slim pickings in terms of choices in this town (with a number of clone restaurants) once the two main restaurants are full (and neither was very large). It was bedlam again and chokkers. A table was free literally near the entrance so away from the seafront which wasn't so bad as the wind had got up and it was a bit cool. After our advice to grab wherever is free from the boss we jumped in but we were so tucked away that service was not forthcoming. Not that it was fast in this place at any time. Luckily a table became free at the front by the sea we moved swiftly to grab it just ahead of others and we braved the wind which wasn't too bad as it turned out. Service eventually came and we shared grilled squid and sardines and a salad. Another pleasant evening and at the end the manic maitre de did spend a few minutes chatting to Liz which was nice as he had seemed pretty disinterested. Just run off his feet. Next day Liz was up earlier than me and walked to a neighbouring sandy promontory. Probably a couple of kms walk and it jutted out about 400 metres into the sea. She returned for breakfast and then I did the same. Very nice to walk out there and by the time I did it was pretty hot so I got right to the tip and had a quick swim to cool off. Water very clear around there and a bit cooler as more exposed. The rest of the day followed the usual routine of a beach day. We did have a pork gyros and chicken souvlaki for lunch. Pork good chicken not so. That night after drinks on the balcony we headed to the nicer restaurant. Food was undoubtedly better quality as was the clientele. Maitre de also charming. Liz's seafood pasta, more risotto like was plentiful and very tasty and I had octopus marinated in onions, tomatoes and whatever. Very very nice. Our time at Possidi was at an end. It had been painful finding it and as often is the case a combo of perseverance and luck got us there and in particular in our very pleasant room across from the sea. Just the right size of town/village (small) with enough action and good beach. Liz made a good point about the beach (they all seem to be sandy in this neck of the woods) which was that it was narrow, perhaps no more than 20-25 metres where we were, but that stopped there being masses of beds and umbrellas. We left wanting a little bit more which is always a good way to go.

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anonymouswriter2311 · 6 years

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Double Date

Thanks, @audacitydreamer for a great prompt!

Summary: Johnny and Moses like the same girl

Watching the boys grow up had been the most fun and beautiful thing Charity and Vanessa had ever experienced. They watched their babies turn into young men. Johnny definitely had Dingle DNA in him somewhere, Charity would swear on it. He was just like her, in every sense, the two would often be found messing around and up to no good around the village. While Moses followed in Noah and Vanessa’s footsteps. He could always be seen with his nose in a book, and would often have long in-depth conversations with Vanessa about anything science related. But, the conversation the boys had with their Mother’s one afternoon when they were sixteen would stay out for a long time.

“Hey Mum, can I talked to you for a second?” Moses muttered from his seat at the kitchen table, where he had three large textbooks opened up and his glass perched on the bridge of his nose. This was a normal sight for the small family. Since starting their GCSE’s Moses would make a point to come straight home to revise, while Johnny hung out with his friends until dinner time.

“Sure Moses sweetheart. What’s up?” Vanessa smiled brightly as she got up from the sofa and walked over to the teenaged boy, a wave of worry suddenly feel over her as she met his eyes and saw the seriousness in them. She had a feeling that this was going to be more than just a science discussion.

Meanwhile, over at the pub.

Charity was working her usual Wednesday shifts when a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes came bouncing through the door. It wasn’t unusual for her son to visit while she was on a shift, and she rather enjoyed the distraction from actually doing work.

“Oi! What’s do you think you’re doing in here Johnny-bobs?” She called out with a smile before the teenager jumped up onto the bar stool. “I don’t think Mum would be too happy about me serving you.” She winked at her son, as she cleaned a pint glass and he fidgeted with a beer mat.

“I’m not here for a drink Ma.” Johnny rolled his eyes, at the childhood nickname, his Ma still insisted on using. “Can I talk to you about something?” He smirked nervously, catching Charity off guard.

“Just...let me grab Chas and then I’ll bring us some lemonades over.” Charity smiled and she nodded for him to grab their usual booth. She’d been there before with Johnny. If he’d been in a fight at school, or if he’d gotten a bad grade, Johnny would always come to her first, because he knew that she could sweet talk Vanessa into not exploding as much. But something was different today, it seemed way worse than a bad grade.

“Thanks, Ma.” Johnny nodded before dragging himself over to the booth. Charity panicked, there was definitely something serious going on with her son.

Back at Tug Ghyll.

“Biscuit?” Vanessa smiled brightly as she leaned a plate filled with a variety of Moses’ favourite biscuits over to the teen.

“Thanks, Mum.” Moses nodded as he lifted a few before quietly sipping his tea.

“So, are you ready to talk?” The vet asked nervously, before jumping to her feet. “Or do you want a sandwich?” She added about to open the fridge when she felt Moses’ hand on her wrist.

“Mum, I’m fine really. Ma made us a packed lunch remember.” The young man smiled humorously.

“Right, but Charity’s idea of a packed lunch isn’t usually the healthiest.” The blonde woman muttered under her breath as she reclaimed her seat. “But that’s getting off topic. Talk to me, darling.” She reached out and took one of his hands in hers, bracing herself for whatever he was about to throw at her.

“How did you know you liked Ma?” Moses whispered, averting his eyes out of embarrassment. Vanessa was gobsmacked, Noah had been the only one to ever asked them something like this, and that had been over ten years ago.

“Oh…” She paused, trying to choose her next words carefully. Her relationship with Charity wasn’t the easiest to narrate, considering neither of them could even agree on a real starting point. But Vanessa was ready to tell her side of things. “Well, I guess it started the night of my friend's funeral when we got locked in that dodgy cellar.”

Back at the pub.

Charity had taken great pleasure in telling Johnny about his drunken Mother’s actions that first night, mainly because they were so hilarious, and Johnny quickly agreed. But, then she turned all mushy. She talked about how her heart raced when Vanessa looked at her, and how she was so nervous her palms were sweaty.

“And then we kissed, and I just knew.” Charity smiled, looking towards the cellar happily.

“So that’s when you two started dating?” Johnny asked, surprised by the story. He had never really thought about it before, for as long as he could remember Charity had always just been there. She was his other Mum, and he didn’t question it.

“Not exactly. I was a bit of a nightmare back then, and I was afraid to admit that I had feelings for the cute village vet.” The barmaid laughed into her glass before necking the rest of it.

“Yeah, cause you’re such a hard lass.” The blonde teenager pushed her slightly, a playfulness to his tone.

“Oi, I was a hard lass back in the day!” Charity quickly exclaimed, a look of mock horror and hurt on her face. “But I put all of that behind me because I fell in love.” She winked, while Johnny fake gagged at the thought before they both burst out laughing.

“So...after you realised you loved her, how did you tell her?” Johnny asked once they calmed down.

“Well…”

Back at Tug Ghyll.

Moses had been thoroughly shocked by his birth Mother’s behaviour in trying to win Vanessa over, knowing how non-romantic she was, he was surprised that Vanessa even dated her back then.

“Ma brought you back to the cellar?” He asked before laughing, he had often heard Chas joked about the cellar and his Mothers, but he never really understood why, until now.

“It was surprisingly romantic that time though.” Vanessa quickly defended her wife, thinking back to the night after Bails went down all those years ago. “She hung fairy lights, and had a romantic dinner set up.”

“Are we talking about the same woman?” The teenager smirked that Dingle smirk, that didn’t come out that often.

“Shut It you!” Vanessa playfully slapped his hand. “We danced together, and laughed...and then she told me that she didn’t want to keep dancing around our feelings...she told me that she loved me that night.” She smiled brightly as she fiddled with her wedding ring, still unbelievably happy.

“And now you’re married, and you still love each other?” Moses asked, smiling shyly.

“I feel like we fall more in love every day.” The vet admitted, blushing slightly. “What’s got you thinking about all this mushy stuff.” She quickly added playfully.

“Do you think I can borrow the Christmas lights on Saturday?” Moses blushed, as Vanessa’s eyes lit up. Her little boy had a crush. “Remember Johnny’s old tutor, Emily?”

“Aww, I knew I could see sparks!” Vanessa exclaimed happily, before hugging him tightly across the table.

“Yeah well, we’ve been texting and I’m planning on asking her tonight.” He explained once his Mum finally let him go. “Can we not tell Ma about this? She’ll turn it into a big deal.” He pleaded, knowing how much Charity liked to turn little things into something huge and overdramatic.

“Your secret is safe with me sweetheart.” The vet smiled contently, while Moses started to explain his plans for the big date.

Back at the pub.

“What’s brought all this on.” Charity turned the tables quickly, shocked by the sudden flow of questions her son had bombarded her with. He wasn’t the most sensitive of boys, always bottling things up. “I mean I expect Moses to go all soft on me, but I never thought I see it from you.” She joked.

“I may need to book the cellar on Saturday night. Remember Emily?” Johnny smirked playfully. Charity remembered Emily alright. She remembered how much she cost and how little she helped.

“Your old tutor?” The barmaid smirked back, with her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah...I’m planning on asking her out.”

“Ahh, now it all makes sense.” Charity replied with mock surprise, he wasn’t the brightest of the bunch, but at least he tried.

“Can we keep it between us Ma?” Johnny asked quickly, knowing that his birth Mother would make a big deal out of it.

“My lips are sealed Johnny-bobs!” The barmaid winked before she threw her best date ideas at the teenager.

***

“That was surprisingly delicious!” Vanessa announced as Charity picked up their plates and discarded them in the sink. Charity had surprised Vanessa with a date night, out of the blue on Saturday. Which Vanessa had been extremely grateful for, she had spent all week trying to figure a way to keep Charity away from the pub and Moses’ date. “Those cooking classes Noah got you for Christmas are certainly paying off.” She sent a wink the blonde woman’s way, before moving over to sit on the sofa.

“Oi, you are turning into quite the cheeky mare in your old age.” Charity shot back as she brought the wine and glasses over to her wife.

“Less of the old please, if you’re planning on getting any action tonight.” The vet smiled before Charity stole a kiss from her pouting lips. Even after eleven years of marriage, it still blew Vanessa away when her lips touched Charity’s.

“I like the sound of that!” The barmaid whispered against her wife’s lips, before pulling away and settling herself next to the smaller woman. “What time are the boys due back?” She asked as Vanessa cuddled into her arms.

“Well, Johnny usually finishes football at ten-ish, but I told Moses he could stay out a little late tonight,” Vanessa answered with a shy smile playing on her lips. She had to bite her tongue all week about Moses’ date, she wanted nothing more than to share the moment with her wife. But she knew she couldn’t break his trust like that.

“I told Johnny he could stay out late.” Charity shot her wife a confused glance when she mentioned Moses staying out late. She had actually half expected him to be home already.

“Why would Johnny need to stay out late on a Saturday?” The smaller blonde questioned quickly, worried that Johnny had been roped into something dangerous.

“Why would Moses?” Charity smirked, “I thought he’d be nose deep in a science book.”

“What is it you’re not telling me?” Vanessa narrowed her eyes at her smirking wife, she knew that the blonde had been hiding something all week, but she just assumed that it was the surprise dinner.

“Why is it me that always keeps the secrets.” Charity exclaimed, pretending to be offended. “From where I’m sitting it looks like you’re hiding something too!” She noted, poking Vanessa nose for added measure.

“I’m not hiding anything!” The vet shouted a bit too quickly, making Charity even more suspicious. “I just made a promise to our son.” The blonde quickly added.

“As did I!” Charity snapped, hating whenever Vanessa kept things from her and vice-versa.

“Did Johnny...ask you about the cellar?” Vanessa asked carefully, trying not to give anything away before Charity did.

“He might have done...did Moses?” Charity furrowed her eyebrows, already knowing where this might be heading.

“Yep.” The vet nodded slowly.“You don't think…”

“That we may have double booked the cellar?” The blonde finished her sentence, a look of pure amusement present on both their faces.

“Yep.” Vanessa placed her hand firmly over her mouth to stop the giggles from escaping. “Well, they've always done things together. They can just turn it into a fun double date. Although I don’t know how Emily will feel about seeing her old student while on a date.”

“Emily? She’s Johnny’s date babe.” Charity stopped laughing to stare worryingly at her wife.

“No, Moses asked her out.” The blonde counterattacked.

“Babe. Do you think that maybe…” Thr barmaid shook her head, the gravity of the situation finally hitting her.

“The boys like the same girl and don’t know that they’re both asking her out.” Her wife finished for her, as they laced their fingers together. The laughter had long since stopped, and all they felt was worry. This had been a big step for both of them, and now it could be the thing that pulls them apart.

“We should go over there.” Charity muttered, the absolute look of worry plastered on her face.

“What?!”

“Well, she obviously going to be a no-show!” The barmaid pointed out, hoping that it would be the case. “And the boys are very sensitive.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vanessa quickly agreed, before she stood and threw Charity’s shoes at her. “Get your coat.” She added as she pulled her yellow raincoat on.

***

The cellar was dimly lit and quiet as the two women approached hand in hand. Vanessa felt a little rush of excitement as she walked down the steps, so many pivotal moments in their relationship had happened here, and the fact that both their son’s wanted to have their first dates here warmed her heart. “Hey, fella’s,” Vanessa muttered once her eye fell on the two teenagers sitting at the small table.

“What are you two doing here?” Johnny huffed, his night had already been bad enough and his Mum’s showing up was all he needed.

“Hey less of the lip, just cause you both got stood up by the same girl.” Charity quickly jumped to her wife’s defence and shot a warning glance at the mouthy boy.

“We didn’t,” Moses spoke up, his voice soft and weary.

“She showed up...with her boyfriend,” Johnny explained with after sending both women an apologetic smile, they know that he didn’t mean to snap.

“Is that a black eye?” Vanessa gasped as the light hit Johnny‘s face revealing the large fresh bruise that was forming, she quickly looked over to Moses knowing that he’d give her an honest answer when she saw his lips. “And how did you cut your lip?”

“His Dingle gob. Turns out you can’t turn it off once it gets going,” Johnny smirked throwing a look of approval Moses’ way.

“And what’s your excuse, Johnny?!” Charity jumped in as she grabbed his chin to examine the bruise, before doing the same with Moses’ lip.

“Wasn’t going to let some bloke batter my brother.” The younger boy smiled brightly at his brother. “Even if he did try and steal my girl.”

“She technically wasn’t either of ours.” Moses pointed out while fixing his glasses. “But, I think we should maybe talk to each other in the future. Save us both a whole lot of time and effort.” The nerdy teen reached his arm across the table to do their childhood handshake.

“Definitely!” Johnny quickly agreed before finishing off the last of his lemonade.

“C’mere you two.” Charity cooed, letting her emotions get the better of her as the two boys were pulled in for a tight embrace.

“You’re right, she has gotten soft,” Moses commented, thinking back to their conversation about their Ma they had a few moments before.

“That just makes her even more cuddly.” Vanessa joined the family hug happily, glad that their two boys were still as close as ever.

“Gross.” Johnny and Moses said in unison as Vanessa placed a kiss on Charity’s cheek, and they broke free of the embrace.

“Yeah? Then you can pay for your own ice cream!” Charity shouted, but they knew that her voice held no anger. The two woman stayed still, continuing to lovingly embrace each other like it was there last day on earth.

“Are we going for ice cream or what?” Johnny asked, sounding more and more like Noah at his age with each passing day.

“You two go on, we just need a minute.” Vanessa smiled as she handed them a tenner.

“Them two and the cellar.” Moses nodded knowingly along with his brother as they ran out of the room.

“Give us a kiss then Mrs Dingle.” Vanessa purred as she laced her fingers through her wife’s hair, pulling them as close as possible.

“As you wish, my tiny blonde rocket woman.” Charity smiled as she captured Vanessa’s lips with her own. She didn’t know if it was the magical hold the cellar seemed to have over them, but at that moment she has never loved the blonde vet as much in her whole life.

AO3 Link

#Vanity #Vanity ff #charity x vanessa #charity dingle #Charity x Johnny #vanessa woodfield #Vanessa x Moses #Moses Dingle #Johnny Woodfield #emmerable ff #emmerdale #prompt #send me prompts #family #humor #PURE FLUFF #Johnny x Moses #Dingle-Field Family

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thassalia · 6 years

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Agent and Reagent

@kernezelda asked for: Avengers/MCU / pipette, wrench, tea / cyclone :D

Post- AOU, pre-CW. Natasha Romanoff and Steve Rogers. On hobbies and science and rain.

The facility felt particularly frigid in the rain despite the preprogrammed temperature. Natasha pulled the heavy sweater on over her head as wind lashed the trees against her windows and rain beat hard on the glass. It was worse than snow, which somehow transformed the gleaming modern monstrosity into something cozy and a little timeless. This kind of driving, torrential storm just upped the sense of isolation out here, although Natasha had never been bothered by solitude. A branch flew across the field, smacking into a telecom pole loud enough that she could hear the crack. So, more than a little rain. A shiver ran through her and she rubbed her arms, put her hand to the back of her cheek, but her skin was warm even a little dry. Maybe the cold was psychological. She grimaced, dismissing the thought. More likely, she was just getting the damned death flu that Wanda had brought back with her from Indiana.

She’d showered after morning maneuvers, held out in the elements because Steve was often an asshole who used the term “field conditions” to justify his sadistic streak. Eventually, the zero visibility and escalating gales had been too much for even Rogers and he’d called it, leaving them to their own devices. Of course, it being Saturday, this only meant an hour shaved off an already shortened schedule, but it was a concession nonetheless. Now, despite an extra ten minutes under the hot water, cold crept into her bones. Natasha dug out thick socks and tall boots, hoping to stave off the chill.

She’d passed on a group lunch in the canteen but she was due to meet with Steve in half an hour and wanted a sandwich. Beyond that, she didn’t have any plans for the day and she felt unexpectedly aimless. Downtime was in short supply with training drills, tactical planning, and the seminars she ran for the others on infiltration, disguise, intel gathering, skills she was better suited to impart than Steve. But there was nothing on the agenda today. Saturday afternoons were always free. It wasn’t like she had a rash of hobbies. String arts had been a bust, she didn’t enjoy playing an instrument although she was relatively accomplished at several, and while she’d taken dance classes in the city, out here it would just be herself and the music and decades of hazy memories, most of which she could live without. The thought was unappealing.

She didn’t want for entertainment, exactly. Sometimes she went to the movies with Sam and Wanda on Saturdays, into the city for dinner with Pepper, hiking with Steve. Once a month the facility held a potluck and bingo night. Natasha wasn’t bored, per se. It was simply that being trapped in this building reminded her of what she could have been doing out there in the world. What she should be doing. Running missions. Paying penance. That for most of her life, she hadn’t had hobbies because any free time she’d been granted had been filled with keeping her skillset fresh -- practicing languages, martial arts, programming and hacking, brushing up on deadly variations of chemistry and comportment.

There’d been exceptions to the rule of course -- weeks and weekends spent with the jostling, jovial Bartons, time spent cooking and cleaning and carousing with rambunctious kids, or drinking beer and bullshitting with Laura, silent shoulder-brushing companionship with Clint. Time in the tower, slowly building trust with Tony over anthropomorphized robots and delicate programming. Stolen moments with Bruce in coffee shops and boutiques, the art house theater in Greenwich and the galleries in Dumbo. Or in bed, his skilled, beautiful hands tracing along her spine, counting her ribs with his mouth following as she leaned her cheek against the pillow and rainwater trailed along the glass.

Things that she’d given up with her decision to live as an Avenger, to mentor a new team. (Given up, given away, been abandoned by...) Things she’d promised Steve that she’d refrain from pursuing unless absolutely necessary because this had to come first. Steve wanted to be the first line of defense, not the back up called in during desperate times. Christ, he and Tony really were two peas in a pod, despite their inability to look at an apple and see the same color red.

She really must be getting sick. This was maudlin and foolish, sentimental in a way she was loath to admit herself capable of. Natasha shook her head and grabbed her phone, headed to the cafeteria.

***

Steve’s room was keyed to allow her access during certain hours, but she still called out to him as the door slid open.

“In here,” he answered and she made her way to the little studio he’d set up in the second bedroom of his quarters. The light was excellent for drawing and drafting, but more often than not the pneumatic table was used as a hold all for the tacticals plans Steve still preferred to work out on paper.

Today, however, he was bent over a textured palette, brush in hand. It warmed her, somehow, seeing him paint. A sign that normalcy was possible, even if rarely exhibited. If Steve could occasionally remember how to paint, maybe she had it in herself to develop some outside interests.

Unfortunately, emotional warmth aside, it was fucking freezing. Steve kept his quarters on the ball-crawling side of uncomfortable since he ran hot. Natasha put down the roast beef sandwich she’d brought him and picked up a soft, camel-colored throw he kept for guests and wrapped it around her shoulders. It helped a little.

He nodded at the sandwich, mouth tilting up and said, “I’m almost done, sorry.”

She shook her head, and went behind him to get a look at what he was working on.

Banded greens and yellows separated by slim open spaces occupied squares outlined in terra cotta. They looked strangely familiar and at first it seemed like they were simple repetitions, gradation exercises, and then Natasha noticed subtle variations.

The memory hit her all at once as she took a bite of her sandwich and her hand dropped slowly, placing the sandwich on the chair as her stomach clenched against more food. Fuck that, she thought, more useless, rebellious sentiment.

Steve washed the brush through the rinse water, and glanced over his shoulder.

“Nat,” he said softly, and she shook her head.

The striations looked like little garden plots, strange ombred root vegetables growing in a row, but they weren’t.

It had been raining that day too. Less gale force hurricane than spring showers, but the water running down the side of tower had kept them inside all the same. She’d been curled on Bruce’s lab couch because she liked the light and the company, and because they all had a tendency to drift into his space like dinner guests into a kitchen. The state of the art coffee maker and obscenely good sound system had helped, but some of it was also Bruce’s solid, stoic presence.

Steve’s big hands had dwarfed the pipette as he dropped the mixture into the test tube, then inserted the little filter papers. Bruce had been doing a basic chemistry course with Steve over the past weeks when he’d expressed an interest in filling up the gaps in his secondary education. Today was chromatography, with a little history lesson on the development of the Pasteur pipette.

“Now we wait,” Bruce had said.

While the pigments separated from the solution to travel up the little papers, Bruce had brewed espresso in tiny cups and Natasha’d roused herself to excavate a box of Danish butter cookies that she’d seen in one of the cupboards.

“I never thought much about science in school,” Steve had said, “but so much happened during the war, so many new things...”

“Yourself included,” Natasha had to add, but he’d ignored her with a raised eyebrow as Bruce covered a smirk.

“This seems so benign. It’s beautiful.”

Bruce had brushed over the little papers and shrugged, shoulders hunching. “It’s a tool, but yeah. It’s pretty. My mom loved this kind of stuff,” he’d added, hesitant and then growing more certain. “We lived in this little apartment with a wonky radiator. It was always too hot, and you’d have to bang on the valve with a wrench to get it to budge at all so we’d go outside, even in the winter. Collect leaves and sticks and stones, bring ‘em home for experiments. Classifications. She had a little garden out there that we’d weed, make potions to discourage the bugs.” Bruce had looked a little embarrassed at the reminiscence, and she’d sidled just a little bit closer at the way his voice deepened with memory.

Bruce never shared childhood anecdotes, and the anomaly had been too much for her to resist. The insight a precious thing she could add to her understanding of him. She’d relished it.

“It’s a kids game really,” he’d said, gesturing to the beakers. “Grinding up leaves, dissolving them in alcohol, watching the pigment travel up the coffee filter.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve had said, “Reminds me of my mom. She was a nurse, always busy. Our radiator was always busted, too. Although we did fewer experiments and more rolling bandages. Or yarn.”

Everyone knew about Steve’s family, Steve’s home, Steve’s transformation but Bruce smiled at him like he’d shared a secret. Natasha had basked in that smile, bittersweet as ever, in Steve’s answering grimace as he made a winding motion with his hands. “So much yarn.”

She’d leaned gently into Bruce’s space until her hip pressed against his, hidden behind the lab bench, keeping the physical closeness just between them. She’d felt the shift in Bruce’s body as he first stiffened, then relaxed, just a fraction, as his shoulders unhitched when he’d brushed his arm against hers, adjusting his glasses. She ignored the way Steve glanced between them, eyes soft. Anyone else and she’d have ruined the moment, stepped away from Bruce, derailed the conversation, but at the moment, she just wanted the heat of his body, Steve’s steady regard.

There’d been no need to say that she hadn’t performed experiments as a child, that she’d been the experiment. That the punishment for failing to perform her required chores had been corporal. Not here amongst these other miracles of science and tragedy. It was funny, she’d thought at the time, that while Clint had given her a place to go home to, she’d found an unexpected sort of solidarity here with these two men, with their warped reflections: monster, and killer, and savior, all variations on a theme. Transformative beings, with the serum drawing up through each of them, breaking down into their own colored striations.

“It looks like water color,” Steve had said, drawing one of the little papers out of the solution, tracing over the separated pigment. “Making art of out science.”

Now, Steve was making that statement literal.

“The rain,” he said, hunched into himself a little, and maybe she didn’t give him enough credit for continuing to absorb loss, pulling it into himself, thinning it out so that it barely touched those around him. He missed Bruce too. Tony...Steve kept losing people. “It reminded me of that day with the leaves, and of turnips. I don’t know, maybe I was thinking about the war.”

“Turnips?” she asked.

Steve nodded. “And radishes. Bucky’s mom used to talk about weeding them when she was a girl. And we ate them in France, with butter.”

She too had spread thick pale butter on slim radishes speckled with salt. Memories of a crisp, sweet bite followed by a bright wine bloomed on her tongue.

“Banner talked about growing things, pruning and thinning and...well, It’s hard to believe it’s almost spring.” He trailed off, cheeks pink from the ramble.

Natasha swallowed hard, and picked up her sandwich. “A garden,” she said, and her voice sounded completely normal, nothing odd there, no sentimental rasp, no wash of memory. “We’ve got the space. When the rain stops, we can plant things. Watch them grow.”

She put her hand on Steve’s shoulder, and he covered her fingers with his for just a moment. Comfort that she idly wondered if he could afford to offer. He dropped her hand and she came around to the other side of the desk.

“Carrots,” he agreed, “And arugula. For Sam to get his hipster on.”

“Potatoes for Wanda. Herbs for Rhodes. He’s apparently quite the chef.”

“Flowers for Vision.”

“We can compost.”

Steve barked out a laugh, and Natasha shrugged the throw from her shoulders, warmed through finally.

She touched the edge of the watercolor, cleared her throat. “When you’re done,” she said, “Could I have it?”

#writing prompts #for kernezelda #MCU #Avengers #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #Bruce Banner #Science

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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The Golden Rose (Chapter 6)

Lauren hated Tuesdays for many reasons. They were just a second Monday. For awhile, Tuesdays became Lauren’s favorite day because it was the only day she could spend alone with Lucy. Lucy would always pick up a pizza and they would watch Beauty and The Beast while cuddled up with each other. Only once or twice did they ever watch a different movie, but they always ended up changing it to Beauty and The Beast before the night ended. It was their movie.

A few months prior to Lucy’s passing, their movie nights became fewer and farther between until they eventually stopped. Still, Lauren continued watching in the movie in hope that Lucy would end up coming. Only once did Lauren not watch that movie on a Tuesday and that was the night of Lucy’s death.

On this particular Tuesday, Lauren made it a movie marathon. She felt physically and emotionally sick to do anything, but lay up on the couch. The teacher inside of her wanted to go and do her job, especially as this was only the third day with her class, but she knew she wasn’t stable enough to deal with them. Even her roommates agreed she shouldn’t go in.

Lauren wrapped her blue plaid blanket tightly around her cold body and leaned her head back against the couch cushion. She closed her eyes tightly as she tried to get through the pain from her pounding headache. The didn’t fully go away, but it eased up a bit in time for her favorite scene.

“There never was a story of more woe, then this of Juillet and her Romeo.”

“Could you read it again?”

“Well here, why don’t you read it to me?”

“U-u-uh, Alright… Hmph… em… I-I can’t…”

“You mean you never learned?”

“I learned… a little… it’s just been SO long…”

“Well here I’ll help you! Let’s start here.”

“Here… hmph… ‘kay… "twoh”…“

"Two.”

“Oh, two… I knew that…”

As the scene ended, a loud knock came from the front door. The door slowly started to creak open before Lauren could get up from the couch.

“Lauren,” Camila’s soft voice sang as she slowly walked into the apartment with a bag full of food.

“Hi,” Lauren said as Camila shut the door behind her.

“Dinah said you didn’t come in because you weren’t feeling well, so I decided to come over and check on you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Lauren said as she got up from her spot and walked over to the kitchen.

“I know, but I want too. I stopped at Panera on the way here and grabbed an assortment of things,” Camila said as she pulled out a bowl of mac and cheese and chicken noodle soup, two turkey sandwiches, and two flower cookies. “Dinah didn’t go into what type of sickness you had so I grabbed some of my favorites."

"Thank you, Mila,” Lauren smiled brightly, no one had ever came to check on her before, and to add food to equation it was like a dream.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have a temperature? Stomachache?”

“I’m fine,” Lauren assured. “A bit of a headache from stress and other things,” she went on, not going into too much details.

“I couldn’t find any of the craft supplies needed for the craft today so the kids and I decided to do something else with our time,” Camila said as she handed Lauren a stack of get well cards.

Lauren smiled down at the first card. On the top half it said, “Ms Larn” with a heart around it, and on the bottom half was her and the student holding hands at what looked like the school playground.

“This is the best gift ever,” Lauren thanked as she placed the cards on the table, making a mental note to read the rest of them after she finished lunch.

“I thought you would like it,” Camila laughed as she took the lid off the mac and cheese. “Do you have any forks?”

“In the drawer to the left of the oven,” Lauren said before walked over and grabbed some utensils for the both of them.

“Is that Beauty and The Beast?” Camila questioned as she placed the utensils down on the counter.

“Yeah,” Lauren answered as she looked back at the screen.

“That’s one of my favorite Disney movies. Mind if I watch?”

“No, make yourself at home,” Lauren said as Camila walked over to the couch. Lauren grabbed two juice boxes from the fridge and one of the turkey sandwiches before plopping herself down on the couch next to Camila.

“When I was younger I used to think I was Belle,” Camila shared as Lauren restarted the movie from the beginning. “I used to sing the opening song all the time and run around my house like it was my village.”

“Aww,” Lauren cooed. “You kinda look like Belle with your big brown eyes and wavy brown eyes.”

“Plus I love to read and I’ll practically do anything for my family. We are literally the same person.”

“You never mentioned you liked to read,” Lauren said before taking a bite of her sandwich.

“I love to read. I’ve probably read every book out there.”

Lauren swallowed the piece of food in her mouth before continuing the conversation. “What’s your favorite book?”

“I don’t have a favorite book. I love all of them, well most of them. I really enjoy the Harry Potter series.”

“I’ve finished half of the first book. The movies are really good though.”

“Fake,” Camila drawled out as she carefully nudged the green-eyed girl.

“Well if you’re really like Belle then you should read to me.”

“You can read.”

“I rather you read to me.”

“Maybe I could read a chapter and then you could read a chapter,” Camila suggested. Although Lauren wanted to hear Camila’s voice nonstop she decided it would only be fair.

“Fine.”

“I can bring over the first book then time we hang out if you want. I have majority of them.”

“Majority?”

“Yeah,” Camila answered. “My dog got into my room a few years ago and got ahold of the book sitting on my bed. It was the third book, my favorite book, so I was pretty devastated when it happened. I’ve always wanted to get a new one but always forgot.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Lauren replied as she grabbed her phone off the coffee table.

“No Lauren, you don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“What’s the third book called?” Lauren asked, knowing none of the names from the Harry Potter series.

“Lauren, really it’s okay,” Camila said, trying to stop the green-eyed girl from ordering the book.

Lauren ignored Camila and went online to find out the name of the third book. Once she found the name, she copied and pasted it into the Amazon app. It immediately popped up and Lauren bought it within two minutes.

“It will be here Wednesday,” Lauren happily said as she shut off her phone and dropped it beside her.

“Lauren.”

“Camila.”

“You didn’t have to do that.

"And you didn’t have to take care of me and make dinner on Friday, then buy me breakfast on Saturday. You also bought me coffee yesterday and came over today to bring me lunch. You’ve done more than enough for me and I want to return the favor.”

“Thank you,” Camila said, accepting the gift.

“I expect you to read it to me.”

“I will,” Camila nodded.

The two became quiet and finished the rest of their lunch. They moved all their empty containers onto the coffee table and Camila laid down on the couch, using Lauren’s lap as a pillow. Lauren ran her fingers through Camila’s wavy hair and moved her eyes from Camila’s side profile to the TV and then back to her side profile. Everything inside of her was warm and fuzzy. This was the first Tuesday in awhile that Lauren actually enjoyed.

As the movie ended, all her roommates crowded into the living room and made small comments about the two girls laid up on the couch. Lauren glared at all them while Camila stayed oblivious to them all.

Lauren soon got tired of all the comments and led Camila back into her bed, which of course resulted in more comments from her roommates.

“I like your room,” Camila said as she looked around the poster covered room.

“It’s small,” Lauren stated as she walked across her clothes covered floor and hoped onto her twin sized bed.

“It’s cute,” Camila commented as she walked over to Lauren’s bed. “Who do you bunk with?”

“Mani,” Lauren answered. “Majority of these clothes come from her. I’ve tried to tell her over and over again to pick them up, but she never listens.”

“I can’t say much,” Camila laughed. Her floors were worse than Normani and Lauren’s floors.

“I originally had plans on moving in with Lucy, but then everything happened and it never became a reality.

"You could move in with me. Diane is never there because she practically lives with her boyfriend. I could use the company.”

“I wish,” Lauren laughed. “This place was not made for five people. It’s barely suitable for two.”

“I rather live in a smaller place and have fun then living in a bigger place with no one around. It gets lonely.”

“You’re welcome here anytime. However, know it can get crazy and loud around here. Especially during our planning nights,” Lauren warned.

“You guys have planning nights?”

“We have to or else nothing would get done. They’re supposed to a few hours of quiet a week so everyone can focus on getting things done, but it’s usually a night filled with people stressed out because things aren’t getting done or going right.”

“I want to experience one of those.”

“We’re having one Saturday afternoon. Maybe you could come over and help me plan somethings. Then we can go explore Denver for a little.”

“I’ll mark it on my calendar.”

“Nerd,” Lauren playfully teased.

“That’s definitely me,” Camila nodded as she entered the information into the calendar on her phone.

“I love how you just embrace it.”

“I have to,” Camila shrugged as she slipped her phone back into her pocket. “I went to science camp every year for six years.”

“I wish I would’ve known you in my grade school days. I tried so hard to be someone I’m not because I didn’t want to be put into the nerd category. I was a people pleaser, but once I graduated I never saw any of those people again. I wish I would’ve stayed myself, but after pretending for so long I’m still trying to figure myself out. Lucy helped a little, but I’m still lost.”

“Tell me more about Lucy,” Camila hummed as she laid down on Lauren like she did on the couch.

“Uh, what do you want to know?” Lauren asked, becoming awkward. She hardly talked about Lucy to anybody, even those that knew her. She was always such an awkward subject to talk about even before she passed.

“I don’t know. I always hear people talking about Lucy around school and I feel so out of the loop.”

“What have you heard?” Lauren asked as she tried to get a sense of what Camila wanted to know.

“I heard she used to teach in the PreK class before they got rid of it and that you and her were in some type of on again, off again type of relationship. At least that’s what Diane said. She also told me she passed away over the summer in a car accident, and that’s about it. I want to hear about Lucy as a person instead of her death or her job. I’m sure there’s so much more to her.”

“There is,” Lauren nodded. “She was a unique one to say the least. When she was teaching she was the sweetest, down to earth person you would’ve ever met. To outsiders you would’ve thought she’d go home and read a book and watch the news before crawling into bed at ten. When she wasn’t in her teaching role then she was usually out party or exploring a new town. She loved art and photography and literature. She was like the typical bad girl you’d read in a story.”

“She sounds interesting,” Camila smiled up at Lauren.

“She was something,” Lauren laughed lightly before biting her bottom lip.

“Did you love her?”

Lauren froze at that question. Did she love her? They threw the word out a few times here and there, but it always sounded so painful and awkward. She definitely had strong feels for her, but didn’t know if it was love, or maybe it was. It was feeling she never had experience with.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.”

“I’ve never been in love before but I can’t wait to feel like the characters in books do. It sounds amazing.”

“Whoever you love is one lucky person.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ll give them your full time and attention and make sure they’re loved and appreciated everyday. I hope I can find someone like you.”

“Yeah,” Camila said becoming quiet.

“Is everything okay?” Lauren asked, becoming nervous that she said something wrong.

“Everything is fine,” Camila said as she grabbed Lauren’s hand and placed I on her head. “I want you to play with my hair though, and to tell me more about yourself.”

“Of course,” Lauren happily agreed as she ran her hand through Camila’s hair while she went into a story about her bossing the neighbors around when she was younger.

— Hi guys!

As always don’t forget to tell me what you think. I hope you all have a fantastic day/night!

- Ashley

wattpad - iloveyou1234566

#UPDATE #series #AU #camren #romance fluff #submission #The Golden Rose

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mnranger5 · 5 years

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Big Bass Bash 2019, The Boat Drama is Finally Over, Lake of the Ozarks, MO, 4/26/19 – 4/29/19

4/26/19

Early in the drive to Lake of the Ozarks, Aaron and I timidly joked about how it wouldn’t be our spring fishing trip if we didn’t have some kind of drama. There is so much truth to that… From blown out bearings, to malfunctioning trolling motors to dead batteries, we’ve experienced heartbreak on our trips that we’ve almost become accustomed to. As we rolled down I-35 to Des Moines, something big was brewing…

Rewind to four weeks ago. I pulled the Ranger out of the garage from it’s LONG winter slumber. It was going to Lighthouse Motorsports for an oil change and tune up on the motor. In the fall of 2018, I started having a weird issue where I’d lose power once I got up on plane. I need that that fixed ASAP, before the spring trip to Missouri. Lighthouse took about 2 weeks to finally diagnose the problem as a bad fuel filter.

T – minus two weeks until the fishing trip. I picked up the Ranger from Lighthouse and went straight to the lake. She fired up beautifully. I idled through the Crystal Lake channel and gave her some throttle. Immediately, I began experiencing the same power loss. Nothing had been fixed. In fact, it had gotten worse. After limping one lap around the lake, the 2009 Mercury killed multiple times, even while idling. I recall texting Aaron that I am sure the boat would be fine, but deep down, I wasn’t so sure…

Back to Lighthouse. I was worried. After some more testing Lighthouse thought the problem might be a bad fuel pump. Getting a new pump from Mercury could take several weeks due to it being on backorder. This was a big problem. They continued testing it at the shop while I contemplated a contingency plan.

Then Dyan opened a real can of worms: “What if you bought a new boat?” Oh boy. I quickly created a Craigslist/Marketplace add for my boat and furiously scoured the internet in search of a new boat. But I am particular. It had to be perfect. The exact color, features and most of all, the right price. About the time I came to the conclusion that I’d need to order a boat if I wanted to get all the options I was looking for, Lighthouse called me back. They think the motor problem was just a bad $10 spark plug? Serious?

Four days until departure, I picked up the Ranger and took her back to Crystal Lake. She fired up without missing a beat and raced around lake sounding better than ever in the 7 years I’ve owned her. Whew. Crisis avoided. Hopefully we can finally avoid some drama on the fishing trip…. For fun, I decided to leave my boat ad on the internet, just to see what kind of offers I might get...

The drive into the Ozarks was long and uneventful (in a good way). We did make a mandatory stop at Bass Pro in Columbia for lures and licenses as well as a lunch stop which included this humongous 16” party sandwich.

Aaron catches a fish that size on Saturday or Sunday, we will be driving home with some money! As we continued the drive into Columbia, I told Aaron about the motor debacle and how it kind of “opened the door” for me to look at new boats and possibly sell my boat. By this point in the drive I already had 3 people who saw my listing and had requested test drives when I returned from the trip. In addition, I had a guy named “Greg”, who wanted me to cancel all my test drives because he was planning to buy it, sight unseen, no test drive necessary, as soon as I got home. Okay, whatever you say Greg…

At 4:00, we arrived at Village Marina and dumped the boat into the lake. It was bluebird sky with light winds and temps well into the 70’s. Just a perfect afternoon for fishing. And it wasn’t long before we began catching either. Aaron and I both pulled in a couple of small bass each on the shakey head and drop shot. About an hour into fishing Aaron hooked up with this chunker casting a shakey head up on the shoreline.

We worked Jobson Hollow cove for a couple of hours before venturing toward the channel.

Out near the primary points, we came across this monster long-nose gar. It may have wound up in the boat a bit untraditionally, but no doubt, what a cool looking fish to see up close.

This gar must have been nearly 40” long and close to 10 pounds. Had I known the long-nose gar had teeth like these, I probably would not have been so eager to have my hand up near its huge mouth. Yikes!

Once in the channel we actually had really good luck picking up a half dozen bass on soft plastics, including these couple of short ones.

Once again, drop shot (4” pumpkin dreamshot) and shakey head (7” black & blue ribbontail) were really on fire.

But, with BBQ ribs, au gratin potatoes, baked beans and Texas toast being served up hot at home, we blew across the glass-like lake to get some food in our bellies!

And to top it off, home made chocolate chip cookies. We’re eating good now!

4/27/19

5:30AM: Alarm clocks went off. As Aaron and I contemplated our gameplan for the day, there were scattered thunderstorms in the area. We took refuge under the covered dock, staying dry from the downpour.

The plan was to be the first boat on the Shady Oaks Resort cove just to the north of mom & dad’s house.

We felt like our best chance to get a good fish in the morning would be working as much un-fished water as possible. Then once other boats move in, and we’re no longer the first boat making casts on a particular area of water, it could be time to look elsewhere. At 6:30, we took our first casts in the cove. By 6:35, thunder boomed above use, and lightening magnificently lit up the sky. And that was that.

We made our way back over to the dock and decided to wait out the storm. I can deal with a lot on the water – cold, wind, snow and rain – but I don’t take any chances with lightening. So instead, while other anglers braved the heavy thunderstorm, Aaron and I made our way inside for quite possibly the best breakfast sandwiches being served on the lake.

As we conversed with mom and dad over breakfast, the rain pelted the metal dock just beyond the deck. We were pretty lucky to have the comfort and convenience of 5 star accommodations and hospitality while all the other anglers were getting soaked and cold. But, at least one of those anglers braving the elements weighed in a 7.93lb bass within the first hour of the tournament. As Josh always says, “You gotta risk it to get the biscuit!” This guy was risking some serious storms for a giant fish! And it ended up being worth it. That fish would go on to win the $100,000 Big Bass prize for the tournament.

Finally, around 7:30, Aaron and I were able to get out on the water under some light rain. But it didn’t last long. The cold and rain gave way to warm sunshine within the hour. We fished the cove we had intended to start in, as well as a couple other bays in Jobson Hollow, picking up a couple of VERY short fish.

Although the forecast was calling for extreme winds, at the moment, they were very light. We made our way across the channel and began fishing main channel points at the Village of Four Seasons. Aaron started chucking the Alabama Rig (Chandelier Rig) and almost immediate hooked up with this largemouth who was parked right on the shoreline.

We continued deeper into Four Seasons when the wind suddenly kicked up. And it was fierce. Sustained winds were 25mph out of the SE with gusts between 40-50mph. It seemed like the winds in the channel were just as bad as the winds in the coves, so Aaron and I braved the rough waters and fished the rock ledges at mile marker 2. I tried my best to keep the boat on a parallel line between us and the wall with about 30 feet of spacing. Even though we were super close to the wall, the boat was situated in 40-70 FOW. We were casting right up on the wall and slowing letting it fall down the shear cliff. We picked up a flurry of fish, but none of them biggin’s.

We were getting pounded by the wind, so we decided to push back across the channel. I could never have prepared myself for such a bumpy and chaotic ride. While the Ranger did fine slamming into the 3 foot waves, I broke the tip on one of my St. Croix rods, nearly lost another (if not for Aaron’s miraculous save) and broke the mount on my front trolling motor. Uh oh, Greg is not going to be happy about that!

Back in Jobson Hollow, we desperately tried to find some quieter water, in the deepest parts of the cove we could find. Unfortunately, the only fish swimming around there were the smallest fish in the lake.

We finished the day with not much to show for it except some sun and wind burn.

We buzzed over the The Boathouse at Village Marina where we met up with Mom, Dad and Brianna for a couple of cold drinks before dinner.

The Boathouse is definitely my new favorite watering hole on the lake!

And little did we know, the feast that awaited us at home was fit for a king.

Yep, that is tenderloin roast beef with mash potatoes and green beans. Off. The. Charts. I am pretty sure I rolled off to my room directly from the dinner table.

4/28/19

Aaron and I were pretty confident in our approach to catch fish on Day 1, so we planned to continue it. After all, we had caught WAY more fish than any of the other anglers we spoke to, so no need to change it up. All we needed was a little luck that one of those bites was a 5+ pounder.

Once again, we started in my parent’s cove. This time working the point in our first casts. I was pitching a drop shot while Aaron bounced a shakey head along the bottom. On my first cast. I got bit and reeled in this feisty little two pounder with my parent house in the background.

A great way to start the day. Made the windy, 40 degree morning a bit more bearable. We cast everything in the tacklebox over the next two hours, not picking up a single nibble. We worked way deep into the cove, which was packed with boats casting the spawning flats and pre spawn staging areas. But we couldn’t muster another bite.

With only a single non-prize-worthy fish to show for the morning, we headed home for a hearty breakfast which was made to order! Aaron went with the omelet, while I opted for the ham and eggs!

This is like staying at an all-inclusive property! Eat and drink whatever we want, whenever we want. We feasted, warmed up, regrouped, and figured out a new game plan for the rest of the day.

Aaron and I made our way to the shorelines of Birdsong Hollow. We cast up and down this cove for nearly two hours picking up only one short fish. We then changed directions and headed out to the choppy main channel. We knew we’d get beat up in the big surf, but we felt like it gave us our best chance for catching a pre-spawn swamp donkey. I was throwing the biggest bait I have, the YUM Flash Mob Jr, rigged similar to Aaron’s presentation yesterday. Casting it on my 7’ heavy rod with 80lb braid, I was probably going to throw out my shoulder - but it would be worth it if we got a big strike. Around noon, we got a strike, just not the giant we were looking for.

About the same time, Aaron hooked up with a fish on his spinnerbait. The way this fish was spazzing in the water made it apparent it wasn’t a bass. Instead, it was a nice little channel catfish.

We continued fishing the afternoon jumping from one spot to the next. We worked a couple back creeks in Jackson Branch Cove as well as the rip rap around the Hawaiian Island. Finally we made the trip back into Jobson Hollow where we finished the day pitching the docks around Village Marina.

While I was getting hung up on submerged dock cables on nearly every cast, Aaron was busy catching this bass in front of the waterfall. A good way to end the day.

We loaded the boat up at Village, and headed out to the Grand Glaize Park for the awards ceremony. Finally, the sun was starting to warm things up, and attendance was much better this year than last. I’d guess about 300 people were there which represents about 5% of the total anglers in the tournament.

The 7.93lb bass hung on to win the event and was caught on a Crock-o-gator jig. Rounding out the top four was a 7.11, 7.06 and 6.83. Once again, these fish were caught using the same presentation Aaron and I used at various times thought the weekend. Spinnerbait, shakey head (w/ 10” worm) and jig. All it took was to drop the right bait on the right size fish at the right time. Just as it happened to them, it could have just as easily happened to us. That’s what makes this tournament so special. Anybody can win on any given cast!

Unfortunately for us, gas money was not offered for MN anglers this year. Instead they gave it to Colorado, California, Michigan and South Dakota. But in an unexpected turn of events, my name was called for an early bird registration prize. It was worth $500!!!

That night, we once again feasted. Homemade Momma-cotti, salad and garlic toast. To. Die. For.

Although the tournament weather left a bit to be desired, it was an absolute blast fishing the in the Big Bass Bash and staying with my parents again. I can’t think of anything I’d change with the hospitality, except, maybe Mom could churn up some homemade ice cream next time. Haha!

And while we were fishing, Brianna, Nana and Grandpa didn’t have much for downtime.

They spent the weekend sharing milkshakes, mini-golfing, playing at Minor Mike’s arcade, Dog Patch USA, and cooking for us fishermen. And lots of Cooper time!

They even made me this sweet apron with all my favorite things!

The 2020 Big Bass Bash is April 18 & 19, 2020. I’ve already got it on my calendar! No way I’d miss out on another trip to see Nana and Grandpa with my best fishing partners!

4/29/19

The drive home seemed WAY quicker. Aaron and I continued to joke about Greg, who had contacted me several times throughout the weekend about the boat. He was hot for my boat, and needed it today. I told Greg I wouldn’t be home until the afternoon but he was welcome to come by and see it this evening. He told me, “I am not coming by to see it, I am coming by to buy it.” Okay Greg! Greg claimed he had “17K, cold, hard, cash.” I’ll believe it when I see it.

During the bumpy seas on Saturday, I lost one of my Humminbird Gimbal mounting screws. It’s currently somewhere 100’ underwater in the Ozarks. Greg probably wouldn’t be happy about this! We stopped quick at Bass Pro in Des Moines so I could pick up a new one. Unfortunately, they were out of stock of the $10 screw, but the guy working behind the fish finder counter offered me a free extra one he had! Are you serious? Bass Pro just gets better and better every time we stop in. Around 4PM, we pulled up to the house and Aaron went on his way. Brianna and I had a date at the car wash to clean up the filthy boat.

Later that evening, Greg did indeed show up to the house. He gave the boat about a 30 minute lookover before stating he wanted to buy it. The whole thing was surreal. Was I really selling my boat? I hadn’t even stopped to consider that if I went through with this, it would be the first time in seven years I wouldn’t be boat owner on fishing opener.

Sure, that boat has been a thorn in my side and caused me more drama on the water than I care to mention. But the happiness that little Ranger has brought to my life has been priceless. I was blessed to find that perfect little boat 7 years ago in Indiana. At the time, I paid $16,000 for a three year old boat with 11 hours on the motor (the MSRP was $26,345).

We drew up some quick paperwork and Greg made good on his claim by throwing down $17,000 in cold, hard, cash, onto to deck of the boat. Yep, my little investment in floating happiness, netted me $1,000 more than what I paid for the boat in 2013. There is no doubt, the Ranger brand holds it’s value! In less than an hour, the transaction was completed. I handed Greg the keys to the boat and asked him to send me pictures every now and then. We hooked up the Ranger to Greg’s truck and he cautiously pulled out of the driveway, as I had done so many times in the past. I watched from the driveway as he towed my baby away. It was a very sad moment. No more Ranger.

But it also meant, no more DRAMA! And even better, it was time to start shopping for a new boat! Stay tuned.

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myaekingheart · 6 years

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summer road trip 2018 ; day five

Again, nothing too exciting today. I spiraled into a bit of a depression, though. More on that later. Woke up around 10:30am, got another bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats for breakfast and then passed out on the couch. Woke up around lunchtime, made myself a ham + turkey + cheese sandwich with mustard which was pretty good. Had some potato chips, too. My Pop Pop ran to the store again this morning and he picked up chocolate buttercream cupcakes because my grandmom likes them, even though they’re “off her diet” and “all her [Weight Watchers] points for the day.” Keep this in mind, because it comes back. So after I ate my sandwich and chips, my Pop Pop asks me if I want a packet of cupcakes. They’re the Tastykake ones so they’re the two cupcakes in a little plastic pack. I realize now just saying the word “Tastykake” probably gives a pretty good indication of where I am right now. Whoops. Anyways, I wasn’t sure but I accepted anyways. Deep down, I was really scared it would set off my IBS like the cookies I had for dessert did yesterday. As we were eating, we somehow got on the subject of health and weight which you should know already means trouble. I think it was because my grandmom decided to “be bad” and eat one herself. She’s hellbent on Weight Watchers which is great for her because she lost a lot of weight and got healthier but she’s still going at it to make sure she maintains and so every little goddamn thing has a point value and I swear, it’s as bad as counting calories if not worse. At least with calories, everyone has a specific goal they should reach every day based on their current weight and level of activity. With Weight Watchers, everyone has a certain amount of points that you cannot exceed and it’s applicable to everyone regardless of how much you weigh or how often you exercise. And every food has a goddamn point value so you can only eat too much before you reach the limit and have to eat either “zero foods” which I believe are fruits and veggies or just not eat anything else for the rest of the day. I mean, if it’s what works for you and shit then that’s great but I feel like there’s a massive margin of error especially as someone who is desperately struggling to recover from an eating disorder. Which is where the afternoon went south. We got on the subject of weight and my grandmom told me “Well, you can stand to gain some weight!” which then prompted my Pop Pop to (politely, at least) ask how much I weighed. He shot some guesses out there but they were all too high. When I told them the number, I guess they were shocked. Like how could I possibly weigh so little?!?! Le gasp!!! Seeing as I was already in a particularly vulnerable position, this did not help. My botched haircut on Saturday has had me feeling really self conscious about myself already, and I‘ve always been sensitive about my weight. When my parents and I showed up to the wedding on Saturday evening, the very first thing one of my aunts said to me was “Hey, skinny!” and then went off about how small I was and about how her granddaughter, my second cousin, had gained all this weight and I’m sitting there just thinking this is all so goddamn unnecessary. I tried to brush it off and forget about it, though, and it truly didn’t bother me. By the time I was working on my sandwich, I was even thinking to myself “Damn, it’s so nice being on vacation and not really worrying about my weight or whatever. I haven’t tried to count calories since we got here!” Funny how quickly life decided to throw that out the window. I forced myself to eat both little cupcakes even though I was terrified of what they would do to me, but after I was finished I found myself spiraling hardcore. I pulled out my laptop and sat on the couch meticulously calculating how many calories I’ve consumed in the past five days since our trip began. Then I asked my grandmom if I could hop on her scale, to which she said of course. That just made things even worse. I’ve been consuming a very healthy amount of calories during the entire trip, even if my eating has been slightly off in regards to physical amount (on Friday I barely ate anything after breakfast because my IBS was hardcore flaring and I was scared of making it even worse). Despite that, however, when I stepped on the scale I found that I haven’t made a single smidge of progress in the weight department. If anything, I lost a pound or two which was absolutely heartbreaking. I hopped in the shower shortly afterward once the laundry was done in the washer just so nobody would have to see me cry. But honestly, I hate myself. Like if I’m going to be completely blunt, I absolutely hate myself. Cannot stand myself. I look in the mirror and I’m disgusted with what I see. I need to gain weight, I know this. I’m far too fucking thin and it sickens me. I try so hard, though, and even if I do make progress, I will never weigh enough. I’m convinced of that. My weight will never be good enough. I will never be able to gain enough so that I’m healthy, rather than drastically underweight. And no matter how much progress I might make, all anyone will ever see is skin and bones. I am nothing to anyone but skinny. Nobody sees anything but my weight, or at least that’s the first thing they see and probably the boldest thing they see. It’s like that’s all I am, is skinny. If someone calls me skinny, or even that god-awful “Skinny Minnie,” one more time, I swear I’m going to kill myself. I’m so sick of it. They have no idea the struggles I go through with my weight, the heartbreak and desperation. And I have always felt this way. I have never been happy with my weight. I look back at childhood pictures of myself, when I was gangly and ugly and I had gigantic teeth, and I cannot help but hate myself back then as much as I do now. I’m still gangly and ugly and even though my teeth aren’t necessarily gigantic anymore, they’re crooked and disgusting. There are just absolutely no redeeming qualities about my appearance. I will always look disgusting and emaciated and stupid no matter what I fucking do. I’m kind of glad I accidentally cut my ankle in the shower when I was shaving because, as morbid as this sounds, I’m too chicken to actually cut but I get this little shred of disgusting satisfaction when it happens by accident. And this time was especially brutal because it was a rather nasty scrape that bled more than I expected it to. I felt like I deserved the pain. I didn’t tell anyone about it. I hid in the bedroom blotting it with tissues to try and stop the bleeding, then said “fuck it” and instead of asking for a bandaid (because I knew if my grandmom saw I cut myself, I’d never hear the end of it, even if it was an accident), I just folded up a tissue and hid it inside my socks. Nobody had to know, and nobody found out. So, essentially, it was a success. God, I’m so motherfucking twisted. But anyways, afterward I did my daily Mermay drawing, which is probably the most positive thing about today because I’m really happy with the way it turned out, and started reading a book I packed for the trip that I bought on Amazon months ago but never had a chance to actually sit down and read. It’s called My Heart and Other Black Holes by Jasmine Warga and is about this girl who finds this boy through a forum on this website for depressed people and they sign up for this thing called “Suicide Partners” where they promise to keep each other accountable in their attempts at killing themselves. Very morbid premise. Very appropriate for my mood today. And while all of this was going on, my parents were off drinking with their friends and having a grand old time. My grandmom kept pestering them over the phone about whether they would be home for dinner, because she planned to make a roast but only if they would be here, and she needed to know whether to start defrosting it or not. My parents ended up not being here by dinnertime, so we made pasta instead. Since pasta is perhaps my favorite safe food, I was pretty pleased with this. I devoured my entire plate, sans excess sauce because that’s a no-no. Mainly because stomach issues/I just don’t like excess sauce. I picked out the bits of ground beef but that was about it. Tonight I decided to skip dessert. It wasn’t long afterward that my parents did finally get here (they stayed in a hotel the past two nights to be closer to the friends and family they were going to visit). Like I expected, they were hungry when they got here but they picked up sandwiches and soft pretzels on the way so they had something to eat. Of course, my grandmom mentioned how I scarfed down the entire plate of pasta at dinner to which my mom jokingly replied, “Yeah, we’re going to fatten you up on this trip!” As if I needed to hear any more shit about my motherfucking weight. I confronted her about this later to which she told me I couldn’t let it bother me. Like thanks a heap, mom, I thought you were going to be my support system here. I was seriously hoping she’d be my backbone and shit but I guess not. My expectations of her are too high anyways. The only other good part, I guess, was that they brought back birthday presents for me from friends and family that they saw over the past two days. My one aunt, the one who made the initial weight-centric remark, got me some nice comfy boots. My other aunt got me a bracelet, which is perhaps the first birthday gift she’s ever given me that I’ve actually liked and will probably wear. My mom’s best friend got me a shot glass and a bracelet I will most definitely never wear. The thing about buying me presents is that I’m apparently really a hit or a miss because nobody, not even family, seems to know me well enough to know exactly what I’d like unless it has to do with Tangled. But I guess they figure I’m probably too old for that now. In just a few days, I’ll be 21. And I lowkey want to shoot myself for it. I hate the implication that I’m supposed to get totally hammered for my birthday, now that I can legally drink, but when you have a mother who you‘re convinced has a drinking problem, alcohol just isn’t appealing. Ironically enough, she was perfectly fine the morning after the wedding. It was my dad who was severely hungover. He almost didn’t make it out of the hotel, apparently. As a man who always says he knows his limits, and is always a responsible drinker, this was truly shocking. But then again, everyone was completely hungover the next morning. I just cannot possibly fathom how that is in any way appealing to absolutely anyone. Even living on my own without parental supervision like I do, I never drink. I go out to my boyfriend’s friends’ houses and they always have mixed drinks but I never bother with any of it. I am the ultimate party pooper-- another bullshit quality. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke. I don’t do anything fun. All I do is sit around and be the least productive person on the planet. The only reason I even showered today was because my grandmom expected me to and I didn’t know how to tell her no. And because showers are the perfect place to cry without anyone having any goddamn clue. I don’t know, I guess this trip is just weighing on me more than I expected it to. It almost feels like nothing is going right, between the haircut and then the remarks about the weight. I brought my mermaid fin with me with the hope of using it in my grandparent’s community pool but now I don’t even know if I want to solely for the fact that I don’t know if I have the strength to go down there in a bikini after all this. I’m dreading that cruise in a month, too, because I know the expectations of having that “summer body” and I’m just so disgusted with myself at this point that I don’t even want to think about any of it right now. Maybe I’ll just revert to wearing nothing but baggy black clothes to hide my ugly ass body and transform into the disgusting sore spot that I am on pretty much everyone’s lives. To make matters even worse, my boyfriend wasn’t able to come on this trip with us because he has work every day this week so I’m away from him. This is the longest we’ve been apart since we’ve moved in together and it makes me wonder how we ever managed to be long distance for a year. I’ve been away from him since Thursday and I already feel like death. I don’t know how I‘m ever going to survive the rest of this with everything that’s already happened so far. I had such high hopes for this trip and I will admit, there have been a few positive points like at the wedding reception on Saturday night, I ended up spending almost the entire time hanging out in the hallway with my cousin shooting the shit and fangirling about all the common stuff we love like cosplaying and cartoons. For the most part, though, this trip has been a little less than hell, it seems. I just wish things were different, I guess, and that I could actually enjoy myself rather than feel depressed about my shit haircut, my disgusting weight, and how lonely I am without my boyfriend here. Woo-fucking-hoo for Summer Road Trip 2018, I guess.

#summer road trip 2018 #ramblings

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