#((I wore them for three seconds and got a whole ass migraine...))
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Title: Love, Maybe? {45}
Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni
Warning: None 😊
Word Count: 2.8K
Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?
NOTE: **Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.
**Loosley Edited/Proofread**
**Interactive**
Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤❤️
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Chapter 45: Full Circle
The flashing of the cameras was everywhere and even from inside the limo you could hear the shouting of the paps. It was finally the night you’d worked your ass off for the last few months. Finally, the night to show off your vision, time for you to reap the rewards. You took several breathes trying to calm your nerves in prep for when the car stopped, and you had to step out into the sea of fame. You were nervous.
The last few days you’d had the good fortune to get away for a few days. You, Chris and Ella went to Napa and enjoyed some quiet time away from prying eyes and were able to connect as a family. It was like no time passed at all you fell into sync like it was a normal occurrence. Ella was overjoyed and happily hung all over Chris. From when the sun rose she was glued to his side. You didn’t mind, it was cute to watch, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful. Once she was snuggly tucked into bed he was yours and he used the time to worship every single inch of your body with precision. Though the two of you easily physically connected it was clear that the two of you would need time to seamlessly fit emotionally. You had no doubt that you’d get there eventually because you knew what you felt for him was real, though it still scared you.
By the time the three of you got back down to LA, most of your nerves were gone and you felt closer to him than you had in a while. When you and Chris broke the news to your family about the divorce being off and an engagement in the works they were over the moon, especially your mother. She must have shouted “thank you sweet baby Jesus” at least ten times. She even confessed to Chris that she was running out of hope that you’d ever get married. He only laughed.
Chris’ family seemed ecstatic when you sat with him for a FaceTime call to clue them in and bring them up to speed. His mother, Lisa could not stop smiling and it almost made you cry to see how they all genuinely looked happy. It was unexpected considering how meeting them had gone.
A soft tap to the glass of the limo brought your attention back to the event. The door opened and one of the ushers helped you out onto the carpet. As soon as you stepped out the cameras flashed blinding you. It took you several moments to adjust and develop a strategy. You slowly walked down the carpet and smiled at the cameras and posed for them to get their shots. They shout your name left and right, it was difficult to look everywhere at once.
When you made it further down the carpet the interviews began.
“Vixen, this is your night. How do you feel?”
“Amazing. I am so excited to be here. Everyone has worked so hard to get to tonight and I can’t wait for everyone to experience it.”
“This is your second restaurant. What would you say is the aesthetic for this one?”
“Ethereal, elegant, comfortable. I really wanted to give diners an experience not just with the food but with the décor and ambiance as well. So this is a whole bring experience and I hope everyone has a good time--an engaging time.”
“I see you have quite a beautiful ring on a particular finger, anything to say about it?”
You looked down to your ring finger at the classic, but expensive engagement ring you wore. Your smile could not be hidden.
“Um, well no. nothing to say about it. Thank you.”
You walked away and continued going down the line of eager reports and paps and answered their questions that was about the restaurant and the night, anything else you graciously evaded. After a few interviews, Kassius joined you for pictures and a few words where he praised your professionalism, eye for detail, skill and grace during the entire project.
After forty minutes your cheeks hurt, and you were more than ready to get things moving. The restaurant was full and loud. You smiled at diners as you passed and thanked people for coming out and posed for pictures. When you made it toward the back you saw your family and Chris and Ella in the middle of them. He wore a sleek wine-colored tux with a bow tie that matched Ella’s white dress with wine colored details. When they saw you, they clapped as you approached. When you got to them you each gave you hugs and congratulated you.
“Mama Yayyyy!” you smiled and kissed Ella all across her face. Chris leaned to you and kissed your cheek.
“I am so proud of you.” You smiled and gazed in his deep blue eyes relishing the flutter of the butterflies in your belly.
“All right, family, I have to get to work. Enjoy dinner.” You smiled and walked off to the kitchen where your staff waited. Once you stepped inside they got quiet.
“Thank you everyone for your efforts that lead to tonight. Thank you for your faith in me and this vision I had, and I appreciate you taking a chance with me on this journey. May it be a fun, fulfilling and lucrative adventure. Are we ready to have fun?”
They clapped and whooped giving you even more confidence then you changed and got to work crafting the dishes that you’d painstakingly put together over the last few months. You were so grateful that everything ran smoothly, there were no accidents, nothing burned, nothing that went wrong. You tried not to think about the reception of the dishes that were sent out, tried not to think of what they were saying in the dining area and tried to remain present in the kitchen and give every dish your all.
Thankfully no one sent anything back, and every pass around the kitchen you made, everyone looked to be completely competent in what they were doing. By the time the kitchen service ended, and you were down to the last few plates of dessert you felt comfortable enough to leave it in the hands of your talented sous chef. You changed again and walked back out to the dining area. You slowly walked around and shook the hands of those who wanted to pay compliments to the chef. You made your rounds and chatted with each of them and thanked them for dining there.
Everyone you spoke with expressed how much they loved the food and the experience the restaurant provided. The praise you received made you embarrassed, but you also felt appreciative for your accomplishment. When you made the turn to another reporter you were caught off guard when Ella tackled into your legs. Bending down you scooped her up and kissed her.
“Hi princess, how are you?”
“Good.”
“How was the food?”
“Yummy.” You smiled and looked back to the reporter.
“A family affair tonight huh.”
“Yes, I have every member of my family here, it’s a beautiful thing.”
“I would definitely call tonight a success. I had the opportunity to taste some incredible things tonight. What was your inspiration?”
“Good food, hearty food, rich foods, I love mixing and matching ingredients to create a whole new thing. I drew inspiration from many different regions, even the islands. I wanted to give the taste buds an experience and I really hope I accomplished that.
“Da-da!”
You looked back and saw Chris approaching. As he walked he drew the attention of everyone around. It was sexy and spoke of his aura. Your bottom teeth sank into your bottom lip. Your eyes drifted to the gold wedding band he wore, and you smiled wider. When he stood just behind you, you felt his arm around your waist. once he was there they continued snapping your pictures. Ella hugged you tightly looking back at Chris who gave her silly faces which she loved.
"What do you think of tonight, Chris?"
“I think this is amazing. I was prepared for quite the experience and I was not disappointed. One thing with this beautiful human she does not disappoint.” You smiled and tried to keep a demure look on your face. you couldn’t lie it felt so good to hear him talk about you like this. It was a first.
"How do you think it turned out?"
“I think it turned out great. She did a wonderful job with everything in here and the food--,” he began giving a chefs kiss with his fingers. “The food was to die for.”
“Yummy food,” Ella reiterated. You smiled and kissed her again.
"Rumor is you're married. Any comment?" Chris locked eyes with you then smiled a full smile, one that you mirrored before you pinched your lips.
“Tonight is about her and what an amazing accomplishment this is for her and all she's worked for in her career. This place is incredible, and the food was outstanding. So, the only thing I'll say is we’re happily married.”
"Does that mean Chris Evans is finally in love, maybe?" Another smile spread across his face before he pulled you closer, holding you against his chest.
“No maybe about it.” Again, your eyes met, and everyone faded away.
-Chris-
Life is funny. The one thing you swear you don’t want and the thing you run from can turn out to be the one thing you actually need. If anyone would have asked him three years ago if he’d be happily married three years later to the woman of his dreams a woman he loved more than the world with a beautiful daughter he would have said they were nuts. Thinking about what a difference three years made it really showed that nothing is impossible and even though we think we know what’s best fate usually has other plans.
He softly brushed Ella’s hair from her forehead and watched her for a few more minutes. Her bedroom here was different than the one in Boston but she’d picked out everything and loved playing interior designer. He hoped she’d grow to love it as she loved her room in San Francisco. Placing a soft kiss on her temple he walked out and switched on her night light. As he walked through his home he turned off lights and double checked the alarm was armed and his entire world was safe.
As he walked out back to the view that sold him he saw your back turned. You’d always loved this view. Once he was got to you he slinked behind you and wrapped his arms around you. your moan was low and breathy.
“She's fast asleep.” He placed a tender kiss on your neck and trailed it down to your exposed shoulder.
“It was a long night,” you responded burying deeper into his arms. He’d never get over how good it felt to hold you like this. He’d lost hope he ever would. Squeezing you in his embrace he dropped a few more kisses on your skin.
The silence between the two of you stretched, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, it was a silence that brought peace, one that made him feel content for the first time in years.
“Chris,” you began.
“Mmm.”
You took a deep breath and he knew you were preparing to speak. He felt slight anxiety over what you were going to say.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. He almost didn’t hear you.
“For what?”
“Everything, for not telling you about Ella when I found out I was pregnant, for the last six months. How I treated you, all the back and forth, all the pain I caused you. The things I said to you last month. My god, I never meant to hurt you.”
He turned your face to him and kissed you gently. As soon as his lips met yours, he could feel the goosebumps break out on your skin. When his pulled back, he nuzzled your nose then kissed it. All of this felt natural to him. “It’s okay,” he whispered.
“It’s not Chris, I was—horrible,” you added.
“Okay, yes you hurt me—a lot. I don’t think anyone has hurt me the way you have. That alone spoke to me saying that you matter to me when no other before you had. That pain showed me what mattered to me. My career is great and everything but Vixen you and Ella mean so much more to me. So yeah the pain sucked, I’ve never had my heart broken until you.”
It was full honesty, his truth. You looked down and to look away but he wouldn’t let you. He wasn’t having it. “I’m not angry with you Vixen, I’m just glad we have this third try.”
“Me too,” you whispered.
“Now, we just have to work on those flight instincts.” You smiled just as he did. “Don’t run away from me again sweetheart.” The expression on your face made his heart skip a beat. That was a first, he thought. The name felt natural, it felt like it was meant just for you. Again, he kissed you sweetly but passionately.
“I'm proud of you Vix. You have no idea. Everything tonight was amazing, you really set the bar high for future restaurants.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what’s next for the woman who has broken the glass ceiling that enclosed her? What does the love of my life have on the agenda next?” He nuzzled his bearded cheek against yours smiling when you shivered.
“Well, the cooking show, then another restaurant, maybe a line of pots, cutlery, food products, to begin.”
“Wow. Sounds like a busy few years.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” you added.
“When do you plan on having these five remaining kids?” You snorted and laughed loudly. It echoed over the backyard and into the night air around you.
“You may be nearing old age, but I am still in my prime.” His laughter was loud, and it boomed in the backyard.
“Plus, I never said I couldn’t do all of this while being barefoot and pregnant.”
He smiled thinking of you that way. He couldn’t wait to see it. Tightening his hold around you, he moaned.
“There is one thing I want first,” he breached.
“You sure want a lot don’t you Mr. Evans.”
“Damn right I do Mrs. Evans.”
“Okay, shoot your shot.” He kissed your ear, then your jaw down to your neck and then your shoulder. Each kiss he placed elicited a moan from you that got sultrier and sultrier.
“A wedding.” You looked back to him and searched his eyes.
“I want to get married again, for real this time.” Slowly you smiled.
“Really?” He nodded his head completely sure about what he wanted. He’d never wanted anything more. The idea of seeing you walk down the aisle to him made his throat tighten from the emotion bubbling within him.
“Yes, and I know the perfect date,” he informed with a smirk. “August 15th, the first day that started it all, the day fate smiled on us.” Just as the words came out, you crushed your lips to his and expertly kissed him lacing your fingers at the back of his head. He was the first to moan but once he did you followed suit.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your lips not wanting to stop the kiss to speak.
“Show me,” you whispered in the same fashion.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He stood then bent to scoop you into his arms and kissed you tenderly--passionately and allowed the intensity to build. It didn’t take long, it never did. As he carried you through the house up the stairs to the bedroom he pressed you on the door and pulled a guttural moan from you.
“Do you still see them?” Knowing just what you were asking he looked around for the ghosts of your love, ghosts that still remained, but were now something else.
“I think I'll always see them, only difference now is they don't haunt me.” You smiled before you kissed him again. When he laid you on his bed he lost himself in your soulful eyes. He’d always loved your eyes. They were the first things he missed.
“You're irresistible, so fucking perfect!” They were the words he said to you three years ago, words he’d uttered truthfully, as he was filled with earthshattering desire for you. The desire he felt now superseded that of the past. What he felt for you now could only be summed up with the word soulmate.
“I'm never going to get you out of my system. I'll never be over you, Vixen. You're my forever home." Your arms and legs wrapped around him and he finally knew what it meant for someone to be your home. You were his, you’d always been and would always be his home.
The End
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Closing Note: Thank you, EVERYONE, for all your support with this fic. Thank you for reading, sharing, commenting, reblogging, sending asks about it. I LOVE ALL OF YOU SO MUCH for it!❤❤
I appreciate each and every one of you!!!❤❤
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#love maybe fic#Chris Evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans smut#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#Chris Evans X black reader#angst fanfic#slow burn fanfic#black fanfiction
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FFT: back where you came from; ray palmer
Notes:
So this came into my main’s ask a looooong time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I cannot remember who sent it to me at all. But it’s for Ray Palmer / Atom from Legends of Tomorrow? And I kind of liked it, so I decided what the hell. Put it onto this blog.
Summary:
Ray and Tanzie are sequestered in another decade together and things are... Tense. But after a peek into Tanzie’s journal, Ray starts to see the situation and his feelings for what they are and act on them.
Pairing:
Ray Palmer x OFC, Tanzie
Warnings:
uhhh... nothing beyond fluff, nope.
“Bet you’ll be glad to get back to our time.” - the statement had Ray looking up from a fried communications device that he was attempting to patch fix and he studied Tanzie intently for at least three seconds before finally asking, “Why?”
“Oh, well.. Because there’s probably someone waiting on you..” Tanzie was almost wishing she hadn’t started the conversation now, because she could just sense it in Ray, he was annoyed at being stuck in the year 1950 with her, of all people.
Maybe if it’d been one of the other women on the team or something, Tanzie thought to herself regretfully, he wouldn’t be working himself to death in an attempt to get us back to the time we belong in. Kind of sucks because he has not one clue how crazy I am about him and how this whole situation is.. Kind of a fantasy setting for me.
Ray studied the petite brunette sitting to his left with a concerned look and a raised brow. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost swear that she seemed.. Hesitant to get back to their time. Surely she had to miss the conveniences, -or whatever special person she has in her life, that last thought hit Ray a little bitterly as he watched her when she wasn’t really looking at him. He pushed the destroyed communications devices to the side and he took a deep breath.
It was hard to get his head around, doing this again… Knowing how close he wanted to get to her and knowing that lately, she seemed to be distancing.. Even harder when he took into account that he was starting to realize that maybe he’d been getting feelings for her before whatever made her decide to start keeping her distance. Now, here they were, stuck in another time and he was trying to figure out just how to go about doing it without telling her at least half of how he felt lately.. Or confront her on why she was being distant..
“Aren’t you?” he asked after a few seconds.
Tanzie hesitated in answering and eventually, rather than give her honest answer, - “No” she looked at her feet and shrugged as a non verbal answer. The shrug seemed easier than just spilling everything.
“I asked a question, Tanzia.” Ray wasn’t sure why he felt the burning urge to press for an answer, but there he was doing so. He took a deep breath and eyed the device he’d been attempting to patch fix before rubbing at his temples. He could already feel a migraine setting in.
… he’s really going to force me to answer him… Tanzie swallowed hard and after a few seconds, she spoke up quietly. “Not particularly, no.”
Her answer caught Ray off guard and he coughed and eyed her, a brow raised. She’d seemed off lately, like something was really bothering her but if anyone tried to get her to talk she’d leave the room or change the subject, -especially if it’s me trying, he thought to himself, then again she’s also been pretty damn good at avoiding me too..
“Why not? I mean.. If you don’t mind me asking.” the question was harmless enough so when she tensed up, Ray looked at her in confusion and he almost told her she didn’t have to answer, but instead, she snapped “Because I just don’t, okay? Damn. If you went back to the emptiness I did or knew half of the shit I don’t say.. Nevermind, I’m not talking about this, especially not with you, okay?”
Tanzie wasn’t sure why she was so edgy about it beyond her feelings for Ray Palmer and how dangerously close she was to outing herself in that regard, but she was snapping before she could stop herself. “I can’t sit around here and do nothing. I’m gonna go into town and get clothes and stuff. We might be here a while.”
Before Ray could even ask why his question upset her so much, she was bolting out the door of the little house they’d set themselves up in to do recon for the mission. “What’d I do?” he wondered aloud as he stretched and rubbed at his eyes to lessen the chance for eye strain.
Something about what she said before storming out ate at him for the next few hours and upon further thought, Ray realized that he honestly didn’t know their newest team member that well. He’d been so caught up in the aftermath and grieving Norah Dahrk when she arrived that he’d pretty much shut himself off from everyone. She tried over and over to befriend him then, and while he’d let her in a little, he’d kept things purely superficial, so as a result, he wasn’t really retaining anything she might have volunteered about herself.. He thought he’d been playing it smart, he had the thought, but what he’d really been doing was being a coward and giving up before he ever gave anything between them a chance to happen, too afraid to lose her to risk letting her in all the way like he had with others in the past.
He stood to walk into the kitchen and grab something to drink and a snack and his eyes settled on the little black notebook she was always writing in, lying open on the counter. He told himself that even glancing at the page it was open to was a bad idea, but he still found himself doing that very thing.
One page lead to another and the next few lead to backtracking all the way to the beginning of the journal.. Which she’d apparently been keeping since she became a Legend… The entries about himself were… Enough to leave him sitting there, re thinking every single run in or assignment they’d done together and the way he’d sort of seemed distant and cool according to what she wrote in the pages of that journal… Thanks to those things, she thought he hated her -and she still volunteered to stay behind in 1950, why? If it had been me, I would have just abandoned me and left with the team.. That thought baffled him, why would she do that?
He started to read ahead to the latest entries and it hit him like a speeding car.. They’d been the only two awake on the Wave Rider one night and over a few beers, they’d had a really long and revealing conversation and apparently, during that, her desire to become his friend turned to her, starting to realize that he was the one person she’d ever really clicked with or bothered getting to know.. That she thought she might even love him.
The front door opened just as he put the diary back onto the counter and he stepped into the living room, studying her intently… Noticing all these little things he hadn’t before. Like the way her eyes seemed to be this almost milk chocolate brown.. Or the way her hair curled at the ends.. Or the soft and heavy accent.
He realized he’d zoned out when she stood in front of him, head tilted slightly, trying to shove a shopping bag into his hand. The words in her diary came rushing back to him and the bag hit the floor of the living room with a soft rustle as it clicked into place what he wanted to do right then.
“Ray are you…” she started to ask if he was alright, but instead, she found herself being backed against the archway separating the living room from the kitchen and she felt his hands grip at her hips clumsily. “Ray? What the…” her words were cut off somewhere between hell and are you doing as his mouth crashed into hers, his teeth tugging at her lip as his tongue trailed over her mouth and slipped between the barrier created by her lips. When her brain finally caught on to what was going on, she responded, a hand raising to grab at the front of the sweater vest he wore, raising to tiptoe so that it was easier for her mouth to meet his mouth in the kiss. The hand gripping the sweater vest raised to grip his jaw instead and Ray groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he struggled to breathe without breaking the kiss.
“I don’t want to stop but I… Breathe.. I need to breathe..” she muttered as she backed away, both of them wiping at their mouths, her startled wide eyed expression making him chuckle and lean down and into her, his forehead against hers after he slid his hands down from her hips and gripped her ass, pulling her up closer a little. “Everything okay, Tanzie?”
“I.. think so.. Why did you… do that?” Tanzie eyed him as she worked to catch the breath stolen by his kiss and Ray chuckled quietly. “Maybe I was thinking about how much being stuck in 1950 with you is not a bad thing at all. I mean.. We can actually get to know each other and we work pretty damn well together.”
“When I’m not annoying you? I thought..”
“You weren’t annoying at all. I’m glad you kept trying to reach out, I was.. In a pretty dark place.”
“I don’t blame you though.. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean..”
Ray chuckled and shrugged. “ I think I will be. C’mon.. Let’s have a look at the stuff you got while you were out.”
“Okay, but I’m warning you.. I’m not exactly a fashion expert.. Or a cook.. Or..” Ray’s finger against her lips silenced her words and he muttered quietly, “It doesn’t matter, okay? We’re here together and we’re gonna make it through this together.”
#ray palmer fanfiction#ray palmer fanfic#ray palmer fic#ray palmer oneshot#ray palmer imagine#// fluff
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Harried and Torn chap. 1
It was a calm day before they showed up. Sans is already kinda done.
Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Unethical Experimentation on Children, Bad Science, Eventual Happiness, Angst First tho, Cultural Misunderstandings, Bledgeupuff, Spicykustardpuff
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He’d been carefully stacking a fairly solid textbook on top of the pile of other fairly thick textbooks when the entire house trembled beneath his feet. It’d been a slow day before that, Papyrus insistent he finally clean up his bookshelf a bit and put all the papers in their proper folders like a real scientist would, because honestly Sans, its like you were raised in a barn .
Sans had… well he’d taken a nap first, since Paps had cooked up a seriously heavy breakfast and salmon dill pancakes always put him right to sleep. He couldn’t help it, really, and while Paps had been fairly lenient about his nap, the moment he squinted his eyes open to check the time he was scooped up and set firmly on his feet, pushed towards the stairs with a pat on the shoulder.
Squaring his thin shoulders, Sans had marched (slumped) upstairs and gone to his room to stare at the bookshelf in question for a few minutes, just to try to get a game plan here. Mostly ‘cause, brothers and sisters and nonbinary pals, it was a mess. Papers stuck out of random paper and or plastic folders, books were stacked in every direction and orientation they could be stacked. All in all it certainly looked like every other research center Sans had ever seen, but maybe his brother had a point.
Ever since coming up to the surface things had been… difficult. What with the things that happened back underground, what with doctors and labs and little kids with the power to mess with the fabric of space and time. It’d been… stressful? To put it lightly. And Papyrus, bless his soul, hadn’t come out of it entirely unscathed either. It had sorta helped that Sans wasn’t alone for all the shit, but the guilt he felt that Paps had gone through any of it overrode any relief he felt.
Because of the “trauma and both mental and emotional health issues” they both suffered, Paps had signed them both up for therapy at an office that was three hours away from New New Home, just so Paps could take a day once a month to drive with the top down and allow the wind to blow through his skull. Sans just wore a warmer jacket those days and hunkered down for the ride. Therapy… helped. Sometimes.
After cracking his knuckles and looking longingly at his bed for a few minutes, he got to work. Papers were pored over and either put in a folder of their brethren or crumbled up and thrown in his increasingly full trash can. Books were stacked until he could figure out the optimum way to put them on the shelves. He’d been at it for a good hour when the house suddenly decided that collapsing on itself was a brilliant way to handle its problems, his carefully stacked tower of books on particle theory and quantum physics toppling over, ruining his good, hard work.
Sans gave himself a moment to mourn, hand over his soul as he mimed wiping a single tear before finally turning to the door that had smoke slowly curling under it. Well. That certainly was a problem. Paps would never forgive him if the house caught fire because of something in the basement, if that’s what had caused this.
He really wasn’t sure, his mind whirring to life as he made his way down the steps through the smoke, a hand holding his shirt up over his mouth. He hadn’t been doing any kind of anything down there, not for months. The machine was down there, he hadn’t been able to leave it underground and while Paps had given him a weird look and avoided the basement after he’d put it back together, it sat in the same spot it had for nearly five years. He hadn’t touched it, hadn’t turned it on, hadn’t even looked at it the few times he went down there to look for a damn wrench for the leaky pipe under the sink.
But yeah, the smoke was near pouring through the open door that lead to the basement which meant that Paps had already gone down there to try and save the house and Sans really needed to hurry.
He wasn’t going to find a pile of dust. He wasn’t.
Almost tripping down the stairs, Sans peered through the dingy, smoke filled room to find the machine in the corner, nearly melted apart. Something like regret twinged in his soul, but he was near instantly looking for his brother before it could really take root. Glancing around, he saw a figure hunched over in the smoke, a white hand waving around as if trying to get the smoke to clear. Sans hurried over, nearly tripping over one of the bodies on the ground as he came to an abrupt stop.
There were actually two bodies, Paps staring down at them with him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see the resemblance. Two brothers, eyes closed and breathing light, faces scrunched but unconscious to the world. Scars covering every bone Sans could see, the color of them nearly offwhite.
Rubbing a hand over what was left uncovered of his face, Sans gave the machine a withering glare before bending down to haul up the shorter of the two skeletons. Paps followed his lead, picking the taller up in a bridal carry, Sans going with a bit more of a potato sack hold. The other him was a heavy fucker, his bones more dense for whatever stupid reason, but Sans grit his teeth and carried him up the stairs, one step at a time.
As soon as he got the opportunity the other him was dumped on the couch, the little bounce revenge for being so fucking heavy. Turning back to the door, he watched Paps set the taller skeleton lightly on the couch beside his brother. The two seemingly from-an-apparently-shit-universe skeletons were already breathing easier, Paps opening a few of the larger windows to air out the damn smoke.
“I am seeing what I think I’m seeing, aren’t I?” Papyrus asked, standing over the brothers with his hands on his hips. Sans shrugged, staring down at them with a blank expression. It was answer enough, Paps nodding to himself even as he frowned.
Sans knew on a basic level what Paps was thinking. He was feeling guilty that they’d ended up here, that they’d been through whatever they’d been through, that they were stuck with a pair of traumatized fuckers that watched horror movies for fun and ate a lot of pickles because the juice got any and all phantom tastes out of their mouths. Well, maybe that last thought was all him, he’d gotten distracted.
As Paps disappeared into the kitchen, probably to grab a couple water bottles out of the fridge and whatever crackers they had on hand, Sans sat on the coffee table, back to the wonder twins as he put his head in his hands. This whole thing was already giving him a migraine, but that could be the smoke too, couldn’t rule that out.
There was no way to get them home, if they even wanted to. With the machine being pretty much completely destroyed, he’d have to scour dumps all over the damn world to find all the pieces he needed to rebuild it from scratch. They were stuck here, in some random ass universe that could be exactly like their own, or nothing like their own, and Sans was going to have to explain all this when they woke up, fuck.
It took him a second to place what the buzzing sound was, it’d been a while since his last mock fight, but a second later his body was hurling itself to the side, the sound of a bone attack sticking into the wall with a sick thud letting him know a little of what the hell was going on. Otherwise it was kind of a mystery, seeing as how the two brothers were supposed to be unconscious on the couch, not standing in battle positions, hands raised and magic flaring in their eyes.
“Okay buddies, lets just-” A bone flew past his face, nearly clipping his cheek. That fun little brush with death was enough to make him realize that they were confused, probably not in their right minds, and sort of furious? For some reason? So he did what he did best, and kept talking.
“It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He took a step back as they slowly, surely moved toward him, though the Papyrus’ sockets had narrowed. They were backing him up against the wall, apparently too used to doing this whole pack hunting thing, which didn’t mean anything good for him but he had to try to stay alive, if only because Paps had wanted to watch Saw 8 soon. Who was he to deny his brother movie night because he’d died like a bitch.
“You’re both safe here, don’t know if you noticed-” A bone was shoved just under his chin, the Papyrus moving too fast to be clearly seen until he was right in front of Sans, bone in his hand and pointed right at Sans’ throat. Swallowing, Sans took a gamble and glanced at his own double, hands calmly at his sides.
“You’re not home.”
The two of them stood there for a moment, potent magic crackling in the air as they stared him down, until the Papyrus moved again, this time grabbing Sans by the scruff of the neck and shoving the bone attack through his shirt, pinning him to the wall.
“You are going to explain where we are, and how we get back, or I will kill you.” The Papyrus spoke with a harsh grind, crimson eyelights flashing with barely contained fury. The Sans was quietly biding his time, but Sans had no doubts about his role in all this. Just as he was about to open his mouth though, the ping of two souls turning blue filled his ears, Papyrus walking into the room with a wide grin on his face.
Sans knew that grin. He knew it intimately, which was unfortunate because that was the smile Paps wore when Sans’d seriously fucked up.
Papyrus moved across the room, striding past the two… furiously confused? skeletons, popping the bone out of the wall and bringing Sans down to his feet before turning to them both, still bearing that terrifying smile.
“Alright, boys, lets talk about etiquette when you’re not in your own universe.”
#fresh writes#Harried and Torn#fontcest#sanscest#papcest#spicykustardpuff#bledgeupuff#angst#hurt/comfort#eventual fluff
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8, 11, 17, 20, 32, 36, 40!
8. Oldest WIP
now? probably the becoming, my obligatory gears reimagining tale. i started thinking about writing it in high school, but couldn’t settle on an exact version of gears to write. in college i’m still bothered by it, like it’s something i need to write but i just dont know how. i have a good plot set up now involving gears and mann in hong kong in the 80s that deals a lot with some mekhane cults and stuff, but it just….doesnt feel right yet. so that one’s like…..4 years old now lol
11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most
amazingly- and this kind of sounds like it’s coming out of left field knowing the kind of stuff i read these days- gary pulsen. when i was in 6th grade i read a ton of his shit, and i remember a very specific moment where i was reading Winterdance. i remember one day, i loved what he had written for a scene so much i decided to go back and ‘figure out’ for myself how he made it feel so exciting using the words like that; it was the first time i ever closely examined someone’s actual writing technique. my 11 year old self observed that he used run on sentences in the areas where it got really exciting, and i started experimenting with it myself, and as you can see some eight years later…..i should have never done it. it’s now like, a hallmark of my writing style. if i would have never read that goddamn dog book we wouldnt be in this mess
as for more specific recent influences…..i stumbled across off-site access to a few obscure ancient ess see pee works over the winter. the story was…dazzling, and reawakened some of the awe and ‘fuck it, let’s write a wild ass story’ attitude i had when i was a newbie on the site. as of right now i keep them in a folder on my desktop for when i need to remind myself that nothing matters and its more fun not to care
17. What writing habits or rituals do you have?
i get awful writers’ cramp writing on paper. like, when i took my AP exams at the end of high school, i went out and bought an arthritic pen to write the essays with (it worked, and that pen is the most comfortable motherfucker ive ever used). i have no idea if i grip my pen/pencil too hard or if i fucked it up as a kid or what’s going on in there, but it means that i write almost everything on my laptop. this is unfortunate because i also do a lot of other things on my laptop, and my little gremlin brain gets distracted by them in .3 seconds. of course, once i get writing, i get writing and can go for hours, but it makes it hard to start.
this means that i have a separate writing program i keep up in full screen in another window 24/7. whenever i write, i go there. its great because it’s so fucking barren. look at this shit.
aside from that, i always find my voice a little easier if i read a page or two of something else before i start in on a session, even if it’s an old piece of my own shit or something. i dont always do it, because my writing schedule and mannerisms are chaotic as hell, but yeah.
20. How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?
oh my god……………so many………..im never going to get through them all……
i’m on a pattern where i randomly cling to a certain idea and spend months to a year on a huge piece for it before shitting it out onto the internet. the two biggest pieces that have come as a product of this are Major Tom and ess see pee-4231, taking me 8 months and a year, respectively. i write other things, too, obviously, but i usually end up unable to shake a few very choice ideas, and those are the ones that get the most blood, sweat, and tears put into them. usually they’re larger ideas with a big scope to work with.
32. Most difficult character to write
right now? i have a main character named rowan in a big original project i have going on, and i just….haven’t decided on the kind of person he is yet. i have a good chunk of his backstory worked out, but he also ends up getting regularly drugged with heavy horse tranquilizers and reshaping his entire childhood with a few main events warped to reveal possible traumas, so you know how it is. he’s obviously very unreliable as a narrator, but i’m not sure what kind of person he is to be an unreliable narrator. like, the horse tranquilizers definitely helped it along, but there’s also a lot of…wild shit going on in there. he might just be being unreliable out of cowardice, because hes fully aware and conscious of the role he played in several murders, including those of a few of his close friends and collaborators. so who knows
36. Last sentence you wrote
Well, the last three are sentence fragments. So backing up a little to the last paragraph:
“The tile in the deep dark was black, white, grey. The eternal floodlights on vaulted caverns cast scales of reds, electrical white florescence. The door was six inches thick; the hallway was not patrolled; the cameras obediently turned away; and just like that, with a mix of something teetering between greed and fear, the Foundation chose not to see the place of necessary evils in the deep dark of the mountain.
Director Eiler beat him. And beat him. And beat him.”
40. Share some backstory for one of your characters
kilroy fisher’s mom really wanted him to be a web developer, and kilroy was pretty eager to please her until a couple things happened:
1. when he was ten, he was enrolled in a foundation research program doing brain scans of young technopaths with hopes to create an AI system to repel their specific psychic influence. part of the test involved kilroy being exposed to a prototype of this AI, written in an extraordinarily complex unique coding language. how he was able to interact with it and how the code felt to him when he was around it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. he was fascinated. the AI was set to be used, at least at first, around the most secure Foundation databases. the heart of the AI was strongly implied to be centered in the databases themselves. he’d only seen the skin of it.
2. he read william gibson’s neuromancer, and very quickly became a cyberpunk technopath hacker kid, to his mother’s horror.
Kilroy ended up obsessed with this. like, absolutely off the shits, increasingly lost in the sauce as his teenaged years wore on. he quickly discovered that if technopaths work with this coding language for like, more than an hour in their unique psychic state- which is the most effective way to go about it due to the complexity of the code- it starts manifesting in bleeding from various areas of the head (ears, nose, teeth) and eventually leads to seizures and really intense migraines. this makes sense because like….its literally used as an anti-technopath code for anti-technopath interests, but kilroy, who at this point was severely depressed and bordering on suicidal, became addicted to working with it as a means of regular self harm.
Kilroy ended up writing a bootleg terminal program for the language, which would theoretically allow people to more easily work with the code and even eventually break into that all-important foundation defense AI that was now his sole reason to live. after a fight with his girlfriend resulted in her calling him ‘a fucking ruthless pig’ for being literally obsessed with it to the point of regular physical collapse, he deemed it RUTHLESS.exe and started going with the handle ‘Gip’ online, especially in circles where the program was in high demand for Criminal Actions™ and he was seen as a fucking godsend to working with this thing.
this eventually culminated in some attempted hacking of the actual AI itself, quickly followed by an intense hospitalization while he recovered and had surgery to remove the traumatic cataracts in both eyes, subsequently followed by being shipped off to containment. technopath containment is literally just….a setting with no technology. in his case, this meant that he has since lived alone in a specially built little house on a foundation-owned little farm in the middle of nowhere.
he gets visits from foundation agents twice a week that bring him food and supplies, because he’s not allowed off the premises. he takes care of his sheep (or at least like, the sheep the foundation has put him in charge of as part of his ‘rehabilitation’ or whatever). he’s bordering on suicidal again, and they put him on some heavy medication that leaves him feeling numb most of the time. he wears bifocals because of the permanent damage to his vision. he lives without electricity. he reads a lot. he reads and rereads neuromancer a lot, and after a few years of this he decides that he needs to reach a decision on the whole ‘suicide’ thing, because this is really getting ridiculous.
and that’s where the story finds him. i have no idea how im gonna write all that backstory coherently. im probably gonna binge read more william gibson stuff and pray.
A Writer’s Ask Game
#this is so long im so sorry#and this is only one of them nooooo#scp wiki writing#writing#asks#long post#vandal.txt#v1als#bm tale
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yes hello I would like a headcanon and tragic backstory for Fillmore pls
oh buddy, oh my dude
BACKSTORY:
Fillmore was a the child of a 15 year old Brazilian/white girl (Josie) and a 27 year old man (Phillip Sr)
Fillmore was originally Philip Jr but his mother changed that when he was about 5
his father is part Native American, but not much else is know about him and his past
his parents were married because his father was rich and his mother was a desperate orphan
when Fillmore was three his father left in the middle of the night without a word, and they later had to find out it was because he had been lying about his wealth and everything they owned was getting repossessed
after that debacle he and his mother traveled on the road for a while before finding a cult like, traveling group of hippies who took them in mostly because Fillmore’s mother was so young
the group was many things, but nudist and acid worshiping was the most prominent
Fillmore’s mother was pregnant twice whilst living there
The first was with the cults main honcho/leader, the baby was stillborn due to the shit ton of drugs she was taking the whole time; the second was twins from a random cultist named Randy who took the twins and ran off, later they his hut and all three occupants dead from gunshot wounds (most likely from a dealing gone south)
The cult was creepy, but the worst of it (besides telling pregnant women to take heavy drugs) was that it was law that when someone turns 16, they must move from the heated “childrens room” (where the pregnant people and children under 16 slept) and be moved to the “Pit”
The Pit was an unheated hut just off to the side from the camp, and since the followers were mostly nudists, you can imagine how that looked
It was essentially a roof and some walls with the floor dug out, and it was filled with pillows and mattresses and stuff, and everyone just cuddled for warmth
There were a few who wore clothes for heat/safety/comfort reasons but they were few and far between that it was almost unheard of
Fillmore was one of the few who didn’t participate in nudist shenanigans
Because his mom was banging the cult leader, Fillmore got some special treatment (got to wear clothes, didn’t have to go to weekly worships, wasn’t forced to do drugs)
^Fillmore does, however, do regular cigarettes and blunts to dull his hatred for the place
Despite his obvious dislike of the cult he still picks up the hippy, free love lifestyle and goes to marches and stuff even after he leaves them
He was about 11 when he met Ramone (who was about 7 or so), whose parents had crossed the border and were living in the woods until it was safe to go and live with family
Ramone was always curious of Fillmore’s living situation but Fillmore never let him find out
Until one day,
When they were like 19 and 16 Ramone followed Fillmore home and naturally he was found out and they were gonna “initiate him” (don’t ask but it’s hella illegal no matter what the age of the victim is)
So Fillmore was like “oh i’ll initiate him don’t even worry about it guys” and he takes him into the woods and sets Ramone go with a “don’t worry about me I’ll talk to you tomorrow”
Filly goes back and says the guy fought back and got away but it’s cool he was gross anyway and everyone buys it because they think Fillmore is one of his own
So the next day he tells Ramone everything and Ramone spends the next year doing everything he can to get them out of those woods
Well surprise surprise people got suspicious and started asking where he was going so Fillmore had to lay low for a while but encouraged Ramone to get out while he could
They lose contact for about a year, Ramone hitchhikes with a hot trucker for a while before finding RS
He opens a shop, and then travels up to find Fillmore
He finds him living with a man named Mickey and his husband Carlos
Fillmore had basically been floating around after running away from the cult, had some consensual sex for once, and was actually advocating for things he believed in fully, it was practically heaven
While making plans to move to RS, Fillmore travels regularly between the two, living (and threewaying) with Ramone and his new gf Flo, and advocating for prides with Mickey and Carlos
On the last pride march, Fillmore lost his legs:
The first leg (right) went at a peace rally gone very wrong
So he’s lost a large chunk of his right ear in rally so he comes with friends
So it was a march in the afternoon and he’s just walking with a sign
On his left he’s got his childhood friend Mikey (a gay black man always looking for peaceful situations) and Mikey’s husband Carlos (short tempered, shot heighted, Mexican man), Carlos is holding a sign and mickey’s carrying a pack with water, weed (for him and Carlos later), and an extra shirt for everyone because they’re going st sweat through theirs before they’re even remotely done
Out of the blue someone charges Fillmore and brings him to the ground
They wrestle for a minute before Fillmore realizes the guys got a knife
The guy tries to stab him, but thanks to Mickey trilingual to get him off, he misses and gets him straight through the thigh, and he makes sure to pull out the big ass steak knife
So Fillmore’s bleeding and before anyone can get to him, one of the other jackasses (who’s there with knife guy) set off tear gas
(Among other types of gas to fuck w/ everyone)
Since it happened in such close proximity, Fillmore could be gotten to immediately like he needed
The wound was not only infected but it had been worsened by the stinging gases
But since he’s a fuckin hippy he didn’t go to a real doctor who would’ve just amputated that shit
Instead he goes to a natural dude who worked on him for like two days and eventually cleans and fixes everything (supposedly but Fillmore is never quite the same) but because of the severity of the wound almost all of the nerves died and in his right leg Fillmore can’t feel a thing below the upper mid thigh
In his other leg Fillmore was shot twice, at a later peace rally, in the knee and *still* did not get professional help for he is a fool
Fillmore moved to RS and never really looked back
He later finds out he has a half sister upstate at a reserve but does not try to contact her for a long ass time
From her he has three nephews, he meets them twice in his whole life but they come to his funeral regardless
HEADCANNONS
His sister’s name is Alexandra
His nephews names and ages are John (23), Harold (23), and Mikey (16) ((these are at the time of Fillmore’s death
Despite his chill personality, Fillmore is the cheekiest little shit
He and Sarge have a small wedding reception because Fillmore doesn’t believe in marriage under the government
Fillmore is a top (i will fight everyone who says otherwise im looking at you cars discord)
He’s very good with kids, especially babies (I have a fanbaby au but in otherwise cannons Fillmore never has kids)
That being said, Sarge adopts a baby after Fillmore dies to fill the void in his heart
Fillmore can’t cook because he never used a stove until he moved to RS
When he found out his mom died he cried but refused to go to her funeral
He has cheek piercings form his time in the cult, and he can never decide if he likes or despises them
His favorite color is green
He used to threeway with Flomone but when he became paralyzed he stopped due to his self consciousness
Which was fine Red ended up filling in for him
He cannot sleep naked or in the dark because of his past (his partners must also be somewhat clothed)
Before the organic fuel he would’ve loved to have been botanist
Hes 6’4”
Fillmore doesn’t know his own legal last name and doesn’t know the context of his first
Pst his last name is Patterson
It took a lot to get him off the smoking but he eventually did it
He loses touch with Mickey and Carlos, but after the events of the first movie they find him and he babysits for them
He has PTSD but is good at hiding it
Almost went to jail because he kicked a natzi’s teeth in (the guy had to wear dentures for the rest of his life)
He got off because the cop called to the scene was black and he pretended that Fillmore got away
His hair is v soft
It’s Sarge who ultimately forces Fillmore to seek professional help on his legs
He is very susceptible to heat and is always drinking water so he doesn’t get migraines
i have,, so many hcs for my boy, but these are the mains
#answered for me#headcanon#fillmore#sargemore#i love my gay hippie son#hes a good#also im really sorry this is such a fucked up backstory
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Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet
Title: A Three Flower Bouquet
Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...
Fandom: Preacher
Words: 4,574
Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol)
Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip
Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)
A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa!
A Three Flower Bouquet
Week One
Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.
A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...
"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"
"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.
And so the day began.
***
The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.
She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.
Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.
"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."
The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.
"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."
Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"
"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.
Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.
Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.
Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.
Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.
"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.
"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."
"You doubt me?"
"Oh good god yes."
He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.
"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."
"It's definitely not."
Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.
But she was something entirely.
***
Cass was something else too. Holy shit.
Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.
He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.
"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"
"Yep."
"But mine are too pretty?"
Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.
Except this asshole.
"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.
Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"
"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"
That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.
"One sec," he said.
Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.
He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"
"Yeah! One in the same."
"That woman's a piece of work."
"You're telling me."
"So how about giving her this?"
It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.
"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"
Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"
"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"
Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.
"Aw hell," he said.
***
Week Five
In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.
Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.
It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.
"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."
Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.
Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.
"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"
Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.
He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"
"Jesus fuckin' christ."
"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"
"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.
"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.
"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."
As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.
Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.
"Uh," Jesse said.
"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"
"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."
Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"
"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"
They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.
He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.
"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.
Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.
Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.
"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'
In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.
Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.
"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"
The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.
"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.
He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”
***
Week 13
So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.
"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."
"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?
If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.
"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."
"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."
"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.
"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.
"Excuse me?"
The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.
"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."
"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.
In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.
"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"
Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.
"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."
Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.
"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"
"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."
"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.
This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.
Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.
"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.
"Yeah," Tulip agreed.
"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.
"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.
"Can only hope so."
***
Week 27
Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.
Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.
"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."
"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.
"You obviously know nothing about hair care."
"I know some other things though..."
Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.
She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.
Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.
He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.
Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.
"Got you a flower," she whispered.
"You stole it from me."
"Do you care?"
He really, really didn't.
***
Week 52
Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.
"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.
Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"
"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."
"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"
"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."
"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."
"A camper."
"Absolutely not."
"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.
"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.
"Who'd watch the store?"
Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."
"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.
He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.
"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.
"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."
Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.
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