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buck-nialled · 3 years

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All Shook Up - T. Holland (01)

NOTE: fuck it, let’s start a new series! a fifties au featuring poindexter!tom x cheerleader!reader, and also a meanie harrison. let me know if i should continue this!

TAGLIST: @niallberry @swiftmendeshoran @theshyspy @clarabsevero @golden-hoax @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @organicpurplepants @wowitsel @sunwardsss

CH I. LONELY BOY

“Hey Poindexter,” the brunette turns away from his locker, eyes scanning over all of the gelled haircuts and letterman jackets for the nasally voice no doubt summoning his attention. “Where’d ya get those glasses? Geeks “R” Us?” Tom only groans quietly to himself before facing his small cubicle once more. As he tried drowning out the shrill laughs coming from the clan of girls adorning poodle skirts congesting the tiled corridor, the boy takes a sharp inhale through the nose at the sight of a hand slamming the door to his locker closed.

“How goes it, Poindexter?” Tom had suffered enough regular visits from Harrison to know two things. One was to never make eye contact in fear of earning a shiner and a broken pair of specs to trash, and the second was how to ensure he would live another day. “I’m here for my fee.” The proximity between the two allowed Tom a deep whiff of the tobacco Harrison was chewing that morning. Pushing a gag back down his throat, Tom nodded and hastily swung his knapsack around to sift through it. A few moments of silence pass when Tom’s hand zips the first pocket to his bag back up and tries the next one.

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Harrison tilts his head in a taunting manner, adding “you know what happens when you don’t have my fee.” Tom curls his toes as Harrison’s fist collides with the door of Tom’s locker a couple of times. The boy shivers at the memory of the last time his lanky body was crammed mercilessly and without regard into the small space. He missed three periods and was forced to wait for the janitor to pass by and hear him pleading for somebody--anybody--to set him free.

“I-I have it...I know I put it somewhere in here…” his trembling hands reached the zipper to the smallest pocket, which thankfully held enough for his lunch. Or, in this case, Harrison’s lunch.

“Ah, thanks, Poindexter.” Tom eyes the hand attached to the leather-clad arm snatch the bills from his scrawnier one. “Try to be quicker tomorrow, eh?” He can only nod in response, feeling the bell to first period vibrate his core. He trudges to first period with his head hung low, already suffering a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut that today would be no good. No day at school ever was for Tom. He accepted that from the very first day he stepped into class lacking a proper haircut and twenty-twenty vision, he would be the pet of every teacher and the butt of every joke, whether he liked it or not.

“I never liked fish stick Friday, anyway.” He says to himself before approaching his usual seat towards the front of the classroom. It was the desk every student feared; apparently, the wooden seat had a stigma for sticking out to the teacher, who would call on whoever sat in it. More recently, it had grown attractive to his peers’ eyes for being infected with “nerd germs”. Truthfully, Tom didn’t think himself all that smart compared to his classmates. The only difference he could academically between himself and those occupying the desks around him was that he put forth real effort into his assignments, especially those which excited him. Sometimes he becomes certain he missed a memo about only being excited over last night’s football game or the malt shop’s new jukebox.

On the way to his desk, Tom couldn’t focus his eyes anywhere except the bright red lipstick complementing Y/N Y/L/N’s lips. He supposes admiring her was an activity he and the rest of the school did enjoy together. And Tom could not blame anybody for their disposition towards the girl. Being head cheerleader with the niftiest poodle skirts in Midtown history were perks that drew eyes and fished for compliments, unlike Tom and his four-eyed, shaggy hair appearance. Tom’s quirked lips fell as he witnessed the sight of Y/N’s opening to chat with Harrison, who claimed the seat beside hers. He tried to pull himself away from the sight by finally sitting his rump down in the chair and reading the list of assignments written on the chalkboard by the teacher, but his ears refused to leave the conversation alone.

Amidst her melodious giggles, Tom heard Y/N and Harrison discussing the big football game tonight. “It’s gonna be bitchin’,” he caught Harrison’s deep voice poking through the rest of the pre-class chatter, “especially since I’ll have you cheering for me.”

“Alright class,” the instructor starts, before taking the roll of the class. Afterward, she sets her clipboard down and clasps her hands together. “Let’s get down to it. It’s time for the annual science fair!” A chorus of groans echoes throughout the concrete walls, but Tom straightens himself up in his seat. This assignment was his favorite of all his classes for many reasons. It was no surprise that each year he wins by a landslide in comparison to the other projects, but he also has the freedom to do it completely by himself.

“This year will be different from the last years, however, because you all will be partnering up with somebody else from this class.” Tom’s shoulders slump, his lips parting in surprise. He was preparing himself to be the last choice of everybody in the classroom. Though it was guaranteed that he would lead himself and his partner to a blue ribbon, nobody would risk social suicide to willingly choose him. “And, before you all flip your lid about who you want to partner with, I will be choosing them for you.” Another series of whines leaves many of the students, leaving the teacher to hush their protests and reach the jar of popsicle sticks located on her desk.

Her voice calling out a succession of names becomes muffled to Tom’s ears. He crosses his fingers beside his legs, scrunching his eyes closed and silently praying for somebody feasible to work with--or really, somebody who isn’t Harrison.

“Harrison Osterfield and…” Her fingers dip back into the jar, stirring the wooden sticks around in a manner Tom is sure is meant to torture him. “Jacob Batalon.” The brunette allows a relieved breath to seep past his lips and hears the two teammates celebrating behind him. Little did they know, Tom was having an internal celebration of his own.

“Y/N Y/LN…” All of the unsaid names in the class, Tom included, held their breath for the lucky person to be drawn. Tom eyes the instructor’s manicured fingers dive back down, swirling all of the possible partners around. Tom shuts his eyes and debates the possibility of his name being drawn. Would it be nice to work with a paper shaker who—more or less—presents herself as an airhead? Yes. But is it worth enduring a possible beating from Harrison if he stole his favorite cheerleader from him? Tom isn’t sure.

Luckily, he didn’t have to debate any further as the teacher drew the next stick, proclaiming, “Diana Ross.” Tom’s eyes darted around the classroom trying to spot Diana Ross in one of the desks, but only found other puzzled stares in return.

“Um,” a friend of Y/N’s who sat on the other side of her in the back of the classroom raised her hand, “I don’t think she’s in this class, Mrs. Weatherby.”

“Oh, my!” Mrs. W giggles to herself. “Her name must have gotten mixed up with your class by mistake. Thank you for correcting me, Barbara. Miss Y/L/N, your actual partner will be...Tom Holland.” Tom nearly gets whiplash from his neck shooting up at such a fast rate. The boy feels his cheeks go red as he turns around in his seat to send his partner a shy wave.

Barbara leans over to Y/N, her mouth agape. “Oh, my stars. You have to be partners with Poindexter?!”

Science class came to an end before Tom could even muster the courage to properly introduce himself to Y/N. In the classes that followed after, he was imagining every possible scenario of how working with the school’s queen would play out. She could leave him to do all of the work. Maybe she would actually give her input on parts of the project too. The worst scenario that came to mind featured Y/N hating anything Tom brought to the table and ultimately earning the two of them a big fat ‘F’ in Mrs. Weatherby’s grade book. By lunchtime, Tom felt sick to his stomach from the smell of lukewarm fish sticks and these various figments.

He approaches the table Y/N is sitting at with her fellow cheerleaders and leather jacket clan, clearing his throat before speaking. “Hey, Y/N.” The clatter of silverware on plastic trays halts as all eyes turn to scan Tom’s frame up and down in dislike. Y/N studies all of the expressions being delivered to her partner and scoffs.

“Hey, poindexter. What are you doin’ over here?” Her voice saying his—unofficial—name still cues him to gulp down his nerves.

“I came to talk to you about the project, so we can figure out what we’re gonna do.” Her friends kept glancing between the two, absorbing every detail of the conversation.

“Uh...okay…” Y/N concedes, standing from her seat at the lunch table. She wipes her hand down the front of her pink, poodle skirt before grabbing hold of her lunch sack and following Peter to an empty table nearby. He tries not to train his eyes on how her hands reach around toward her backside to smooth the skirt down again before taking a seat.

“So what do you want to do?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “What do you usually do?” Peter eyes her hands as they open the brown lunch bag, removing a sandwich and an apple.

“Well, last year I did a study on kinetic energy--”

“Cool, let’s just do that.” She decides, taking a bite from her sandwich.

“What? No. I just said I did that last year.” She rolls her eyes.

“Do you really think they’d notice if you did it again?” Considering he won with his presentation last year, Tom wouldn’t bet on sneaking past the teacher with the same exact concept.

“Yes.” The boy nods his head furiously. “Look, why don’t we just meet up later?” He suggests, only to receive a head shake.

“No can do. The cheerleading captain needs to be present for practice and the game tonight. Unless you want to show up and talk during the game.” She snorts, meeting Tom’s stoic expression.

“What’s so funny?”

“No offense, Poindexter--”

“Tom. My name’s Tom.” He interjects sharply.

“Right. Let’s be honest, you would never show up to a football game for enjoyment. You haven’t even been to one of ours.”

“You don’t know that!” The boy argues but slumps down in his seat as Y/N lifts an eyebrow.

“Really...do you even know our school’s mascot?”

“I...that’s irrelevant.” Tom disputes, face heating underneath her hypnotizing stare. “And for all you know, I could have come to a game to watch.”

“Nope. You haven’t.”

“Really, and how would you know?”

“Because I…” Y/N pauses spewing her argument. Tom sits patiently, eyeing the paper shaker whose mouth remained agape.

“Well?”

“B-because it’s my job as a head cheerleader to keep the crowd entertained at all times. That also includes knowing who’s in the crowd. And I’ve never seen you on our bleachers.”

“Well, you will tonight. Because I’ll be there. And we can figure out what to do then.” From what Y/N had heard of Tom around school, the boy didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. But something about keeping his word to this level seemed fanatical. Even picturing the lanky boy in his plaid shirt and specs slouching on the cool metal seats proved to be difficult for Y/N.

She narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Whatever you say, Tom.” His name sounded foreign falling from anybody’s tongue except his parents. But he won’t lie, it made his insides flutter from her acknowledgment. He gazed at Y/N grabbing her lunch sack and departing from the conversation until she reached her original seat near her friends. She smoothed out her skirt once again before plopping down in between Harrison and Barbara and flickered her eyes up to meet Tom’s.

Immediately, both looked away. Y/N, to her lunch sack which she was now ripping open to occupy her eyes, and Tom down to his fingers. Seconds pass before Y/N slyly peeks up again, and notices now that the boy is sitting alone and without a tray or bag of food.

She leans next to Barbara’s ear, murmuring. “H-hey, does Poindexter always go without eating?” Maybe that’s why his arms never properly fill out the sleeves of his sweaters, or why his belt always needs extra notches from a pocket knife, she thinks to herself.

“Who cares?” Barbara inquires between obnoxious chews of her pink bubblegum. “Maybe it’s a new nerd diet or something.” Y/N only hums but feels her eyes narrowing down in suspicion yet again. Harrison nudges her shoulder, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Will you wear my jacket tonight at the game? It’d only feel right to leave it in your hands.” The boy smirked, trailing his eyes up and down her figure.

“Absolutely.” A smile crawls onto her lips as she stares at his wandering eyes. She cannot fight the fact that hers want to do the same, and they flicker back over to where Tom was sitting, only to find the table clear.

She wonders if tonight will be the night she looks for his face in the crowd and finally finds it.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland one shot #tom holland au #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n

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lizzybeth1986 · 5 years

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Quick Thoughts on The Royal Heir (Finally!), Book 1 Chapter 12

• Sorry for the delay, guys! I had my first spoken word performance in years this week, and since I was pretty rusty from lack of practice I was spending most of my time preparing for that. Which kind of meant I couldn't concentrate much on getting this QT done the way I usually do.

(BUT IT WENT VERY WELL!! :D :D)

• If you don't want these posts clogging your dash, here are the tags to blacklist: #trh quick thoughts, #trh qts, #trh qt reblogs, #long post.

• Honestly the highlight of this chapter for me is finding out that Kiara calls Madeleine an angry poodle behind her back. I bet it was supposed to mean something else and Penelope simply edited it out lol.

• And also Hana's look this chapter, coz Hana always looks so pretty XD

• Soooo like we have one more chapter in Texas left? That's...quite the gap away from the country - from Chapter 5 to Chapter 13, with us returning to Cordonia (by the looks of the summary) by Chapter 14. That's 8 chapters in the States + 1 in Auvernal (9 total): that's roughly 42-47% of our total book. That's how long the narrative took to wrap things up in Walker Ranch, a huge chunk of which added nothing much of value whatsoever to the story.

• In terms of timeline, we've spent over a week preparing for Bertrand and Savannah's wedding, following a possible month-long honeymoon plus barely two days in Valtoria. That's one looooong holiday. And...newsflash...it's not only "King Liam" who's being "irresponsible" (esp if you consider that in a playthrough where you're honeymooning with another LI, he isn't the one spending a whole month frolicking on the beach then running off to Texas shortly after), it's all your favourite LIs as well.

• Screenshots:

Hana: The Universal 77 YouTube channel

Maxwell: @itsbrindleybinch and rash.rec YouTube channel.

Drake: The HIMEME YouTube channel and BizzysChoices YouTube channel

• Sooo the chapter begins where we left off, with Savannah worried about where Bertrand has gone, and the group doing some sort of team huddle like they're discussing strategy for a football game or something.

• Maxwell for some reason thinks the chickens may have taken him hostage. This is not Angry Birds, Maxwell 🤭

Savannah mentions that his tux and wallet are still at home, and therein lies the clue that he isn't abandoning her. He's not taken any money with him.

• Leona gives in her crusty, unwanted input, which Bianca to her credit shuts down. I mean, if Bertrand really needed to turn tail and run, he would have done it ages ago. Like as soon as Drake the Freeloader insisted Bertrand cluck like a chicken last book, just to win the hand of his equally freeloading sister. He could have just muttered "this entire clan is bonkers, me outie" right then. And he'd be right.

• I need Bertrand to ask THE ENTIRE WALKER FAMILY to cluck like chickens or something similar in public once this whole ordeal is over coz istg they deserve just as much humiliation for what they've put them through. That includes Savannah and Drake. Bertrand would be appalled by the idea but yknow, a girl can dream.

• The MC offers to go to the store to find him, and sees Bertrand arguing with the clerk (and threatening curses on him and his progeny). She gets to sock him over the head if she wants...or just scare him. After a couple seconds of arguing coz Bertrand went on this impossible mission just before his wedding, he admits to wanting to get Savannah the Walker saddle.

• The owner of the store doesn't want to give the saddle away because he wants to use it to hold hats. If there is one thing Esther DuPont can appreciate, it's a man who values his hats.

• You have three options to convince Cassidy, the owner: you either plead with him and remind him of the power of friendship, or you tell him the truth about the saddle being Bertrand's fiancée's family heirloom (and because Cassidy is a big softie really, he is moved by both these options).

• The third option is the messiest and the best because you grab the saddle and run while poor Cassidy is just standing there like "what the fuck just happened here":

• Just before the MC and Bertrand got to their respective rooms to change, she gets to ask him why it was so important now for him to get the saddle - and his reasoning involves not only Savannah but Bianca, who Bertrand reveals "has never had a favourable opinion" of him. Which for me technically means buildup for a flashback scene for her before we leave, so the story can highlight why she secretly shares Leona's mistrust of the Crown. There have already been a couple instances where Bianca has hinted at her disappointment, and I'd be kiiinda surprised if it doesn't come up next chapter.

• Bertrand suddenly starts "realizing the importance of parents" with Bartie Sr's return? Really?? How and why? Wasn't he extremely conflicted about Bartie Sr earlier? You'd think they'd expand on that but no.

• Since the MC and Hana are from the bride's side (for no reason) they wear these lovely pink outfits (of course, if the MC decides against that, she can always choose Pepto Bismol!). The men wear blue and white with pink flowers at the lapel, and interestingly Maxwell wears a bowtie rather than the tie Liam and Drake wear (I'm guessing so he could match with Bertrand).

• As with most things on Hana's playthrough, Maxwell takes her place for scenes where an LI is to assist the MC (either in picking an outfit or in choosing for something like the nursery). Here, we meet Maxwell first, then see Hana's outfit afterwards.

• ...Madeleine believing she's "an actual professional", and in fact better than Jess, and Blake Yasuda.

If I had to make a list of how poor a professional you are, it would be - oh wait. I already have a comprehensive list of that. It's the entirety of Book 3.

• Madeleine is not our press secretary anymore (thank goodness) but she still hasn't lost her need to control and criticize and screech at people. Unfortunately, by virtue of being last in the room just when the MC is hit by a wave of nausea, Madeleine ends up sharing the secret of our possible pregnancy with us (eww).

• Because the MC is impatient as hell, Madeleine shoves the test into a desk drawer and waits for the timer to go off, after which we find...two tests (how did she not see this when she was opening the desk). Which one is ours? (the positive one, but for plot purposes the MC is kept not knowing about this).

• I'm not appreciating Madeleine carrying around pregnancy tests. That'll always be a weird thing to do.

• Why the heck was Savannah keeping her negative test in a desk in someone else's room? Why not just throw it away? Like I understand not wanting Bertrand to know but this is just next-level bizarre. What's it supposed to be: "a keepsake of that time when I was not pregnant"?

• So now the plan is to figure out who took the other test and confirm any results from them. The rest of the bridal party (Penelope, Olivia and Kiara) are downstairs making small talk and discussing wedding fashion/traditions. You get references to Lythikos weddings ("all knives and crossbows", which is actually Kiara's disbelieving statement that Olivia confirms).

• Time for the wedding! And the MC needs to ask a woman from the court about this test, and quick.

• You'd think she'd zero in first on a girl who was already in a relationship but nope. Kiara it is. Even after she's told us enough times that she isn't dating nor does she want to. Asking KIARA this question first is a clear sign of lack of common sense.

@ Option 2: The writers seem to forget that this was a woman who didn't mind juggling both work and finding a suitor. Like...sure, she has a position in the palace now and her priorities may have changed but let's not forget that it's just as easy to give a girl like Kiki a phenomenal love interest in the time they took to lovingly plan a "reward" for Penelope 🙄 Just say you're too lazy to even try giving Kiara nice things that she more than deserves and go, PB.

• Savannah finally enters the venue, riding her horse Thunder and wearing a version of the RoE MC's free wedding dress that has wider straps. Bianca notices the saddle, surprised, and Savannah (in the only sequence where she makes 1/4th of an effort to support her partner in front of her shitty family) informs her that it was Bertrand who got it from the store for her. Bianca's way of repaying him for doing this is tears in the eyes and a whispered "thank you".

• You know that isn't enough, Bianca. You and your daughter stood by while your sister treated this guy like shit. You allowed him to suffer when he was the bridegroom in this entire wedding shindig, and let's not forget his money was what was supporting her in Paris when she didn't even keep in touch with anyone - including you. Yet you and your sister let your bias - fueled by other assholes - make it okay to treat him like this?

• Also, Cassidy's shop seems to be nearby and I'm pretty sure Bianca and Leona know him at least a little better than Bertrand or the MC do, if they sold a precious family heirloom to him. Why weren't they going and asking him, even after realizing how important the saddle was to Savannah? Surely they'd understand that he was a softie at heart, or at least they could have made an effort. Sure, pride could be a factor but this was a matter of Bianca's daughter's happiness...I guess actually doing something about it other than mope and brood isn't much of a Walker trait.

• Bartie Sr is yapping loudly without caring how he's disrupting the ceremony by doing so, and the MC needs to make a decision to keep him quiet. She can choose between Madeleine and Penelope:

- Madeleine: is clearly the option PB wants you to pick because they wrote her bit with Bartie quite well. Bartie Sr recognizes Madeleine as "Godfrey's little girl" and it's nice to see her distance herself from her father and reaffirm her authority beyond him. She also shuts the man down so fast he must have gotten whiplash.

- Penelope: is there. And thinks we're playing dumb charades in the middle of a wedding. Her poodles are smarter and eventually get the job done, because if you want something done, Penelope is the last person you should be asking.

• I've also learned from this sequence (and chapter) that the Choices fandom only needs the slightest, flimsiest excuse to like Madeleine. Like that's it. Kiara will be hated by some until the end of all time and have to go through hell to get even a tiny smidgen of respect, even. Forget about getting memes about how great Kiara is and how narrow-minded the people who dislike her are. Nah only the white woman gets that.

• Anyway, Bartie Sr shuts up, and the wedding is underway. Except Chuck decides now is a good time to object.

• It's cliché, it's stupid, it's totally what you'd expect at Savannah's wedding, but at least you get the option to say "fight! fight! fight!" with Olivia gleefully joining you and Liam going all "ffs ladies I'm trying to officiate here" 😂 For that alone this sequence is worth it.

• The option for Bertrand to "rise above Chuck with your eloquence" is nice, because Bertrand then makes it clear that the decision to be with him or not rests with Savannah, and Chuck disrespecting Savannah's wishes and choices is the real issue here. You get a minimal version of the same message with the more aggressive option, but the message is essentially "what Savannah wants is more important". I only wish that message went both ways coz for the most part I just never see the same amount of effort or consideration from her side.

• 🤦🏽‍♀ Jesus Pop-Tarts Eating Christ, Bertrand. YOU'RE NOT PAYING ME WELL ENOUGH FOR ME TO BE YOUR HUMAN-SIZED BACKUP THESAURUS.

• You have one eloquent choice, one cute one. But my favourite one is the one that focuses on Esther rather than the actual couple 🤣

- I miss hearing my duchy by name, okay? It's been said a couple of times in this book but still.

- "Daniel Henney" 😁😁😁😁😁

- This is revenge for that time when Savannah and Bertrand would have taken over the hype of my reception party for themselves except that I didn't pay the diamonds.

- I still don't understand why Esther is the reason this pair works when she hasn't done shit but okay, we'll roll with that. As long as this is the last time I hear about this version of events from either of them.

- Also pls now that they're married, just...let them stew in their awkward silences together for the rest of their lives. I don't want to be involved anymore. It's exhausting.

• Savannah's vows are really more about how she felt Bertrand was out of her league and how he welcomed her anyway etc etc. Hana and Maxwell pass the rings for Savannah and Bertrand respectively. Cue cute Bro-mont moment between Bertrand and Maxwell.

• Marriage solemized (😬). Now it's time to - as Maxwell puts it - PARTAAAY.

• This is not the first time we're seeing someone use Penelope's nickname (in the "she's not my bestie" option in Portavira, Emmeline calls her "Pen"). But it is the first time someone has used it by default in the books. Guess it's kind of a mark of the progress of the relationship, that Zeke has already begun calling her that.

• It's time for the bouquet toss, and as per Madeleine's suggestions also time to find out if this test belongs to either Penelope or Olivia. You have four options altogether:

- Penelope: grabs the bouquet, is happy, everyone believes this means she's next in line, and Madeleine is not very subtle about hinting that she may be pregnant so Penelope laughs at her and says no wonder Kiara calls her "an angry poodle" (somehow I think "poodle" wasn't the term Kiara wanted to be using there 😅...)

- Olivia: Doesn't catch, doesn't care, calls "Maddy" out on being nosy.

- MC: Really likes flowers.

- If the timer runs out before you choose someone, Kiara catches it. She also really likes flowers.

• I'm pretty sure a lot of this sequence is geared towards highlighting where in her relationship with Zeke Penelope is right now, since she is the only one who actually doesn't mind these "you're next" hints all that much. Next wedding for Book 2 must be hers (😑)

• I'm meh about the possibility, but at least maybe (if they're hosting anything in Castelserraillian) I'll get to see more of Kiara's estate and Kiara's parents - with some actual attention given to Kiara this time.

• You get to take your spouse aside and briefly talk to them, either telling them that you've "got it covered", tell them a little of what you're doing without disclosing the possibility of your pregnancy, or tell them it's complicated and can't really be said that quickly. I think the last two options have variations but idk about the first one.

I missed Maxwell's screenshot of the response to "invasive personal questions" thing coz I'm finishing this QT in a rush and wound up not asking anyone (sorry!), but if any of my wonderful Maxwell stan readers are still reading this I'd love to know!!

• I like that the MC can point out how invasive she's being, going around and quizzing people about the status of their uterus after complaining about everyone else doing the same thing. It's nice that you can see her understand that, otherwise it's always been "one rule for me and another for the rest of the world".

• Bartie Sr makes a toast that's all about him and his house and how proud he is of his son, and hardly about the couple. Istg he's worse than the toddler named after him.

• Speaking of Bartie Jr, he gets so excited about the cake he drives straight in, like that dude from Cold November Rain:

(I'm calling it, this is what Bartie Jr might possibly do as an adult, in the series that revolves around our kids all grown up, if there is one. "Kayyyyke!" He is a Beaumont, after all)

• Poor Blake is panicking, Bertrand is sad coz he wanted the perfect wedding cake for Savannah, Savannah is happy coz the writers are desperate to show us she isn't as whiny a person as she actually is.

• LMAO @ the LIs' responses to the MC wanting to scrape cake off a toddler.

• So Madeleine pulls the MC aside to tell her she's not pregnant because she has overheard that Savannah was taking one this morning. How...did she make that leap in logic?

• Overhearing Savannah say she took a pregnancy test only proves that one of the tests belonged to her. NOT that it would be automatically the positive one. Madeleine may be an established courtier but she lacks decent deduction skills and basic common sense. I should have called Olivia for this job gah. It's already canon that her deduction skills are better than Bastien and Drake's combined!

• We go back to our LI, and Bertrand and Savannah check in on us. Jess and Blake step in to alert us to another problem: the DJ's speakers has gone bust, and that means a Beaumont Bash with no dancing.

• Okay so...who are the ones actually staying on this semi-broke ranch, have been around longer, and would know the local bands in the area? Leona and Bianca. Who is the one finally making the effort of calling them to the party? US.

Who was the person who was holding Bartie and didn't manage to distract him before he destroyed an entire wedding cake? Bianca. Sure one cannot always tell with a toddler, but the least you do when that happens is apologize since you were the one in charge, rather than simply standing there and saying "oh dear".

Who sold the saddle to Cassidy? Leona and Bianca. Who probably has had more experience talking to people in that shop? Leona and Bianca. Who made the effort to actually get back that saddle? Bertrand.

Even the wedding planners that they got were because Liam recommended them!

Like I see them putting such little genuine effort into all this, and the nobles they judged so much are ironically the ones who don't shirk away from helping them out even though they're not as well-equipped...yet Leona still thinks she has the right to whine about everything and Bianca is doing nothing much besides letting her sister treat everyone else like trash.

• Anyway, the MC makes the calls that Leona and Bianca should have been making if you choose the options, and you wind up with a band, some fun dancing from everyone else, and a private moment with your LI.

- Begins with everyone dancing and rejoicing, Bertrand and Savannah thanking the MC and if we choose Bertrand and Maxwell can carry us on their shoulders.

- The tune changes, everyone shows a signature step, and the MC can choose to make either Olivia, Bartie Jr, or the poodles dance:

* Poodles: Everyone is doubtful at first, but Penelope has given her poodles dance classes. Merlin and Morgana stand on their hind legs, bob to the music and then do flips in the air. More of Zeke and Pen acting like a couple who have taught these dogs together.

* Bartie Jr: is a Beaumont through and through, you can tell by the way he says "dance! dance! dance!" perfectly.

* Olivia: is skeptical about this and most of her dance moves are marital arts moves, so Hana steps in and dances with her so she can have fun with it. Meh. I know everyone else loved this scene (part of me thought it was cute too, no lie) but I'd rather not see Hana yet again be nice to someone who has held such shitty opinions of her (I'm sure people will jump in and say that Olivia was just "helping" to rile Lorelai up...but no. There were other ways she could have chosen to distract Lorelai, and she chose instead to talk of Hana with disrespect). Especially in Hana's case, Olivia isn't worth the effort.

- You get to choose the music (regal, fun, yeehaw) and get music from either TRR, TF or BSC. Hana also asks you to do a dance move (a high flip, a Dirty Dancing type lift with the LI, or good old faceplanting).

- "Now that's what I call a party!" Leona says. Yeah, Auntie Bitch, no thanks to you.

- Bianca and Drake speak about how much Jackson would have loved a party like this, which means IMO that he's definitely going to be a topic for discussion next chapter!

• Partners are coupling up, and it's time for a little dance with the LI:

- Liam: You start with a cute callback to Coronation Night ("I'm ready to do a lot more than dance"), whiiiich I think the writers show a little selective amnesia for, considering that after Liam says he remembers the last time she said that Esther replies that she wasn't able to act on it back then 😳 (PB I did buy that scene. She did act upon it. An hour after she said that. WTF are your writers smoking). They also joke lightly about how nice it is to see a wedding minus assassins.

- Hana: Very simple. Hana asks for a dance, you choose who leads, and you both dance gracefully as everyone watches appreciatively. The couple notice this, and the MC talks about how when Hana dances everyone talks notice, and Hana sweetly places her head against the MC's shoulder, telling her that the rest of the world falls away in front of her. I honestly wouldn't have minded even a vague reference to the Cordonian Waltz since if you chose that scene that would have been your first dancing experience with her. If you're giving Liam a dance reference, might as well give Hana one too, right.

- Drake: There's one bit I'll address here and another that I'll address a little later. Drake and the MC dance together and are the picture of elegance according to the narrative. This leads the MC to joke about the change in him, but Drake maintains he is still the same simple, rustic whiny asshole guy. The rest is about Bertrand and Savannah (mostly Savannah) which I will get to in a minute.

- Maxwell: The couple dance a little, Maxwell compliments her moves, after which he thanks her for saving this Beaumont party with the music. He then lightly kisses the MC because she makes him so happy. I'll talk about the Betrand Savannah part now.

- Drake and Maxwell: Okay, I'm clubbing these two together because in extension to talking about their relationship with the MC, they also get to talk about their siblings. Which is fair, because they're after all the brothers of the bride and groom:

(First five screenshots are from The HIMEME Channel Drake playthrough, and the next four are from the rash rec Maxwell playthrough)

I don't mind that they get to talk about the couple. They're the family of the couple. They're bound to be personally invested in a way Liam and Hana may not be.

But read these screenshots and tell me you don't see a huge difference in the way these two talk about their own siblings. Tell me you don't see more attention being given to one while the other one essentially gets barely two lines to talk about literally the same thing. Tell me how it makes sense for Drake's wife to make a reference to family, and not for Maxwell's wife who has also seen and learned similar lessons about family in a shorter span of time (esp with Bartie Sr's return).

Drake - for the umpteenth time - has dialogues that are more personal and specific to him, that emphasize more on the importance of family. He's the one who talks about Bertrand never allowing himself to love Savannah, he's the one who envisions (for some reason that I can't fathom because this doesn't sound like the Savannah I've seen in the books) Savannah as this self-sacrificing figure, and he's the one talking about how the couple would have been "heartbroken without music". Maxwell's is pretty much "oh look now they're happy" - when he could have easily gotten a couple of lines about Beaumont Bashes and how parties like these are the only times Bertrand allows himself to let loose for example (it's true).

Someone once asked me how I knew the attention given to Bertrand was really about enriching Drake's storyline...this, among other things, is proof. This family story could have involved Maxwell instead of pushing him so far out of the narrative. This ordeal involved his family too. PB seems to constantly - and conveniently - "forget" that.

• Once this sequence is over, Savannah comes over to thank the MC for the things she's been helping with behind the scenes, and the MC can either congratulate her, or straightout ask her if she's pregnant. Either way, Savannah lets the MC know that she isn't pregnant, and she didn't want to stress Bertrand out unnecessarily with the news.

• Which means only one thing. WE ARE FINALLY PREGNANT!!

• So the next chapter is going to be about disclosing the news to the LIs and the other guests, and possibly to have Bianca's remaining issues aired out in the open, which may possibly lead to another flashback? Whatever it is, it's clear now that we'll be spending our final chapter in Texas this week.

General Thoughts:

• Sigh they just HAD to make Madeleine and Savannah the first to know, right?

• I don't have a lot of thoughts really that I haven't already shared. The next chapter seems promising because it's the big one, and it should be customized so each LI has a different reaction and/or a different story to tell related to how they view babies/family.

• Hana doesn't get a lot of space in this one - besides alerting the MC to stuff that could disrupt the wedding or dancing with people who verbally shit on her or minimal LI stuff (which for once...is okay, like her family isn't here and nor is Liam's which is why their dance scenes don't mention family that much), so she'd better get next-level amazing writing next chapter! So should Maxwell after they've done him dirty especially in the last 2-3 chapters.

• I was very happy to see some of our MCs get their well-deserved revenge by upstaging Savannah's dress with their Ana de Luca special. You guys are heroes and I love you 💜

• Ngl this chapter is one of those that reads better with the messier and more chaotic LI xD

• Sure Leona and Bianca have their own axe to grind with the Cordonian monarchy - and are justified in feeling that - but staying in their house has been painful. Painful. Worse then pulling out teeth. It's like the moment they provided housing and board for the guests they washed their hands off them and hardly put much effort into much else - instead had us do a significant amount of work for them.

• And let's not forget, Bianca/Savannah especially stood by and did nothing (though Bianca would make a few weak counterpoints when Leona insulted him) as Bertrand was being regularly humiliated and reminded of his inadequacies. Whatever problems Bianca had with the Crown, allowing her now son-in-law to be treated that way in her own home - with the barest minimum support - is unforgivable. If she didn't like the idea of him as a son-in-law she should have just refused to entertain the idea of Savannah marrying him, or told the couple to host it elsewhere. Bertrand shouldn't have had to make all that effort to do what Bianca or her sister didn't bother to do for Savannah, just to gain her approval.

• Yet somehow the Walkers are supposed to highlight to us the importance of family. How? All I see are a bunch of people who don't make much effort to look out for each other, and who depend on other people to take any initiative for the same.

• Nonetheless, I hope to see a difference in tone once we return to Cordonia in Chapter 14. (that's 9 chapters, people. Nine). There's other stuff left. More mysteries to unravel, more messy history, understanding what Olivia is upto and perhaps a visit to Monterisso at some point. There's always at least two-three main people we're expected to impress in a certain book (remember how we got our report card of performance from Justin, Francesco and Adelaide in TRR Book 2?). We've already had a chance to do this with the Auvernese, so Monterisso should be up next at some point. There's also some nursery stuff to purchase which I'm guessing will be done either slowly or in one go.

• Because there's so little time left with this book, and we already spent a huge chunk of it on the BertVannah wedding, there are going to be time jumps. Imagine the kind of time we would have had to explore this pregnancy plot properly instead of rushing it, if the writers weren't so busy drooling over all things Walker.

• Well. I can't deny I'm sorta kinda looking forward to this chapter. And the reactions from the LIs and other characters. I'm low-key excited.

• Until next chapter, folks!

#long post #trh quick thoughts #trh qts #the royal heir #king liam #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #drake walker #trr kiara #trr penelope #trr madeleine

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sian22redux · 7 years

Text

He followed me home

Title: He Followed Me Home

Pairing: Chris Evans/Reader

Rating: T for tooth rotting fluff!

Setup: Ok..so in a rash moment of weakness I bet @theycallmebecca that my beloved Cleveland Indians could best her Boston Red Sox in the latest series. Whoever won got a drabble. It was close and an awesome game but unfortunately an L for Cleveland. So here is her choice: Chris and Reader adopt a puppy and have to decide on its name: from the Patriots. Bosox or Disney. Aannd because I can never write short it’s more of a fic. Enjoy!

Summary:

The whole world gets involved when you and your new boyfriend, Chris Evans, adopt a friend for Dodger but then can’t settle on a name.

Thanks so much to @mypatronusismrpricklepants and @arizonapoppy for their awesome help.

Chapter 1: Surprise, March 2018

“He followed me home…”

As defenses for impromptu madness go, it’s a little bit predictable. You’re standing, sheepish and flustered, with an armload of wriggling, wagging tricolor fluff while your boyfriend Chris leans against the front hall closet door.

His arms are folded across his chest. His deep ocean eyes are bleary and amused at once. It is technically his Laurel Canyon home, although your socks and books and curling iron moved in two months ago. Long enough to feel a bit like they belong, but not long enough to be certain if you’ve erred.

“Oh really.” The sound of Boston twangs as one skeptical eyebrow raises.

It was just the first thing that popped into your head. Chris pauses to take in the mammoth paws, the blunt short snout and drawls, “So SuperPuppy jogs a cool tens k’s?”

“Maybe,” you squeak. It’s not easy to shuffle one’s feet while juggling a possible hot potato in canine form.

Chris laughs and shakes his head as much at the sound as the ridiculousness of it all.

On the scale of crazy spur-of-the-moment things you’ve done this falls somewhere between late night skinny dipping in his mother’s pool (scary but fun) and filling La Jolla High’s atrium with foam (fun until you all were caught).

You sincerely hope this is closer to the first.

“Y/N, you are so full of shit.”

Behind you the door is still ajar—open to the bright spring day that lies lazily golden and blue under California sun. It’s ten o’clock and only seventy degrees. Dry with just enough heat to remind you summer will be soon, just enough breeze to lift the sweet scent of Sierra Salvia blooming beside the walk.

Perfect weather for a mid-morning jog (or a mid-morning nap if one is desperately jet-lagged two days after crossing eight time zones from damp and windy London).

Chris yawns and rubs at his eyes. His hair is mussed; his t-shirt’s askew and you can tell from the creases on his cheek that he’s been crashed on the man-eating white leather couch. Probably with Dodger on his chest.

While you’ve been out burning off the prickling excitement of reunion after two weeks apart, the pair of them, inseparable since the moment Chris walked through the door, have been busy catching zzz’s.

You smile wanly at the dark smudges under those dark and ridiculously heavy lashes.

He so needs it. The press for Red Sea Diving has been brutal tacked onto Avengers 4.

“Dodger missed you while you were away,” you offer by way of explanation.

This is true, but not perhaps entirely the whole point. The pair of you had talked about the problem just the night before. How Dodger pined terribly for Chris while he was in South Africa. How you two had whispered the word ‘airport’ but still Dodger had gone crazy when he saw the latest suitcase coming out. That it might be a good idea to get him another friend; a constant pal when he has to shuttle between L.A. and Massachusetts; crashing for months at time with Chris’s sister’s kids.

At least the heavens had aligned for the latest trip. You’d dog sat and watched the house, spoiled him with lots of love, but still Dodger moped, ignored his ratty favorite blanket and had to be coaxed to eat. Change was hard for animals.

But even so, this follow through might be just a teensy bit premature.

How do you explain? You’d finished breakfast, thought it a good idea to give the two best buds space to chill and took yourself off for a longer run. Turned right instead of left along Mulholland and wound up outside Ace of Hearts with its ‘Dog of the day” sign plastered on the window. So cute, and so in need.

You’d given in, asked to see their featured rescue and wound up outside puppy’s cage, getting a hopeful shy wag and your fingers licked through the metal bars.

How could you resist? Puppy looked small and alone and so very sweet.

Isn’t this supposed to be one of the things Chris loves about you?? That you are ridiculously spontaneous while he struggles not to overthink every little thing?

“I didn’t plan it,” you admit. “It just kind of happened.” Chris’s eyebrows rise even higher.

“Y/N.”

You lick your lips nervously and try again. “I…” you start but don’t get a chance to explain because fifteen pounds of black and white and brown fluffball wriggles harder in your arms. You’re standing in runners and shades, long brown hair pulled up under a sweaty baseball cap. At your feet are two shopping bags from Village Pet and in the waistband of your jogging shorts are the rumpled adoption papers

Dodger, that pure soul of joyousness, is not helping things. He’s excitedly jumping up on his hind legs, pawing and yipping, trying to get closer to the pup. The little guy whimpers mournfully. You lift your shoulders, struggling to hold him a little higher, crooning softly to reassure. The smells and sounds are new. There’s a strange dog who is trying to say hi and a big, broad, bearded man who is leaning over to inspect him.

It’s overwhelming and a bit startling to go straight from a 2x4 metal cage to an open expanse of cool and white.

And Dodger’s idea of friendly can sometimes be a little much

“Come on pal, leave off.” Chris grabs at the red collar in tawny fur, pulls the mutt back, clamps his knees around the wriggling and whining, overly enthusiastic host. The ghost of a beginning grin on his handsome face fades quickly to a frown of concern.

Puppy is still scared. He’s shivering silently in fear, trying to hide himself underneath your chin.

You can almost hear Chris Evan’s enormous heart melting on the spot.

“Hey, it’s ok… don’t be afraid,” he says, softly, hunching his huge shoulders down to make himself a little less imposing. “Don’t mind this big, crazy lug.” A free hand that knows something about anxiety reaches out to stroke the black wavy fur, caressing it slowly, in time to slow easy breaths, resting gently against the little warm body until the shivers ease.

Chris, thrilled at his feat, smiles wide and looks up underneath your brim. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy. He’s a Bernerdoodle...” you say as if this explains everything.

“A what?” Chris is chuckling, quieter than usual so as not to startle the poof of dark wavy fur. He snickers, clutching lightly at his pec, imitating Ned Flanders nasal accent perfectly. "Homer, I can see your doodle…"

“Chris!”

You roll your eyes elaborately, thinking not for the first time that omg this man is such a kid. Yes doodle is slang for penis. It is also a recognized crossbreed.

You shake your head and very very carefully shove him with your hip. “Shuddup. A Bernerdoodle is a Bernese Mountain Dog and Poodle cross. You shouldn’t tease the little guy. He’s had a really rocky start. Was just busted out of a puppy mill. He’s the last of his litter. No one wanted him because his markings aren’t symmetrical.

They aren’t. Puppy has two white paws, one fore, one aft; a white blaze on his chest and a white stripe down his nose. His eyebrows are tan, as is half his muzzle. Quirky and utterly adorable. You give him a gentle hug and a small pink tongue licks at the bottom of your chin.

Chris leans close and wrinkles up his nose as he too, gets a lick. “Awww. Sorry dude.”

You shift the warm furry load at your hip. A moth flutters past and Chris looks up, startled, realizing belatedly you are still standing in front of the open door.

“Whatever he is, he’s a cutie that’s for sure. Bring him in.”

He lets Dodger go and swings the white oak door shut, picks up the shopping bags while you walk over to the couch, balancing the awkward bundle of big paws and floppy ears and tail. So much for cardio, it is suddenly resistance day.

You lower yourself gingerly to the deep expanse of butter-soft, not-claw-proof leather as Chris slides across, dropping the bags to one side. The space is light and bright and so relaxing: white walls and furniture, low rough wood tables and dark grey carpet. A haven from the bustle and noise of life.

“You, too. Sit,” Chris says, pointing a finger until Dodger finally masters his inner zen to settle down beside your knee. The older dog is upright, tongue lolling and one ear cocked. A picture of controlled enthusiasm. His amber eyes keep flicking from puppy back to Chris.

Puppy nestles into your lap and makes himself at home, sniffing at the air and taking in members of a new pack. You are clearly alpha female, chief cuddler and source of safety. Chris is the alpha male: one pat and the little guy rolls over to show his belly for a rub.

Chris obliges; bends down to tickle warm pink spotted skin and gets licked excitedly on his chin for his efforts. “Ow.” he announces, laughing and holding a hand across his nose

The white milk teeth are sharp. And curious. “Watch it little fella.

You smile because obviously Puppy’s starting to feel a little braver now but the sight of him mouthing earnestly on Chris’s offered fingers makes you wonder: how does one keep a puppy from chewing up the furniture? You hadn’t thought beyond getting him safely home. The expensive designer to-the-trade originals do already have a few puncture holes--Dodger is rambunctious but he wasn’t a baby when he came home. It’s been years since you had a pet. Your old dog, a white heinz 57 collie-samoyed mix with the honest-to-goodness name of Buck passed away your second year of college. He lived to be seventeen. You can’t even remember what it was like to break in a puppy but there must be somebody around to give you tips.

“We need to set some water out for him and the new wee pads.” you note. He has been so good. Didn’t piddle once on the Uber ride home, or even when he was scared.

Chris nods, unerringly reaching to scratch behind soft and silky ears. Puppy cocks his head and whines. “Check. In a sec. Does he have a name?”

“No,” you admit. “The breeder had shitty records. At Ace they called him by his number. They think he’s about ten weeks old, just enough to be separated from his dam. I bought some food and stuff.” you add, waving in the general direction of the bags. There’s a blue collar to match Dodger’s and a new leash, a comb, smaller steel bowls. Hopefully they show you weren’t completely off your head, totally mesmerized by dark liquid eyes and a cute as a button nose.

You blush, remembering the excitement of signing for him, holding him for the first time: all pink toe beans and soft silky fur and new puppy smell. Pure heaven. And the right thing to do, give a home to a poor little abandoned soul in need of loving.

(No ticking clocks, here. Nope. None at all.)

Puppy whines and sits straight up. Coughs once. Then twice. It’s a huffing, wheezy sort of hack that shakes the little dark body shake from pink nose to white tail tip.

Chris looks over at you alarmed. “Is he ok?”

This time it’s you that melts a little. Chris worries. Always. Empathy, wrapped in caring, wrapped in genuine unselfishness.

“He will be,” you explain, biting nervously at your lip. “Just needs a little time. He’s a rescue from a puppy mill. The whole litter had pneumonia and he almost didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.” Chris’s growl is quiet but you know he feels about animal abuse the way you do. Enraged.

You pull the adoption papers out and pass them over. Chris scans them, turning them over and checking the certificate from the shelter and its vet. All is in order. Case # A201206 has been dewormed. Had all shots. Weeks of Baytril for infection and supplements. Has been off his feed because of illness. Is paper trained.

“He’s done his shots and antibiotics, but needs a special diet ‘til he’s all better.”

Chris is nodding, taking it all in, trading the pages back to you for a now braver little guy. You reach down to pull a water bowl and a new blanket and Kong toy out of the first paper bag.

Puppy sits on the soft grey flannel of Chris’s sweat pants and leans against his chest, raising up one enormous paw to ask for attention. Chris catches it in his own equally enormous hand and lets his blue gaze slide to the rubber chew toy that is easily twice as big as your fist.

“How big is he gonna get?”

You flush. This is the tricky part. “Ummm, the lady said they don’t think he’ll get much bigger than seventy pounds.”

“Seventy pounds?!”

Incredulous, Chris looks down at Dodger obediently flopped on the floor and back up to the pup. Dodger is lean and wiry, all muscle and energy; straight flat fur. Puppy is a small mountain of dark wavy coat, paws not quite like dinner plates. Hefty and solid. He’s sitting placidly, taking up a good half of Chris’s lap at less than three months old.

“Dodger’s only thirty pounds,” he frowns.

“I know,” you nod, “but his father was the Bernese. They’re more than a hundred.”

Chris chokes. “Jesuz, Y/N, that’s a pony not a dog!”

You hold your breath. This is a gamble. Chris is obviously a bit thrown by how big the pup will grow. You can see the doubt begin to whirl like a cyclone in his head. “I don’t know…”

You slide closer, up underneath the long, ridiculously muscled arm laid along the couch’s back, reach out to stroke lovingly at his cheek. A big dog is a big commitment, but from everything you know it fits with his big, golden heart. “Chris, I feel like this meant to be. You’ve said yourself that if you were an animal you’d be a St. Bernard. He’s like your kindred spirit. Bernese are also big and loyal and loving. They adore kids. But they get a little anxious in new and different settings.”

“So you’re just like me, hunh?” he says, a little skeptically, lifting the little guy with a firm grip around the middle. “Seventy pounds. I’d be doing curls with you…”

Puppy, oblivious to the moment, tries to gnaw on his largest knuckle.

Doubt starts to curl low below your heart.

Usually if Chris is into something new, your bouncy, exuberant Labrador of a boyfriend will be all over it. Keen on it right away. This time there’s an unsettled crease of worry between his brows and Chris is frowning. Perhaps you hadn’t thought this through? This a puppy and a larger dog. Perhaps you hadn’t considered how much more work one seems. There’s a press tour to do for Avengers 3 and 4. US press for Red Sea Diving. Possibly another Broadway run. There’s a lot on Chris’s plate in the coming year but you’d just felt so bad for Dodger missing his big guy while he was half a world away.

And, if you had to be honest with yourself, you admit a needy pup would keep you little more occupied too. Your job, back-of-house production, keeps you mostly in L.A, tied down and unable to go on tour. It’s out of the Press’s eye which has its good and bad at once. As far as much of the world knows you don’t exist. You’re a name on the end credits. Known as a studio employee, someone no one bats an eyelid to see Chris with. A colleague. No biggie.

For the first months of your relationship it was actually kind of great. Chris, beyond tired with the relentless attention messing with romances, treated it like a game. You can go out and no prying idiots think you’re his date. No one’s calling you a bitch on Twitter. No one’s staking out your house. Above the table top you are talking about scheduling and below his toes are running up your calf. Hidden. Secret. Just for you two. It’s a thrill and nervous making all at once.

You’re happy to have found the one awesome, caring, gorgeous guy in Hollywood who doesn’t brush his hair more often than you do. Doesn’t tell you to keep out of his better side. Who isn’t jealous and gets your irregular, have-to-stay-at-the-last-minute schedule. Who shares your manic love of baseball and the Pats.

But you’re a little unsure of where this is going. Sure he asked you to move in, but both of his best friends have been missing Chris so much. The frequent long distance trips make it hard. Each time you are together it is as if you are on vacation: a treat, easy and relaxed but it’s also always reset mode. Constantly catching up. Two steps forward and one back. Texting every day is great but it’s hard to properly communicate. Case in point: today, when you made a snap decision without discussing first, without thinking that he’s about to go on tour for weeks.

“Sorry….” you admit in a tiny, plaintive voice. “We do have a week to take him back,” You start to pull away, thinking you’ve overstepped the line.

“Hey…hey, no it’s ok.” Chris grabs your hand to pull you closer. Plants a kiss on the top of your sun-faded Bosox cap. He sighs. “This was a really good idea. I might be crazy but I’ll make an appointment tomorrow for him to see Dr. Beltran.”

“Really?” You sit straight up. Dr. Beltran is Dodger’s veterinarian. He experienced and no-nonsense. A pro. You’ve met him once, taking Dodger in for heart-worm meds

“He can stay? You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad, Y/N.” Chris’s spare hand reaches down to play, as it always does at home, with your long ponytail. Relaxed. Easy. Intimate. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“How can anyone resist this face?” he says, tickling Puppy under the chin. It’s true. The little guy’s face is the sweetest thing—a black nose with a pale dot in the middle, bright dark eyes and the most adorable pink tongue sticking out. You’re lost, the both of you.

Chris offers Puppy a thumb to chew and grins. “I was just surprised. Needed to think it through is all. Next time you decide to add to our world, can you give a guy a little warning?”

“You seemed so tired and I didn’t want to wake you,” you start to explain, but then suddenly his words sink in.

Our world.

“What do you….?”

You stop and take in the pure unfettered delight on Chris’s face. He knows he has surprised you. ‘Our world’ means this is for keeps. Serious. He wants you to be an official couple. It’s overwhelming, and unexpected. Perhaps the constant roadblocks are wearing on him too.

Your heart does a heavy flip, somersaulting with giddy happiness.

Chris smiles, drops a gentle kiss to your lips, holds it until the pup begins to squirm.

“Babe, this last tour, oh fuck, I missed you so so much. London’s great but I couldn’t wait to get back and be with you. Knowing you and Dodge and this little guy are happy and at home, here,—that will mean the world.”

You pull away but not too far, lay your head down upon his shoulder, so choked up you don’t know what to say. Going public seems like a giant step. Your bosses, the Russo brothers, know about it, as do both families and close friends—but they’re sworn to secrecy. Chris is gunshy of the media this time—how Jenny was treated really hurt and he wanted things to grow away from the harsh glare of publicity.

You take a deeper, unsteady breath. This is truly what you want but can you make it work?

Chris, as always in tune to you, gives you a soft quick hug and elects to change the conversation. He stretches, holding one big warm hand under puppy and the other up toward the ceiling. “Man you were right about the tired though. Shit. I am getting old. The flights are getting harder.”

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” you ask. You are almost, not quite, two years ahead.

“Ancient.”

He ducks a tastefully neutral, well-used, toss cushion that flies past his head. Dodger’s head pops up. If pillows are flying and his human is stretching then a game of tag might be just ahead. He gets to his feet, yips excitedly but instead of playtime he gets wobbly curiosity. Chris sets the puppy on the floor. The little guy promptly lunges for a shoe, trips over his own feet and tumbles snout-first into deep grey pile.

You all laugh. Puppy looks up at the sound and you could swear he grins. This new development is surprising but not scary. He sneezes, rights himself again, sits down with a blink and barks.

“Woof!” It is a surprisingly deep sounding voice.

“Ho boy, has he got a set of lungs.” Chris is laughing. Puppy seems very pleased with himself. A few minutes cautious exploration brings him over to the wide back windows. Outside the morning is clouding over. It will keep the heat from climbing and for a miracle it might just rain. Puppy wags his tail and barks at a passing bird. Dodger stands sentinel behind, tail waving slowly, resident expert at communing placidly with the neighbourhood.

Pup looks to him and back. “Boof!” Nope, the new kid on the block isn’t going to get a rise out of Dodger. Birds and bees and butterflies are people, too.

They seem fine to let be left alone for a just minute, so you rise and set about getting organized. A second dish of water goes beside Dodger’s in the kitchen. Pad are laid beside the back door. The new blanket is draped beside Dodger’s wicker basket. You set the ingredients for puppy lunch on the countertop and pull the rudiments of a sandwich from the bursting fridge

From the couch you can hear Chris’s stomach grumble loudly. He may be exhausted but his stomach thinks it’s almost time for English Tea.

“Come on, you never ate,” you say, pulling him up and guiding him over to the kitchen. “Lets get the little guy’s space all set. He’ll need to eat soon and then go out. We can play with him outside and then it will be time for a nap.”

Over by the windows Dodger has brought puppy a bedraggled, one-eared teddy he uses for a friend. They play tug of war, shaking their heads and mock growling at each other, the pup repeatedly losing his grip but bouncing forward to catch a leg again. It’s hilarious and sweet. Big brother playing with the little guy, but just when you think they’ll start another round the little guy plonks down on his butt, opens his jaws wide and yawns. And coughs.

“Hey…”

He’s scooped up into Chris’s big strong arms and nestled against that wide, sleep-inducing chest. A whine turns into another mighty yawn, the baby is getting tired. It’s been a busy day and he isn’t quite over his sickness yet.

You wrap your arms around them both and Chris drops a kiss onto your head. He smells like spice and soap and Dodger and the warm-cinnamon-bun perfection of new puppy smell. Intoxicating.

As you brush your fingers lazily across his back he grins, folds you under his shoulder where you fit the best. There’s a twinkle in his eye. One you’ve missed for two whole weeks.

“How long does a puppy sleep?”

#@theycallmebecca #chris evans x reader #I lost the bet #but this was so much fun #puppies #dodger

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