#trying to edit while my eyes are being assholes was not an ideal situation but I managed it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

troquantary · 3 years

Text

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

#twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight meta #edward cullen #i stared too long and the twilight abyss gazed back #long post #major credit due to therealvinelle for having basically all the ideas already #theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin too since they agree and build off each other's metas a lot #idk how people who write meta can just crank these posts out i've been here for two hours #edited to add stuff i forgot to mention about edward's disproportionately violent fantasies

314 notes · View notes

arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

Treasure Hunter AU

I binged watch the Mummy trilogy while i had no wifi/internet for a while and I had an idea for a treasure hunter Mari with Daminette.

--------

Damian was bored.(age: 22-28 years old.)

At a gala party.

Meets Marinette who was equally bored.(abt the same age as D)

He finds out she was the finder of this famous artifact on display.

-----

Damian tugged at his collar, scanning the crowd. His father needed a plus one to show up with and everyone else were busy.

He grabbed a champagne flute and made his way to the edge of the room.

He found a woman in a black evening gown, looking as bored as he felt. short dark hair. Blue eyes.( I suck at describing people after the third time doing it. It feels overrated)

"Hello, stranger. You bored with mingling in with the assholes on their high horses?"

"Should I be offended?"

"We will see. Depends on you."

"How about you? A beautiful lady like you not kissing up their asses to climb the social ladder. That is strange."

She made a face. "Trust me. I don't want to be here but my friend wanted family time so I came in his place. What about you? Why are you here?"

"I am pretty sure my father wanted someone to get him out if the vultures came too close."

"Vultures, adept descriptions. I am glad no one realized who I am yet or i would be in their claws."

"Who are you representing, anyways?"

"Myself but Adrien or Kagami usually comes in my place but tonight, they have their son's play to go to."

"Adrien and Kagami. Aren't they the Agreste-Tsrungi?"

"Yep."

"You are the Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Globe trotting Treasure hunter and also world-class designer, MDC."

"Now you know. What's your name, handsome stranger?"

"You don't know?"

"Hey. Like you said globetrotting treasure hunter. I am not up-to-date on the news front. And when I am in Paris to do designer stuff, i am too busy to look at the news."

He gave her his hand, "Damian Wayne. Son of Bruce Wayne who is a billionaire and owns Wayne Enterprise."

She shook it.

"Pleased to meet you."

She stills design but like sent her designs to Adrien at least once every month, who had rebranded Gabriel to Miraculous Designs.

Some ppl thinks he did it to spite his father, who is in jail. Adrien and Mari has a partnership thing.

Mari also makes clothes but for a few months. And the rest of the time is spent travelling.

Exclusive designs from MDC are rare but the designs hand made by her are rarer so they are like a really big deal. They have the most amazing details. Really expensive and limited edition.

The rest of the time Mari spends finding Miraculouses (Miraculi ?) lost in the world so if she happens to find a few priceless artifacts that aren't the Miraculous. She donates it.

Alix helps and sometimes go find them with her.

She has Tikki and Plagg and maybe Wyazz all the time to look for curses and counter it.

She has also met John Constantine. They have an arrangement of sorts. A few magical artifacts that doesn't have to Miraculous business are given to him in exchange for any miraculous stuff he has or found.

Adrien funds her trips.

He is married to Kagami.

Kagami goes with Mari and Alix for a few months sometimes. Adrien likes being a stay at home dad.

Their kid is named Marin/Martin because it was Mari who got them together.

The few trips Mari dragged him on was enough to make him stay behind and run the business.

(Back to the story) Damian fangirled a little because Mari had been doing stuff like this since she was 18.

It was an amazing reputation she has.

She invites him to her next trip after questioning his skill sets.

------

"Are you good with heights, dark scary places and adventuring into the unknown?"

"Yes"

"You any good with guns, swords, knives, booby traps and keeping calm under pressure?"

"Yes. I have many experiences with them."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes. Why are you asking me this?"

"Wanna join me on my next trip to the jungle of China? There are myths about some hidden temple."

------

Damian was a little conflicted.

He hadn't have the chance to explore the world much. He had been somewhere else for a mission (for the League of Shadows or JL business) but never for pleasure.

Being a vigilante by night and working at Wayne Enterprise by day gets a little boring after some years.

His brothers had a chance to travel the world on their own for a while. Sure, for reasons other than sight-seeing and looking for something to break out of the rut he was in. But still.

This was an exciting opportunity but a tad suspicious.

-----

"Why me?"

She looked surprised at that.

"Oh. Well, my friends enjoy coming with me on my adventures, treasure hunting and all that every now and then except Adrien but they have other things in their life to come with me all the time. I can mostly survive on my own most of the time but it gets lonely travelling on my own and it's nice if someone is there to watch my back. I understand if you don't want to come. It's just that I enjoy your company and you aren't like those assholes on their high horses. My gut feeling says I can trust you. You are not after the treasure or see it as one big game. You are looking for an escape. You would definitely catch me if I fall. As you know from my choice of friends, i have a bad habit of pulling rich kids from their stuffy lifestyle and take them on potentially life-threatening adventures." She joked. Then she lowered her voice, "Besides, it might be handy having a former assassin around."

She said in Arabic.

His hand went to his hidden knife and found it not there.

"Looking for this?" She said, holding it.

"How much do you know?" He hissed back in the same language.

"Relax," she gave back the knife, "my mother was one and I have accidentally came across a few in my adventures. I know one when i see one. I took a stab in the dark with your middle-eastern background. Speaking of, you know Talia Al Ghul by any chance."

He narrowed his eyes.

"She's my mother. Why?"

"You look like her. Met her a few times. Nice lady but scary. Mine's Sabine Cheng, goes by the Blue Reaper." She said it so casually like their parents weren't dangerous deadly assassins and had normal jobs.

"You aren't normal, are you?"

"What gave it away?"

"That you willingly gave away blackmail material to me."

"Normal people don't have assassins for mothers. And you and me aren't exactly meeting the minimum standards for normal. Besides, I just told you a family secret that you would have found out anyways with a through background search and a little digging. So far all I know about you is that your parents are Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne-I wonder how an assassin got together with a billionaire-, you are a former League of Shadows assassin, you are great with weapons, keeping secrets and so far meeting the criteria for an adventure buddy. That's all I swear. And that you have some pets. A cat, maybe."

"How you know about my cat?!"

"Cat hair on your clothes." She was good. "If it will ease your mind about me, you can ask me 5 questions that I will truthfully answer. "

"So why are you doing this?"

"That's question 1. Well, I really want whatever this is between us to work. Partners, Friends, Companions, Comrades. Whatever you want to call it. Like I said, I get lonely sometimes and need some human interaction to at least keep myself sane. You looked like you want to be somewhere else and I thought this is perfect. I am not going to tell anyone about you or push you to join me. I swear on my mother's sword."

"Are we killing anybody?"

"Mostly I try to avoid that as much as possible. Sometimes I get into situations with no other alternative. " She looked away guiltily.

"Fair enough."

"Not judging me for that. That's a first for me."

"I am a former assassin and have killed before. I have no right to condemn you for your past."

"How much are you willing to tell me about this hidden temple?"

"That has to do with a secret. I would tell you more when there are less ears around. But this temple was said to hold a magic jewel that grants some powers and it is located really deep in the jungle. Getting there might take months."

"You forgot to mention that last one."

"Oh yeah. You think you can get away for some months. This kind of stuff usually takes a while. Like I said before, no pressure. Anyway, 2 questions left."

"What's my salary?"

"Aren't you a billionaire?"

"My father is. I have a trust fund and I get a salary for doing my job at the company. You are lucky that I just finished with most of my assigned projects so I might be able to come."

"I am so sorry about just assuming things about you. You can say no to the offer. The temple is said to hold some other treasures but I mainly want the jewel. We could auction off a few bits and pieces. I usually just donate them to museums and universities or sell them to those who really appreciate the history. I would also pay for the entire expenses for the trip."

"Can I think about this?"

"Sure. Here's my number. I leave on the 1st of next month. Gimme an answer a week before that so I can make the proper arrangements. It has been fun talking to you, Damian."

She walked away, going towards the buffet table.

------

Back in the car on the way home to the manor.

Bruce asked, "Who were you talking to for that long?"

"Who?"

"The one that gave you her number."

"Oh. MDC. She invited me to join her in China next month to find some hidden temple."

"She did?"

"Yes. Not only that she found out about mother and know what I did before I came here. She doesn't know about Batman, Robin or Crow. And she said she wasn't going to blackmail me but just wanted a companion to go with her. Ideally, it would be best to silence her before she digs any further into me but I trust her. I sincerely believe that she meant it when she said that she's not going to tell on me. And I am really tempted to take up on it."

"What do you want to do?"

"On one hand, i would be gone for months so there won't be Crow in Gotham for a while and I have a few projects I need to finish up. On the other hand. Father, I have been a vigilante for over 10 years now and I haven't really done much out besides that, school and now work. I have appreciated all you have done for me over the years. But I want to go with her. Do something that is not connected to Batman or Wayne or Al Ghul. Just a little something different for myself."

"You can go if you want. I am not going to stop you. I will make arrangements so the projects would be done by someone else. The others can cover your patrols. You are still young so it is understandable to want some fun every now and then."

"Thank you, Father."

Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.

"I am proud of you as Crow and as Damian Wayne. But if you want to go find some hidden temple in China just for a break from this life, to be just Damian, go for it. There are worse things you could do. Just tell me if you are going to go on any future trips like that." (I don't know DC much, sorry if that is a little OOC but I like good dad! Bruce.)

-------

Damian dialed the number on the card.

"Hello"

"I accept your offer, miss MDC."

"Damian? Right, text me your email address. I will sent you things you would need to pack and flight details. And can you come by to the Gotham Rose Hotel tomorrow? I will give more details on the temple."

-------

Damian comes by the hotel.

Marinette tells him of the kwamis and miraculous and makes him swear to not tell anyone unless they already know.

The hidden temple actually might have a miraculous.

Damian gets a little interested in the akuma situation she mentioned.

Mari doesn't say anything about it much.

When he got back, he goes to the Bat-computer and did some digging.

Ladybug looks a little familiar. Pulls up younger picture of Mari and look at that, she used to be a superhero.

Wonder Woman was kept informed of things and made sure no one goes to Paris without her knowing.

Zatanna helped capture the villain Hawkmoth and end his 2 year reign.

Fast forward, they are in Beijing now, sleeping off jetlag.

The next morning, They get out of the city somehow to the city limits and somewhere remote.

Mari uses Kalki and transports them to the jungle.

They set up camp. Cue Campfire stories.

-----

"I thought getting here would take months."

"No actually, finding the temple would. According to my research and the map I copied through less than legal means, it is somewhere in this general area. There used to a city around here too and the king or emperor pissed off some powerful priest or wizard, take your pick. There was a curse. The city crumbled down and the temple is the only thing standing because the king went there and prayed to the gods for protection. The one who answered his prayers and protected the temple in doing so the king was pressed into service of the god. The king did everything the god said for a while but later, he started to hate it and began disobeying the orders. The god cursed him for his disobedience. The temple he was protected in became his tomb and he was tasked to protect the chest inside the temple for the rest of eternity. Anyone who opens the chest would gain the ultimate power to rule the earth. Thankfully, we are not after the chest. Some powerful crack-head with a misused miraculous tried to find it and open the chest for more power. But he never returned. My theory is that the miraculous is still in the temple. As long as we don't wake up the king or go for the chest, we would be okay."

"What are the guns for? And How did you get them past security?"

"In case of emergencies, an army of undead was mentioned and guns are surprisingly good repellent. Well, most of the time. It's useless if there is a no weapons can kill 'it' rule. Then, it's just a stress reliever. I kept them in a pocket dimension. Makes it easier to get around."

Damian vowed to never let Marinette meet Jason. Judging by the pile of guns and occasional knives and other weapons she took out of the brown satchel which apparently holds a pocket dimension, Jason would adopt her. He wondered if that was all that was inside in.

-------

They packed up and started searching the jungle for hidden temple.

It was a month and a half before they found it.

They bonded a lot during that time.

They had a moment after drinking a little alcohol which Mari has in the pocket dimension. Or Drank a lot of alcohol and had sex.

It was awkward and they both agree to not talk about it again.

Soon after, they found the temple. But it is still a little far away.

But the temple is not the only thing they found. They also found a campsite with many people milling around. Some of them carried guns.

Somewhat rich bastard who overheard their conversation at the gala. Heard treasure and found out where Mari's next expedition is.

Had the help of some scholar who wants to be famous for the greatest find since King Tut.

They found the temple even though they had no magical help, they left 2 weeks before Mari did, so yeah.

Rich Bastard's name is 'Philip Anderson'(This sounds familiar to me for some reason and I can't find out why.) and Scholar is 'Harry Scott'

They have armed bodyguards and some 'hired' help to get the treasure.

Anderson is still rich but his company had been getting losses the past 2 years and this is a quick, easy get rich scheme.

Mari and Damian: "Rich asshole on his high horse."

Anderson doesn't know about the chest but Mari and Damian thinks he does and it was what he was after.

They set up camp a little further ahead of Anderson's

Unfortunately, they were found by Harry. Somehow.

-----

I am going to continue this when I am more awake.

#damian x marinette #daminette #maribat #mlb x dc #treasurehunter! Mari #explorer!Mari #there isn't much of this

284 notes · View notes

royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Rumor Has It {15}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler-Evans

Warning: Plot, Cursing, HEAVY ANGST,

Word Count: 4.8K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**NOTE: A WORK OF FICTION. NOT CREATED TO GARNER HATE OF ANY SORT.

**Loosely Edited/Proofread**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️❤️

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two days passed where you flatlined at least three times a day. Every time it happened, it sent him and everyone else into a tailspin. No one had any time to breathe before another health crisis occurred. The swelling in your brain only returned, which meant you required surgery after surgery. By the time four days had passed, you’d had three surgeries to stop the swelling and bleeding in your brain, and in those three days, your prognosis remained uncertain. Your doctor was optimistic one day because you were holding on and fighting, but the next, the optimism faltered because of how many complications you faced.

He was a ghost. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t leave. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything by sit at your bedside and watch you. When he wasn’t doing that he was praying for your recovery, praying for some sign or glimmer of hope. Through his family’s anger, his mother still coddled him. Every few hours, she was pushing food into his hands, trying to convince him to eat. Her logic, “you can’t be there for her if you don’t take care of yourself.” He didn’t know if he deserved to be there to take care of you at this point.

The longer you remained in the induced coma the doctors put you in, and the more problems that arose, he blamed himself more and more. By day five, he was seething in self-pity and loathing. He couldn’t look himself in the mirror without hearing echoes of conversations you’d had. He couldn’t close his eyes even for a second without seeing your face. It should have brought him comfort, but it didn’t it was haunting—you were haunting him, and you were still breathing.

Whenever he did step away for biological functions, he came back to find Christiano in your room. Every time he saw him, his instinct said to kill him, and every time Christiano laid eyes on him, he could see the hatred and jealousy in his eyes. When he wasn’t there, Christiano was slandering him to any tabloid that would give him airtime. He called him every name, even went as far as to add to the speculation he’d had an affair. The only reason why he didn’t pummel his ass was because of you.

Everyone was right, this was the place, and it certainly wasn’t the time. He was the least important factor in all of this. He still made it difficult. He had to co-exist with him around, had to find a way to remain in the same room with him without jumping over your bed to choke him out. He’d had plenty of daydreams that ended in Christiano’s dead body. He’d done it many ways, and each ending had him smirking. Scott was the one to point out the evilness to his smirk once, and like his brother, he knew just what had put the smirk there.

“Tell me something,” Christiano began. He was sitting across the room on your left-hand side with an evident scowl. “Why her?”

Rolling his eyes, he sighed out. He knew Christiano was only setting some trap for him to fall in, either by showcasing his rage that would prove to your family he was the worst choice you could have made. Clenching his jaw, he focused on your face determined not to fall for his antics.

“I’m just trying to make friendly conversation. It’s just us here. Man to man tell me. Why her?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Why’d you go after her? I know she told you about me. I know because we talked a little bit after you met.”

His head snapped to Christiano then. You hadn’t told him that.

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” He scoffed then crossed his arms. “Yeah. I called one night, she said she was in Madagascar, Malaysia—no, that’s not it—hmm--Maldives.” Christiano looked at him then. The Maldives meant something to him. Perking up in his seat, he saw a bigger smirk on Christiano’s face. He knew it meant something. “Yeah, it was the Maldives. We talked for like an hour. She kept her voice low, I thought she was just tired, but you were probably fast asleep, and she didn’t want you to know that she was talking to me.”

Christiano shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Why her?”

He stared at you again. You were battered and bruised with tubes and wires coming out of every possible surface of skin, but still gorgeous. He couldn’t help but wonder what you’d talked to him about. He remembered the trip to the Maldives--he remembered it well. He knew this was what Christiano wanted, him to doubt you, doubt your relationship. He was a real asshole.

“If you really knew anything about love, then you’d know I didn’t have a choice, and she wasn’t singled out. If you knew about anything but possessing and claiming like the entitled fuck you are, then you’d know something more powerful, something bigger than anything was what had a hand in it being her for me.”

When he looked at Christiano, he saw the same rage and jealousy, but he also saw something else confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about. This wasn’t about love for Christiano. He’d always known it, but he was surer than ever. The question was, what was this about? Before either of them could speak again, the door opened, revealing your doctor—Dr. Diallo and another doctor in pink scrubs.

“Oh, excuse the intrusion,” he began.

“It’s fine. Is there a change?”

“I’m afraid not, I’ve brought the head of OB. Remember, I told you we’d schedule a proper workup for the pregnancy?”

“Yes,” he answered as he rose from his seat.

“Mr. Evans, my name is Dr. Michaelson. I am the head of Obstetrics,” she informed, holding out her hand for him to shake, which he did.

“Dr. Diallo has filled me in on everything concerning your wife. I am sorry for your struggle.”

“Thank you.” That was when all eyes landed on Christiano, still sitting there as if he had every right to be there.

“Eh-em, Mr. White, I am going to have to ask you to wait outside. Perhaps you’d like to take a break. This may take some time,” Dr. Diallo informed. Christiano clenched his jaw but didn’t speak as he walked to the door. Before he walked out, Christiano gave him another look that said he had plenty to say, but he kept quiet and left.

“Come in, please.” Both doctors walked into the room, pushing a cart with them.

“I’m here to perform an ultrasound. After everything your wife has been through, we have to fully understand what is happening within the womb as well as make sure the pregnancy is progressing as normal and that the embryo is healthy,” Dr. Michelson explained as she set up the device that was on the cart.

“What if when you examine her, you find things less than ideal?”

Dr. Diallo and Dr. Michaelson exchanged a look that didn’t look hopeful. “Depending on the situation, two things are possible, your wife will naturally have a miscarriage, and the embryo will pass, or a medically assisted miscarriage will be performed,” she explained.

His emotions nearly got the best of him. Taking a moment, he took a deep breath. “We um—she’s already had one miscarriage.”

“When?”

“A few months ago, about eight or so,” he clarified. Dr. Michelson nodded and opened your hospital gown before she squirted a clear gel on your stomach. His eyes didn’t miss the bloodied bandages a few inches above your navel. His heart lurched, making him drop to the seat behind him.

“Are you alright?” Dr. Diallo was to his side after a few moments.

“Fine,” he assured. Dr. Diallo didn’t listen, though; he pressed his fingers to the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse which was racing.

“Your pulse is higher than normal. When was the last time you slept, Mr. Evans?”

“The night before this all happened,” he confessed.

“Mr. Evans,” Dr. Diallo began. He knew what he was going to say. Raising his hand, he stopped the lecture before it began.

“I know. Let’s continue, please.”

When Dr. Michaelson placed the wand on your stomach. He watched her move it around searching. After almost a minute of silence in the room, it filled with the sound of a rapidly beating heart.

“What’s that?”

Dr. Michaelson smiled as she continued to move the wand. “That Mr. Evans is the sound of your baby. It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”

Tears filled his eyes, and they automatically streamed down his cheeks. The word “baby” echoed in his head. He hadn’t even wrapped his head around the fact that you were pregnant. When he was told the news, it was just something that hadn’t resonated. It was just news. Now it was different.

“It’s fast.”

“It’s absolutely normal. I’m happy that the heartbeat is this pace. I worried it would be slower. Ah-ha, here we are. I stand corrected.”

The image on the screen took his breath away.

“It is the sound of your babies,” Dr. Michaelson clarified. His jaw dropped as he looked at her. She nodded, confirming it.

“Plural?”

“Plural, twins, incredibly strong twins. See, this is one baby and the other. They are in separate sacs, two separate placentas. From this, I’d say fraternal twins.”

He leaned closer, rested his elbows on the edge of your bed, and just gawked at the image on the screen. The two near microscopic tadpole-shaped beings looked more frog-like than humans, but he didn’t care. They were his tadpoles. The weight of that had him dropping his head to rest atop your thigh. his body shook as he sobbed and just listened to the sound of the beats in the room. It was the most incredible sound he’d ever heard. Only one other sound ever had this impact on him—your voice.

“They look healthy. I can’t see anything wrong. There is no abruption of any kind, no bleeding, no abnormalities. They are perfect.” She sounded amazed.

When he looked up again, he just stared at the screen, at your children. He knew he should have felt happiness, and to some degree, he did, but it was a different kind of happiness. His sorrow still tethered him to the earth, making it impossible to feel full happiness over the news that should have sent him onto cloud nine.

“From the size of the embryos, it looks like she’s maybe nine weeks along,” Dr. Michaelson claimed.

He would have smiled if he could. Nine weeks. He knew just when it happened. It was then he remembered his mother’s words. “Through heartbreak, joy can blossom.”

He dropped his head again to your thigh and cried.

“We’ll give you some time with the news,” Dr. Diallo informed as he led the other to the door.

When he was alone, he broke down again as he grabbed your hand.

“Uriah, come back to me. Please, baby, come back to us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun set, then rose, and set again, and he was still beside you with your hand in his. His pleads were now silent, but still, you remained the same. Every time he looked at the ultrasound picture, his fear increased. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to lose everything, and it was unbearable, especially with the thought of the two new lives in your womb. Everything in him said fight, but he had no idea how to do that. What could he do that would have any impact?

“You have to sleep.” He’d recognize his mother’s voice anywhere.

“How do I sleep? How do I do anything but sit here?”

The silence returned, but he felt his mother sit beside him and watch the same thing he was watching—you.

“She would want you to take care of yourself. If not for yourself or her, for the baby.”

He scoffed and wiped a stray tear.

“Babies. Twins.”

“Oh my god, Chris. Are they okay?”

“Yeah, the doctor says they sound healthy, and they’re strong,” he shared.

“Thank god. What a blessing.”

“A blessing? Mom, look around.” He sounded disgusted.

“The situation isn’t, but these babies are a blessing. Through heartbreak, joy can blossom, and it did. Honey, I know you’re hurting, my god, it breaks my heart but--.”

“I only have myself to blame. I know,” he interrupted.

“I never said that.”

“It’s what you want to say. It’s all any of you think. None of you will even listen or give me the benefit of the doubt. You all just automatically believe the lies, believe that asshole.”

“Watch your mouth!”

Snapping his mouth shut, he lowered his head to rest it on your hand.

“I never said I didn’t believe you. You’re my son. I will always believe you over tabloid fodder. I am just—disappointed.”

He sighed. If it was anything any child hated to hear was the disappointed line.

“How could you let this happen?” She sounded disappointed this time. Truthfully, she wasn’t asking him anything he hadn’t asked himself in the last week. The answer was the same.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Mean for it or not, it’s happened. I’m not going to ask you if you had an affair with this woman.”

“Of course, not mom. I’ve never been unfaithful to my wife. You didn’t raise me like that. How could I? She’s perfect.”

“Okay, you didn’t have an affair. Someone has gone out of their way to make it seem as if you have. You have to ask who. To figure that out, you have to figure out a motive. Who has something to gain if you and Uriah have problems or divorce?”

“Christiano.” His eyes met his mother’s.

“So your theory is he did what exactly?”

“That video is bullsh—doctored. None of that happened. I just don’t know how he even got his hands on it. There were no paps there, no-one but cast and crew,” he explained.

“Maybe someone from the cast or crew took the video,” his mother suggested.

He began to go through each of the cast dismissing them one by one because none of them had any motivation to do something like this. He’d worked with them all before and had developed a relationship with them—a friendship. He was sure he could trust them. When he came to Ana, he acknowledged that she was the only one who was a new acquaintance. From the day they’d met at the screen test, he’d felt comfortable around her, and that was a reason why he had such a difficult time seeing her as anything but a friend. The facts were, though, that he’d never worked with her before.

“They would have had to have the know-how to edit something that extensively,” he said as his thoughts roamed.

From what he knew, Ana didn’t have those skills, but she had enough money to find someone who could. He came up with reason after reason why she could be the culprit, but for every reason to it being her, he came up with one to say she wasn’t the one to blame. He thought back to their brief conversation a few days ago. She sounded shaken up as if none of this made sense to her like it came from out of nowhere. She sounded like a victim, he thought. She was an actress, though, he thought in the same breath. Still, he couldn’t deny the way she insisted on handling the investigation into it was a little suspicious. He hadn’t thought about then or cared to because his thoughts were all over the place and only on you, but now something felt off.

“Chris--.” His manager walked into the room, interrupting his conversation with his mother.

“I’m sorry. I know this is a tough time, but this is getting out of hand. The longer you don’t make a statement, you are fueling the rumors and even giving this Christiano guy a stronger leg to stand on.”

He sighed and sat back in the chair. Real life was calling.

“You have to make a statement, even if it is something small, something simple. PR thinks the same thing. Appearances are everything.”

“I don’t give a fuck about appearances! My wife is lying in this bed. My wife is fighting for her fucking life! I don’t give a shit what they want to say. I don’t give a shit what anyone is saying!”

He sprang to his feet and paced the room. Motion always helped to calm him down, but right now, it wasn’t helping.

“I get that, but you have to find a way to slow the shit storm.”

He stopped in front of the window and stared out.

“Honey, he’s right. This is a nightmare; we get it. It is only going to get worse the longer you stay quiet. Just give them something small.”

Balling his fist, he tried to stay away from the feelings of rage he’d been battling the last week. “Fine. Uriah—my wife—my life,” he began before taking a beat to stave away the fresh tears that threatened to stream. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued. “--Was involved in a car accident and our family is asking for privacy and positivity during this difficult time. I encourage everyone not to listen to believe or give fire to false rumors that do not lead anywhere. There is your statement.”

“Chris--,” his manager began.

“That is the statement! If you want anything else, you won’t get it here.”

He heard a sigh and the sound of the door opening. “Wait. I need someone looking into that video. I want answers.”

The next thing he heard was the soft click of the door closing, then felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. It felt like the weight of the world, and it was enough to bring him to tears yet again.

-One Week Later-

He took a deep breath and looked out at all the faces of everyone he cared deeply about--his mother, sisters, brother, their significant others, your parents, your cousin, and best friend. After a week of turmoil both internally and externally, he was sitting in front of everyone that probably hated him. You’d been in your coma for two weeks now, and for the last two weeks, everyone was on edge. Everyone felt the uncertainty, everyone felt the tension and none of them knew what to say. The only ones who spoke to him were his mother, his brother, and Shanna’s boyfriend. He understood. To them, he was public enemy number one. He hadn’t given them any reason to believe any differently. It was time to change that.

“You’ve all known me for a long time, if not my entire life, then the last six years. I know in the last few weeks and months none of you have any reason to think the best of me. I know you all blame me for what’s going on, and to be truthful, I understand completely. You don’t blame me more than I blame myself.” He dropped his head and slightly shook his head before he faced them again.

“I’m sorry for the situation that I have put you all in, but let it be known once and for all for any doubt in any of your minds. I did not have an affair. Never have I nor would I ever cheat on my wife—your daughter,” he finished looking your parents in their eyes.

Your father kept his eyes on him. He knew it was an intimidation technique. Your father was a respected marine sergeant, and when it came to intimidation, he was the best around for it. A full minute passed before he took another breath; still, your father hadn’t looked away. “Mr. Tyler, I swear to you. I gave you my word years ago that I would respect your daughter, love her, and treat her like the queen she was. I have not gone back on my word, never—not once,” he added.

“Then how are we here, Chris?” Your mother sighed out before her face scrunched to produce fresh tears. “My daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and the world is calling you a cheater.”

“I know Roxxi. I did not cheat. That video is doctored, nothing of the sort happened. It was an outing with the entire cast. We left at the same time, but what that video doesn’t show is me getting in a car with Daniel and Jamie while she went her own way. I’ve only ever had eyes for her.”

The silence returned, and everyone looked to be waiting to know how they should react.

“Auntie Roxxi, Uncle Marcus,” Zora began stepping forward. “This situation is bad all around. We can all agree on that. I’ve been with Riah since the beginning of this whole thing. While Chris has made mistakes in the way he’s handled this,” she paused and looked at him. It was as if she was searching for something, he didn’t know what, but he hoped she didn’t seal his coffin.

Zora sighed and gave him a slight nod before she continued. “Chris loves Riah, I’ve seen how much he loves her. He’s been a blind, trusting buffoon, but he didn’t have an affair.” He released a relieved breath as Zora looked at him again. “He would never no matter how bad it looks,” she finished.

Everyone spoke amongst themselves as he locked eyes with Zora. The look on her face said she was angry and disapproving, but it also said she stood with him. She knew something.

“Then what is going on?” Carly was the one to ask the burning question everyone was thinking.

“That is what I intend on getting to the bottom of,” he responded with determination.

Everyone nodded together, and for the first time, he felt like they were all on the same page and that the page wasn’t hating him.

When everyone broke off to their own conversations, he took Zora and Kizzy to the side to figure out just what they knew. Neither Zora nor Kizzy wanted to talk in the open and insisted on meeting in one of the other private rooms meant for families. That was enough to raise his suspicions, and when he met them there, he could feel the icy chill in the air that matched the cold glare from Kizzy.

“First of all, just because Z is on your side does not mean I’m okay with any of the shit you’ve done,” Kizzy blurted out loud enough that someone could have heard if they weren’t alone in the room. Zora elbowed Kizzy, who crossed her arms and sat back in the seat.

When Zora was going to speak, Kizzy leaned forward again. “Before any of that, look me in my eyes and tell me you didn’t cheat on my best friend. Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not the stupid motherfucker you’re acting like.”

“Kizzy!”

He held his hand up, letting Zora know it was okay. Leaning forward as Kizzy did, he met her eyes. “I didn’t cheat on her. Nothing has ever happed between Ana and me, ever. I would never.” He could feel Kizzy was seconds from blowing up, and he didn’t blame her. Sighing out, she leaned back again.

“Then explain the texts.” Zora’s voice drew his attention.

“What texts?”

“You’ve been caught, Chris. We saw the texts in Ana’s phone. The texts between the two of you,” Kizzy blurted out.

He looked at Zora who was shaking her head. When she opened her mouth, he was shocked by what she said. She told him of the hotel and just what you were doing there. When they told him about what they’d heard and seen in Ana’s phone, he couldn’t hide his shock.

“Yeah, what the fuck you gotta say now?”

He sat back in his chair in disbelief that he’d driven you to this extreme. He never wanted you to feel like you had to act like this. He never wanted to give you a reason to. The shame he felt was intense. Dropping his head in his hands, he rubbed it.

“Explain touching her breasts, explain the kiss. Explain telling her marriage is hard and all the other private shit you said. What the fuck!”

“We were going through a scene where my character goes after her, and he’s supposed to be seeing red,” he began.

Kizzy kissed her teeth loudly while rolling her eyes, “Who the fuck cares. Get on with it!”

Reigning in his anger, he took a deep breath and continued. “In the haste of the scene, one of my hands got her arm, and the other touched her breast. I immediately pulled back and apologized. It was not intentional, and it was a fraction of a second.”

“And the kiss?”

“That was her. We were running lines in between takes, and she kissed me. Again I immediately pulled back, and it wasn’t even a second. I told her that wasn’t cool, and she apologized said--.”

“We saw what she said. Conveniently, you have explanations for all of this.”

“It’s the truth, Kizzy. You know Riah, why would I risk my life by making a fool out of her like that? Even if this was true, do you think I’d be such a messy asshole to let any of this come out? I’m sorry to say this, but I’m a lot smarter than that.”

“Smarter? You’re the dumb ass who has been entrusting this snake!”

“I didn’t know anything about any plan she had. Besides those exchanges with her, there has been nothing else. The conversations you can fault me for. Yes, the little I said was too much, I see that now. I didn’t see it then I saw it as a friend I could confide in about things.”

“Both of you shut the fuck up!” Zora’s shout was loud and bounced off the walls. He slinked back as did Kizzy.

Everyone’s tempers were high.

“Do you think Ana is behind all of this?”

“Of course that bitch is behind this,” Kizzy blurted. Zora gave her a look that had her shut up quick.

“What about Christiano?”

Kizzy and Zora looked at each other and exchanged a look he wanted to know more about.

“We know you hate him, and he is being a pain in the ass, but how?”

They sat there silently, each thinking about different aspects of this entire situation. When the door busted open, Scott was there.

“Come quick. It’s Uriah!”

The three of them were on their feet in seconds, and the four of them ran back toward your room. When they approached, Dr. Diallo was walking out of the room.

“What’s happened?”

“She’s awake.”

Everyone exclaimed out with joy and relief and began celebrating, but he couldn’t.

“Is she okay?”

“It is a good sign she is awake, an excellent sign.”

The first smile in weeks spread across his face. “Can we see her?”

Dr. Diallo nodded and stepped aside, allowing them to walk inside the room. Everyone else poured in the room first, he hung back mainly from fear because of how things were left. He watched as everyone filed in around your bed. You were sitting up, eyes open, tubes gone and alert. His emotions got the best of him then. It was a sight he’d prayed for, a sight he’d wanted more than anything. He watched as almost gave you gentle hugs. You weakly smiled back at everyone else before you saw him. When your eyes locked, the look was a blank one. The fear in him rose even more, but he couldn’t stay away any longer.

Everyone looked at him, making room for him to get in closer. As he approached your bedside, your eyes never left him. When he leaned in to hug you, you recoiled away from him. He’d expected it, but still, it hurt a lot more than he’d ever thought it would. Fighting to keep the pain away, he took a breath and looked into your eyes again. Still, the blank look was there, but so was confusion and fear.

“Wha—what—eh-em--.” You looked as if you were in a lot of pain, but you didn’t stop. You tried again. “What’re—you—doing—here?” Your voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. You took a deep breath and panted like it took everything out of you.

“Baby—I know we’re going through something but--.” Your brows knitted together as you pulled back even more, looking at your mother and father.

“We? Ba—baby? What—what’s—going—on? I—don’t—know you.”

He could have been knocked over by a gentle breeze. He’d thought the worst-case scenario if you woke up was you hating him or wanting a divorce. He never thought it would be you erasing his very existence from your world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @kikimiyazaki @toniilaney @areubeingserved @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @sup3rn0va13 @ nova3312 @ hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @ squeackygee @niyashell @allmonstersxarehuman @zsuzstyina @peggy-potts @amelatonin @lvlyab @sullyosully @renesmeeharelds @capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @thelittlemoistcarrot @sarcastic-sunshines @a-dizzle777 @taylorveebee @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @choices97 @chrisgalore @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @motivation-idontknowher @lo-cheu @momobaby227 @thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter@jesseswartzwelder @briellableu @zaddysqueen7 @melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @airis-paris14 @ashanti-notthesinger @afraiddreamingandloving @ajspencer1892 @wakanda-inspired @chillavesss @drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish @builtalongthewayside

@theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @designerwriterchic @firedolphin04 @academic-glowup @periodtcevans @nova3312 @hello-therree @squeackygee capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @taylorveebee @thatcrazymarvelfan @oceanscorazon @90sinspiredgirl @mizcaptainwidow @angrybirdcr @cherrystainedlipsbaby @marvelfansworld @blowmymbackout @almostpurelysmut @impossiblegiantrebelbasketball @choices97 @phreshouttherunwaaayy @heladoom @alyxkbrl @evemej @queensevansackles @rosey1981 @laketaj24 @munteanhore @minton131 @trillistb @purplehairgawdess @ollieveracity @maddeningmayhem @what-is-your-plan-today @evermcfearless @richonne4life @dumbchick @toni9 @briellableu @amennariee @brwnsugababe @sadishdelray @browskinafro @surmya1907 @islanddgal @scoop93535 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @queenoftheworldisdead @chrisevansfanfic @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @what-is-your-plan-today @thefuckingluxury @naturalthrone22 @queen-audsalena @maeleeme @tantricevans @renfrewscorner @songtoyou @coolbakeryprunetoad @chrissbabybunny @zeedaye @littlepreciousangel @imthatbitchsworld @soul--notforsale @toni9 @someone-really-bored @venustrap04 @laketaj24 @chrisevansdaddycap @offrostandstarlight @kittykatlow @night-of-the-living-shred @queenshikongo3 @fanfictionaffair @unknownmystery22 @naturalthrone22 @blackgurlkillinit @simply-heaven @chezdricks @euh-say-what-now @actorinfluence @chaos-crusader @cyntgefel01 @miss-jackson500 @rynabarnesrogers-reading

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#rumor has it fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #chris evans x ofc #chris x uriah

277 notes · View notes

portals-to-a-new-world · 4 years

Text

Black Dresses and Back Alleys

(Butcher gif credit goes to @urban-trek-thru-middle-earth, and the edit is mine. Don’t ask why the gif is running so fast I couldn’t get it any slower. Open to suggestions lmao)

Who?: Billy Butcher x Reader

What?: Inspired by this post by @becs-bunker (thank you once again for letting me borrow the idea, love). Undercover in a night club to seduce a Vought scientist, with Butcher as your backup. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Does Butcher even need a language tag at this point? Smut. Portals? Writing smut? Why, it’s unheard of!!! Nah y’all know me this is smutty af. Specific warnings: Jealous!Butcher, Hints of Dom/sub, Public(ish) Smut, Fingering.

A/n: Hello everyone! Quick shout outs to @becs-bunker for the inspiration, and as always the illustrious @bakerstreethound for being a literal actual angel in human form, whom I thank every higher power for. I love ya. Also, shoutout to Sandmann on AO3 for helping out with some plot and general editing. You rock my dear. I wrote this with the dress in the picture above in mind, but feel free to read it as what ever sleeveless short dress you want :)

Going undercover in a night club to seduce some asshole scientist from Vought was not your ideal Saturday night. The mark was a new promotion in Vought and was more than happy to run his mouth once you got a few drinks in him. Bragging seemed to be his favorite thing to do, other than grinding like a 17-year-old boy at his first prom. It did provide a source of entertainment, though. Butcher had come as your backup, and never left your field of view for more than a minute. More than once you'd caught sight of Butcher scowling in your direction as the mark pulled you in close to whisper in your ear, or when his hand dropped a little too low while you were dancing. It finally came to a head, though, when the man led you over to a small VIP section and pulled you into his lap. You giggled and played along, trying to steer the conversation towards what he was working on for Vought. Turning all of your focus to getting him to tell you about the mysterious Compound V, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Butcher's voice cut through the noise.

"(Y/n)! Come ‘ere. I need to talk to ya." You jumped and turned to see Butcher stood just outside the ropes, glaring at the man, and his gaze sending ice through your veins. The idiot scientist didn't seem intimidated; however, he just scoffed and pulled you further into his lap.

"Sorry, mate," He said, making a terrible impression of Butcher's accent. "She's busy," You giggled and placed a hand on the man's chest, trying to salvage the situation, but you knew it was naught when you looked back over at Butcher. He was pulling what you called his 'death smirk,' and god only knew what he was planning. You recovered your composure and leaned in to speak into the mark's ear.

"I'll just be a minute." Your voice dripped with honey sweetness, but when you stood to walk away his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“And how do I know you will come back, sweetcheeks?” You cringed internally but offered him a sweet smile before leaning down to kiss him quickly. Seemingly satisfied, thank god he’s too drunk to press the matter, you turned and let your hips sway as you walked towards Butcher. As you approached, Butcher turned and started into the crowd.

Surely he's not pulling me out?

You hesitated at the ropes, causing him to turn back, and you could just barely hear his growl above the music.

"Now." You suppressed the outrage at his demand and turned back to shoot the scientist a wink. It took all of your focus not to storm off after Butcher, and you only grew angrier as he led you towards a back door. You didn't even flinch as he slammed the door open.

"What in the actual fuck is wrong with you? I nearly had him!" You exclaimed once the door shut. He didn't bother turning to look back at you as you moved to catch up with him.

"Yeah, nearly had his tongue down your throat, didn't ya?" He mumbled, clearly thinking you wouldn't hear. You reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Answer me. Why the fuck did you pull me out?" He glared at you for a moment before replying.

"He wasn't gonna tell us anything we didn't already know." He said.

Liar

You scoffed and darted around in front of him when he tried to walk away. "Don't bullshit me, Butcher. I've known you for too fucking long-"

"I didn't like the way he had his hands all over you, alright?!" You stopped in place, too stunned to believe it. Suddenly everything clicked into place.

"So the plan is to pick him up from this club on Saturday. He's there every weekend, so we know we'll definitely be able to grab him there. Then we bring him back here and-" Hughie cut MM off.

"Oh, don't tell me we're planning to kill him too," Hughie said, dragging a hand down his face. Butcher started to speak up, but you spoke first before he could give his little speech about whatever it takes.

"Why don't I go in?" Everyone turned to look at you. You shrugged and moved forward. "You said it's a night club, right? I'll go in undercover and get it out of him my way,"

"You mean fuck it out of him." Butcher scoffed, and you gave him a side-eye before continuing.

"It's easier that way too, he'll be too drunk to remember talking, and Vought won't be looking for the 6 stooges who kidnapped their new scientist."

"No." Butcher spat out. You turned to look at him in confusion. He avoided your gaze and looked back up at MM. "You, me, and Frenchie will wait for him and-"

"Butcher, if she's willing to go then-"

"I said no. It's too risky."

"And since when do you give a fuck?" You demanded. He finally turned to look at you, and you raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"You want to get yourself killed, fine. But I'm coming with you so I can wave at 'cha when Vought swoops in and drags you away."

Billy Butcher was jealous. So many thoughts rushed through your mind at once, and you shook your head to clear them before replying.

"And what gives you the right to pull me out when the mark gets a little handsy?" You demanded. The glare he sent you had you backing away until you were trapped between him and the wall.

"I protect what's mine." His voice was low and held a dark edge that sent chills down your spine.

"You don't own me, Butcher." The words had barely left your lips before he was slamming you back against the wall.

"No?" He asked, his face barely an inch from your own. You inhaled sharply as his hand yanked your skirt up, and he stroked two long fingers along your already dampening core. Another gasp escaped you as he leaned down to suck at your neck. "This cunt isn't mine? Sure did seem like it was the other night." You moaned as he pulled the fabric aside, circling your clit for a few moments. "That's a right shame." He growled against your ear, a finger just barely slipping inside you before he was suddenly gone, taking a step back to smirk as you whined and fell back against the wall.

"You don't get to pull this shit right now." You said, adjusting your skirt. "If you wanted me all to yourself, you should have fucking said so when you showed up at my door, begging me to help you and the boys. I told you then, no attachments. You fucked me over once already that first go around." Suddenly he was right back in front of you, tilting your head to look up at him.

"Better late than never, eh?" He growled, moving to kiss you, but he stopped right before your lips touched, waiting for you to make the final move. And, oh, how you wanted to. You'd fallen for him practically the moment you'd met him, and he'd known it. You didn't find out until too late that he could never have any affection for you. By then, he'd been fucking Susan behind your back, and you finally realized precisely the type of person he was. You'd convinced yourself after the team disbanded that you were over it, over him. Hell, even when he showed up at your door, you still almost kicked him out. And yet here you both were, after years of denial, scant inches apart, with him admitting he was jealous. Butcher pulled back slightly and tilted his head as he glared at you. "Cmon. Just admit it. Say you're mine." You glared back at him, anger and lust still pulsing through your veins. Finally, you groaned in frustration and reached up to pull him back in.

"Fuck you." You said and slammed into his lips in a harsh kiss. He matched your pace, pressing his body against you. You could feel him growing harder as you met again and again in rough and bruising kisses. A growl sounded deep in his chest as you tugged sharply on his hair. He pinned your wrists over your head with one hand before the other once again found its way beneath your skirt. You gasped and squirmed as he pulled the dress up before yanking your lacy thong down your legs. "Butcher-" He cut you off once again by slamming two fingers deep inside you, barely giving you any time to adjust before he was pumping them in and out at a brutal pace. You tugged against his hold on your wrists, trying to muffle the sounds escaping you, but he held firm and just moved to bite and suck at your neck, ignoring your pleas.

"How about I fuck you right here in this alleyway?" He growled in your ear. You whined as his thumb pressed hard against your clit. "Let the whole fucking world hear you moan for me," He continued his onslaught, driving you closer and closer to climax. Right as you were on the edge, he pulled away, leaving only his hand pinning your wrists. You bit your lip to stop from crying out and tried to focus back in. After a moment or two, you began to laugh breathlessly. "What the fuck's so funny?" He demanded.

"You say you own me, but who's the one begging to fuck me in an alleyway cause they got a little jealous when someone else played with their toy?" You said, relishing in the way his eyes flashed. Your laughter was stopped dead, though, as he leaned back in to resume sucking at your neck. You gasped as his hand slid into the top of your dress, palming your breast roughly.

"We need each other, luv." He pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers and moved to give other the same attention as you continued to squirm. He chuckled as you stepped around awkwardly, your movements hampered by your thong still caught around your knees. "Having problems there?" You carefully dropped your head back against the wall and groaned.

"For fucks sake Butcher if you're gonna do something get on with it." You huffed. He pulled back to look at you, smug grin out in full force.

"Why? If you're not desperate for me, you can just run inside to your little twat and let him satisfy you. Ey?" He pulled your breasts free from your dress as he spoke, and you didn't have time to think before his lips were closing around a hardening peak. You moaned and arched your back into him, and he palmed and kneaded the other before switching sides.

"Butcher for the love of all that is holy-" He pulled off you, leaving his hand in place as he spoke.

"You want me to fuck you?" He smirked.

"Either that or let me go find someone who will," You yelped as he groped you hard. "FuCk! Please! I-" You screwed your eyes shut. "I need you." He finally released your wrists and slammed back into your lips. You reached down to step out of your thong, intending to just throw it somewhere, but he grabbed it from your hand and stuck it in his coat. Too far gone to care, you pulled him back in, fumbling with his pants' fastenings. Finally, you pulled his throbbing cock free, and he groaned as you gave him a few strokes. "Whose cock is this, Butch?" You said mockingly. He glared at you and pulled your hand off before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a foil packet. He tore it open and rolled the condom on quickly before grabbing your ass and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively and hissed as he brushed against you.

"Whose cunt am I about to destroy?" He snarked as he moved to where the wall was taking most of your weight, freeing his hand to guide himself into you. You whined and clung to his shoulders as he filled and stretched you inch by delicious inch. Before he could move, the sound of the door slamming open had you scrambling in panic. Butcher only pushed further into you, moving in close enough to cover your exposed body with his coat as a whimper escaped you.

"(Y/fake/n)?" It was the scientist, and Butcher let out a huff at the sound of his voice. You willed the man to just go away, but his voice only drew nearer. "Hey, Brit! You scare my pussy away?"

Ah shit

Butcher made a noise akin to an animalistic growl and pulled his hips back, so only the tip remained inside you. He locked eyes with you, and you shook your head at him, but it was no use as he called over his shoulder.

"Sorry, mate," Butcher said. He slammed his hips back forward, drawing a desperate gasp from your lips. "She's busy." Your eyes slammed shut in mortification, and you could feel your cheeks heating up. Butcher smirked against your neck as his plan worked, the man cussing him out but finally leaving. As you heard the door open and close, you considered smacking the smug bastard. Right as you opened your mouth to speak though Butcher repeated his action, drawing another cry from you.

"B-butcher-" You whimpered, and he tsked before slamming into you three more times, making you claw at his shoulders and cry out.

"Nowhere near loud enough, love." He dropped his head to your neck, biting and sucking marks as he gripped your ass tighter and pounded you into the wall. "I want to hear you scream." Your fingers continued to dig into his shoulders as each thrust drove you higher and higher. "Fuck." He swore and began to pick up his pace. You gasped and whimpered incoherent syllables mixed with pleading his name as a fire started to form in your core.

He may be a madman, but every move of his hips, every touch of his fingers, and kiss from his lips seemed to be perfectly thought out to drive you to the brink of insanity. Someone could have walked right up to the two of you, and you doubt you would have cared, too consumed with the pleasure zapping through every cell of your body like lightning. Only he had this effect on you. Only he could convince you to give in to him with barely any effort at all. Yes, Billy Butcher was crazy, but not a single part of you cared as the spark in your core ignited, and you muffled your scream in his shoulder. Butcher groaned as you clenched around him, and doubled his efforts, panting hard as you begged him to let you have a moment to recover. It was pointless though, already the coil was beginning to tighten again, and this time when you came, your whole body shook, and it took all of his strength to keep you both from falling as you squeezed his own orgasm from him. He quickly slid out of you and stood you on your feet as you both gasped for air, the aftershocks jolting you into whimpering. You eventually managed to regain your brain function, quickly fixing your dress and hair before holding your hand out towards Butcher. "What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes and huffed.

"You know what. Give me my panties." You said indignantly. He tilted his head and grinned at you. "Ugh. Perv." His grin turned predatory as he turned to walk towards his car, reaching in his jacket to pull them out and dangle them off a finger.

"You're not gonna need them tonight, luv."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags (as always if you’d like to be removed or if I forgot you feel free to yell at me. If you’d like to be added, click here):

@bakerstreethound @bookscoffeeandracoons @becs-bunker @lt-trick @billybutchersbabe @emily-strange @below-average-fangirl @brideofedoras @nora-hewlett @im-like-reallythirsty @fairytale07 @waaaaaaitwhat @rayray1463 @mblaqgi

#billy butcher x reader #smut #language #honestly i just need to dip this blog in holy water at this point

144 notes · View notes

lifeinahole27 · 4 years

Text

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 6/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: Maybe some strong language. Attempts at sexual situations. I did mention this was a slow burn, right? Like. Super slow burn.

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 6: Softening the Edges

November 2: Saturday

The last time Emma remembers going on a date, it was with Walsh - and while she has a feeling Killian would appreciate the LBD with a leather twist that she still owns, she’d rather not wear something that has a memory of that asshole attached.

All of the other dresses she owns are tight and short, which worked a lot better for picking up one-night-stands. None of those dresses are going to be the right ones, either, which is why they’re all still in the back of her closet.

Instead, she’s looking at the choices hanging in front of her that she unpacked while on the phone with Killian last night. One was an impulse buy from this past spring, and the other two are loaners from Ruby and Snow.

It’s noon, and there are hours to go before the date, but Emma wants this to be perfect so she diligently takes each dress off the hanger, slipping it on and assessing each option carefully before moving on to the next.

Her timer goes off, letting her know it’s time to retrieve her laundry. Normally, all she wants to do on a Saturday is lounge around, but nerves have her going strong right now. She also wants the loft to be spotless. Just in case she has a visitor tonight, but that’s not something she’s anticipating, so to speak, but it could be.

The way her stomach flips tells her exactly how big of a deal that actually feels like.

Instead of dwelling on the hopeful way he invited her in for hot chocolate on Halloween, Emma focuses on her tasks. She switches out the clothes before going back to try on the last two dresses.

It’s between a black one that Ruby lent her and a pink one she bought online, and it’s not until the latter is on her body that she decides it’s the one. It’s soft and almost fluid, and she takes a moment to turn back and forth to feel the skirts brush against her thighs. She stands in front of her mirror admiring the picture it all makes, so unlike how she dresses for work or even for a night on the town.

Off it goes and back on the hanger, and Emma makes sure to set out the rest of what she’ll wear, finding the perfect heels to go with it before heading downstairs to clean her bathroom.

She’s never been one for following a specific routine other than necessities, but Emma goes through her process later when she’s getting ready. It’s maybe the only time she cares about being orderly, stashing all her makeup back away when she’s finished with another whisper to herself that it’s better to be safe.

Killian texted and said he’d be there at six-thirty, and she’s just fixed the backing on her second earring when the knock comes.

Shaking out her hands one last time, Emma swings open the door for Killian, and immediately all thoughts simple and pure fly out the window.

Suits and ties, she’s used to. Even the waistcoats. But this look is somehow familiar yet completely new. No thoughts of offices and editors come to mind when she looks at the total picture that the black jeans and leather vest gives off. She's tempted to invite him in now, but she’s hungry and has no intention of turning Killian into one of her really bad statistics.

Killian, meanwhile, has a look on his face that she’ll be replaying for as long as she lives. His eyes scan her from top to bottom, not in a sexual way but in stunned surprise. And yeah, because he’s used to seeing her in jeans and a leather jacket, she doesn’t blame him for the expression on his face. He finally picks his jaw up off the floor and looks her in the eye again.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he says, the words slow to come out as he takes in her appearance. Good to know she’s knocked him off balance, as well.

“You look…” she trails off, not even knowing how to sum it up, but he saves her the trouble.

“I know,” he says, a little smug but mostly matter-of-fact.

Her laugh is a quick exhalation, her lips turning up into a smirk before he holds out a single rose for her. It’s a small gesture, but it’s still better than any other man has done for her on a first date. Really, on any dates at all.

“Let me pop this in water and we’ll go,” she tells him, moving quickly to the kitchen to find a vase.

It’s only once outside that she realizes just how cold it is, and she’s glad she wore her wool coat but momentarily regrets the lack of hat. It would’ve ruined her hair but at least her ears would be warm.

“I hope you weren’t lying about trusting me,” Killian says as he guides her to an SUV that’s idling against the curb.

“What’s this?”

“Robin let me borrow his vehicle for the evening. He’s been helping me get used to American driving. Might be a different side of the road but I think we’ll be all right.” He opens the door for her and waits until she’s settled before closing it again. When he climbs in and closes his own door he turns to her for a moment. “I also hope a diligent law officer can turn a blind eye for the sake of a date, since I haven’t gotten my license just yet.”

“Knew there had to be a catch,” she jokes, patting his arm comfortingly. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

It’s been years since she’s gone to Tony’s, and never has it been with a man she was seeing. The last time she was here, it was with Ruby and Snow because they wanted to dress up and feel fancy for a night while also consuming their combined weight in pasta.

Killian hastens to pull out her chair for her, smiling as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair before settling in across from her.

“No sad back stories,” Emma says as soon as their waiter walks away. “No prior relationships. Anything else is fair game.”

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Not really. I like you. And I’m scared and excited to be on a date again for the first time in a very long time. And I don’t want to fuck that up by rambling about how shit my luck was before I made it to where I am now.” It takes a lot of effort not to wring her hands together, even as they’re sitting in her lap. No nerves, no tension. Just enjoy a date.

“Fair point. First, let me ask your favorite type of wine,” he says, handing her the menu to consider.

“Most reds, but not tonight.”

“Afraid you’ll find me even more irresistible?” he asks, leaning back and doing something sinful with his eyebrows when he looks at her. He’s tempting… so very tempting.

“No,” she says after a moment to collect herself. “I like first dates. And I’d rather not be all cloudy by the time my dinner arrives.”

His smile turns to something pure and happy. “No wine, then.” He waits until the waiter has taken their orders before speaking again. “What’s your favorite thing about Storybrooke?”

“That we have actual seasons here. Not like in Florida where it was just hot and humid until it wasn’t, with a smattering of hurricanes.”

“Or England where there’s maybe forty-five days when the sun shines.”

“You get the point on that one,” Emma tells him. “Why did you decide to move here?”

There’s a few emotions that cross Killian’s face all at once, and she knows without needing the explanation. Will did say it was a story for the man himself. “Okay, we’ll save that for another time, too.”

“I was genuinely surprised that a publishing company wanted to set up an office here in Storybrooke,” Emma says, realizing she’s never asked why.

“Robin prefers forests of trees over concrete jungles,” Killian explains. “There is a central office with a lot more people in New York City, but he only goes down when he has to and we utilize a lot of video conferences for everything else.”

“That’s a lot of distance for just some editing and such, isn’t it?”

“It’s more than just that, love. Robin’s looking to start up workshops and clinics for his signed authors. He’s been hosting a fellowship for new authors for a week at a time at a cabin he owns up on the edge of the town as well. If you ask him, this place has a natural fount of creative powers just waiting to be tapped into. That’s kind of how Henry happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was on vacation about a year ago with his parents… well, foster parents. They said as soon as he sat down in the room that he whipped out his pen and paper. By the time they got back from going to grab dinner downstairs at Granny’s, he had just about finished the first chapter. Worked out a deal to buy him a laptop for some chores.”

“That’s amazing. Do they come with him for his meetings with you?”

“Well,” Killian starts, and his face falls. Before the words are out of his mouth, she knows what he’s going to say. “He’s not with that family anymore. That couple did everything they could to try to make up for the fact that they had to move and not take him with them, so he has his own laptop, we communicate with him via an iPod, and he has a suitcase that he protects with his life. But his current situation is... not as ideal.”

Emma swallows hard, a bubble of emotion getting lodged in her throat. “I can imagine how much that must hurt for him.”

“He’s been in higher spirits since his new foster parents started letting him travel on his own. He’s just turned sixteen and he’s fiercely independent, so he loves to take the train from Portland by himself and make his way up the coast for a weekend, even if it’s just a few hours away.”

“Sometimes even just a few hours can feel like a whole different country.”

“I gather you’ve lived in a few places if that’s the way you feel.”

“I didn’t really live in Boston. But sometimes going down there to visit was like going to the far reaches of the Earth. Tallahassee was too far, when it came down to it, so I’ve mostly lived here in Storybrooke with a few exceptions.”

“Where you’ve followed the family business to be a police officer.”

“Correct. Have a shiny degree with my name on it and everything. It’s just from an online degree program, but…”

She’s surprised when Killian reaches across the table to touch her hand. “Online degrees are just as valid and important as ones earned in person at a university.”

There’s something about the way he says it - Emma is positive that he’s giving the affirmation to both of them - but she pushes past wanting to ask him about it and instead flips her hand around to briefly link her fingers with his. “You’re right. They are. And I’m proud of mine.”

“But you refuse to wear a uniform?”

The urge to shudder crawls up her spine but she controls that, as well. “Hate the things. Way too unflattering, way too uncomfortable. Besides, David decided we didn’t really need them since it’s such a small department. As long as we don’t come in wearing sweatpants, he’s okay with it.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” Emma says, almost immediately. “There was a time when I was younger that I was sure I wouldn’t, but I do now. By the way, Regina approved our budget for upgrades. I’m sitting down on Monday and just going to town online shopping for all the things we need. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get everything we want and still have some left over.”

“That’s fantastic,” he exclaims, looking genuinely happy for her. She’s so unused to this kind of support and attention, but she’s certainly not going to complain.

When their food arrives, they slow down a little bit but not by much. Back and forth they ask and answer, between bites of food and avoidance of the hard stuff - both in liquor and life experiences. There’s plenty to be talked about there: Emma has a metric ton of shit in her history and she knows she’ll have to talk about it eventually, but eventually isn’t today. By the time they’ve ordered dessert, she’s more relaxed than she’s ever felt on a date before. They only ordered one of the delectable selections, something that’s ice cream and delicious and not the standard tiramisu. As the check arrives, Killian reaches for his wallet and Emma grabs for her purse. At that, his eyebrow pops up.

“I’ve never been on a date with a woman who pulled out her wallet at the end,” he admits. “Would you prefer to split or would it be okay if I paid for the both of us?”

“I’ve never been on a date with a man who asked,” Emma says, gesturing for him to go on as she tucks her handbag away again. “Did you have a choice to work in NYC when you moved here?” Even though they talked about the Storybrooke location earlier, she realizes she never asked him that.

“No. Robin specifically hired me to be a junior editor in this office.”

“Would you have preferred to work there instead of here?”

“Not at all,” Killian says without even a second of hesitation. The quickness surprises her, just like so much constantly does with him. “I was working in London and living right on the outskirts of the city when I applied for this position. I’d had enough of bustling and tourism and noise. When Robin told me I’d be moving to a town in Maine that had a population of less than ten thousand, it felt like the right move. And now that I’m settling in, I know I’ve made the right choice.”

“I may be biased, but I think you did, too.”

With the bill all settled, they exit the restaurant into the cool night air, with Emma’s hand tangled with Killian’s. She noticed that the patrons all glanced as they came and went, but Emma hopes that she and Killian are yesterday’s news before too long. It’s probably the only downside to this small town that they all feel the need to gossip like wildfire.

He opens the car door for her again, letting his fingers trail across hers as he releases her hand and sends little shocks of heat along her skin.

Killian walks her all the way to her door, his thumb gently rubbing against hers as they climb the stairs. She turns when they get to her door, slipping a little bit into his personal space.

“Well, not bad,” she says, reaching down and taking his hand and hook in her hands. “You managed to make me forget that I’ve spent the last three days trying to get oil spots out of my jeans thanks to an unfortunate call to Billy’s shop the other day.”

“That’s an easy, three-step process if you’d like my assistance.”

“In that case, wanna come in for some coffee and stain removal?”

He hums, stepping forward so they’re toe-to-toe, their noses brushing as she’s just at the same height with her heels on. When he speaks, his breath tickles her lips and she frees up her hands in favor of running them up the lapels of his jacket to rest on his shoulders.

“Aye, but first, I’ve been waiting to do this all night,” he tells her, his voice low and husky and everything she wants to hear right now.

Then his lips are on hers and she’s perfectly fine with not hearing his voice because she’d rather be doing this anyway. Carefully, without breaking the kiss, she inches backwards until she can lean on the door, pulling Killian against her and letting all her thoughts leave for the moment. She doesn’t put out on the first date, but that doesn’t mean they can’t do anything else, right? His grip on her hip feels as tense as she is, and she finally stops so she can get her door unlocked.

When it swings open, however, her apartment isn’t dark and empty like she left it, and she jolts away from Killian in surprise at Snow propped on her breakfast bar and David standing behind her counter.

“Hey! We weren’t sure when… oh!”

Clearly, the other couple hadn’t expected Killian to still be attached to Emma when they hatched a plan to come see how it went instead of waiting until the next day. Emma glances at Killian to see the amused smile on his face. She also sees that this is where the train stops tonight, and she sighs.

“Give us a second,” Emma says to her family as she crowds Killian back into the hallway for some semblance of privacy; she knows how thin her door is. “Do you still want to come in and have coffee? Probably get the concerned-father speech from David?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait until next time for all of that,” he says, definitely not unkindly but there’s a hint of disappointment that this is where their evening ends, and she knows the feeling.

“Next time, huh? I don’t remember asking.”

“That’s because it’s my turn,” he tells her, his voice light and playful. Just as quickly, he gets a serious look in his eyes and she’s not sure a marching band coming out of her apartment would tear her attention away from him. “Will you go out with me again?”

His eyes are so sincere, his expression hopeful and patient and of course she’s going to go out with him again. She steps forward, deciding that actions are better than words right now, kissing him softly but solidly, making sure it teeters right on the edge of the heat they were producing just a few minutes ago.

She can’t get over the way he holds her, the way his arms come around her and mold her against his body. That paired with the way he kisses her back, the low rumble he makes when her hand comes up to brush against his cheek before sliding into his hair, she almost gets lost to the sensations all over again, Snow and David be damned.

With effort, Emma pulls back the tiniest bit, trying to catch her breath more at the way he leans his forehead against hers than the kiss itself at this point.

“Okay,” she breathes out. “Goodnight Killian.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice sounding equally unsteady.

She looks back at him one more time, biting her lower lip at the mirrored look on his face.

“I need to get the locks changed,” she mutters as she opens the door to her apartment again. “So, let’s talk about how you guys broke into my apartment tonight!”

-x-

Listening to Emma re-greet David and Snow makes Killian chuckle for a moment, and he takes a big breath as he settles his blood again. This woman is already so far under his skin that it’s hard to believe it’s only been a few months since they first spoke to one another.

He has Robin’s car until morning, so it’s a quick, warm drive home. When he steps inside, Killian closes the door and locks it behind him, turning on light after light as he walks through the rooms that he’s inhabited for almost five months. He’s restless, only because he’s already looking forward to the next moment he gets to see Emma, and as his eyes land on various boxes and empty corners, he decides to use this momentum to finish what he started the day before.

After changing out of his clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, Killian retrieves his box cutter from the kitchen from his last unpacking adventure and starts with his office.

It’s more than past time for him to officially make this place his home.

-x- November 4: Monday

It takes effort for Killian to crawl out of bed on Monday. It’s probably the first time in as long as he can remember that he doesn’t bounce right out of bed as soon as his eyes are open. That excludes times he’s been sick, of course. He’s only human. But he’s not sick today. He’s tired. Downright exhausted, and with every right to be so. When he finally drags his eyes open, he looks around the room at all he accomplished. Gone are the barren walls and empty hangers. Every single piece of clothing he owns is now tidily put into its place. Trudging through his morning routine, Killian still manages to smile wide when he opens his closet to the wide array of clothes all readily available.

He’s nearly ready when he hears the horn outside, and he smiles with the knowledge that Emma is out there waiting for him. With careful movements, he pours the two mugs of coffee from his pot and rinses it out, making sure it’s turned off before heading out.

They’ve got a good deal starting, as far as he can tell. She brings the car, he brings the caffeine, and it’s almost as good as their walks.

He rushes to the car through the morning chill, happy to at least have his scarf and hat in place. She pushes the door open from her side when she sees he’s laden with coffee mugs pressed against his chest with the help of his left arm.

“Hi! You found some winter weather gear!”

“Aye, finally got around to a lot of things I’ve been meaning to work on,” he tells her as he settles in, shutting the door firmly against a cold blast of wind. “Brought you coffee.”

“Thanks,” she says, grabbing the mug from him and taking a sip. She reaches over, almost without thought and squeezes his wrist to emphasize her words.

Their banter on the way to his office is as it always is, but when she stops in front of NeverEndings, there’s care in the way she leans towards him. He meets her halfway, sighing into the simplicity of the kiss and wishing he could dawdle and kiss her in her car all day.

“I have my lunch hour totally free today,” she tells him when they finally do part. “Want me to swing by?”

“I have a meeting with Henry this morning. I’m not quite sure how long it’ll go, but stop in and we’ll see?”

She smiles and nods, waving once as he climbs from the car and shuts the door.

By the time Emma shows up at noon, he very clearly needs the respite. Henry is looking similarly worn down, obvious by the way the teenager is slumped in his chair, fiddling with a fidget cube that Killian keeps by his monitor for moments of extreme stress. That’s how Emma finds them, with Killian fighting off a yawn as he stares at his computer screen and Henry teetering on death by boredom.

“Whoa. Are you guys working or just slowly melting into your seats here?”

“I’m melting,” Henry says without moving anything that isn’t absolutely necessary.

“I’m working,” Killian adds, sitting up and stretching his neck to release the knots that are dying to form along his spine. “Darling, I’ve got just three more pages left on these edits. I’m so sorry. Would you like to stick around until we’ve finished?”

“Are you his girlfriend?”

Killian sputters for a second, unsure of how to introduce them in this situation.

“I’m Emma,” she says, saving him from anything else. “So, Killian tells me you come up for vacations?” After shifting around a couple items, Emma makes herself comfortable by perching on the edge of the desk.

“I did, back when…” Henry trails off, and Killian can see from this angle that Emma’s face falls into something that borders on understanding. He knows that she was raised by David’s mother, but he also knows that she uses a different surname than the Nolan household, so maybe there’s a kinship that he wasn’t even anticipating between them.

As they get lost in conversation, Killian desperately wants to keep paying attention, to absorb in the information that she hasn’t yet divulged to him, but the edits call back to him and before he knows it, he’s lost to the words in front of him once more.

Far longer than he would’ve liked to spend on it, he’s finally at the end of the passage and he saves the file with a noise of victory.

“Alright, lad. We’ve got it. That’s the whole thing with edits and comments now done.”

“Really?”

“Aye. The next part is all up to you. We’ll get a look at your schedule and set up another meeting in the middle of the month if you think you can handle that.”

The boy scoffs, accepting the folder and thumb drive that Killian hands over to him. “I can practically make these changes with my eyes closed at this point.”

“Yeah, yeah. Safe travels back to the city.”

With a final wave, Henry exits his office and Killian slumps down in his chair, peering around his monitor as Emma relaxes back in the chair that Henry just vacated.

“Thanks for your patience, love. How’s your day going?”

“Better than yours, it seems. I texted Ruby and she’ll have lunch waiting for us. You ready?”

“Would you carry me there?”

Emma laughs, music to his ears, and he hauls himself from his chair, taking her hand when she offers it.

Killian’s own lunches don’t usually last very long, but he feels he’s earned the right to relax for a little bit since the first round of edits is officially done, and his “quick” morning meeting just went two hours over his proposed time slot for it.

It’s not the end of the job, of course. There will still be more edits after Henry comes back with his changes. But that’s in two weeks, and until that time, Killian can start worrying about everything else with the book.

Not only are there design aspects to be considered, but they’ll have the company Christmas party in New York next month, which will act as some kind of debut for Henry. It’s the one time every year that all the employees and authors come together. In England, they’ll be hosting their own version of the event, but over here, it’s a chance to celebrate the creativity that’s come out of the whole year and for Robin to announce everything they’ll look forward to in the one to come.

While he always has an outfit ready for the black tie event, he’ll also be in charge of making sure Henry is taken care of. He’ll have to ask the lad whether he has a suitable outfit. Despite being the editor for such young talent, Killian’s primary anxiety rests over getting everything done and in a timely fashion. He decided after their first meeting that Henry was more mature than a good deal of the grown men and women he’s worked with before, but in the eyes of the world, he’s still a child, and he wants them all to see Henry like he does.

After the party will be the actual book release, and the press for it. And then there’s the worry over its success or failure, of course...

“Hey, Killian.”

“Hmm?”

Emma pulls him down for a quick kiss right on the lips. “You’ve gotta let your brain rest for a couple minutes. Coffee?”

He looks around, having missed the whole walk over to Granny’s, apparently. He sighs, letting Emma lead them up the path to the diner. “Yes, that would be helpful.”

“I might be wrong, but I feel like you’re freaking out a little bit.”

“You’re not wrong,” he admits to her. “I just want everything to be perfect. He’s so talented, but he’s young. And one wrong step could mean the book goes nowhere.”

“I don’t think you’re going to let that happen,” she says as she sheds her coat and gloves, setting them on the seat on her side of the booth before she slides in.

Their food and drinks are placed in front of them almost as soon as they’re settled in, and Ruby gives them both a signature smile before she zips away from the table to tend to the rest of the lunch rush.

“Told you I gave her the heads up,” Emma says, smiling at him and nodding to his food. “Dig in. How long until you have to be back?”

“I have a meeting with Robin at 2:30 to go over our progress from today,” Killian tells her, glancing at his watch and seeing that Emma’s hour is already almost up. “You want to get a box for that?”

“Nah. I already texted David and told him I would be back later than usual.”

“You’re simply a marvel, Swan. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling and propping her hand under her chin and getting comfortable with her hot chocolate, clearly settling in for some quality time.

-x-

It’s weird, Emma thinks, to be the source of comfort for someone. But judging by the way Killian relaxes almost as soon as she reassures him that he’s not going to fuck up is a pretty clear indication that he’s taken the words to heart. What’s weirder is that she likes the feeling, a lot, and wants to keep being able to do this for him whenever he needs it.

“Tell me something new today,” she urges, using the moment to take a bite of her food before he can turn it around on her. She watches carefully as he gulps, clearly already knowing what he wants to say but maybe afraid to speak the words.

“Promise you won’t let it scare you off?”

“I can try,” she says honestly, but there’s no fear sparking in her stomach, no panic in her lungs.

“Seeing you for the first time was the moment I finally felt like I was really here - that I’d really moved to a whole new country and started a brand new job. Your hair was down. It caught the sunlight first, and then your badge did. I couldn’t get over how you looked ethereal and yet so solidly real, and you were staring at me as if you were waiting for me.”

It’s her turn to swallow hard, hearing his admission, and knowing that the day he first saw her, she was waiting for him.

“Wow,” she finally manages. She picks at her forgotten food, the blush rising to her cheeks and the smile unable to be contained.

“I’ve been told I could write romance novels,” he says, and it’s the seriousness of his tone mixed with the smile in his eyes that finally makes Emma grin as it calms her nerves.

“I’d buy them,” she admits.

“I could write about a hapless Brit learning all about American culture from some blonde goddess in a red leather jacket.”

“And what adventures would they go on, Killian?”

“Epic battles, Swan. They couldn’t have just any boring old story. They would need action, fighting to find each other after being separated, and when it’s all said and done they would share True Love’s Kiss and she would turn him into a frog.” She is so obviously distracted by the way his hand has reached across the table and his fingers are rubbing over her knuckles, the deep timbre of his voice, that she almost misses the last part, but she hears it, and she chortles at the picture he’s painted.

She takes a deep breath, prepared to share something of her own. “I didn’t want to date you,” she admits. It’s like an anvil dropped in the middle of the table but if he just admitted all of that to her, maybe she can meet him halfway.

His face falls, and she hurries to continue.

“Not like that,” she says reassuringly, giving his hand a squeeze to emphasize. “I had this idea that you would just be this stranger I passed on the street every day and that would be enough. And then we started talking and I thought - okay, this is cool. We can be friends.” She laughs even thinking of it, at the sheer absurdity that she was so sure there would be nothing between them.

“You started it,” he says. “You kissed me first.”

“Yeah? So let’s talk about setting up that second date.”

“Well, I’ve finally finished moving into my flat, so I think it would be nice to have someone over to see it without towers of boxes invading each room.”

“I think that sounds like a good plan.”

There’s a thought that flashes through her mind that adds together one part Killian, one part dinner, one part alone, and it takes her a moment to pull her mind from the gutter once more. Especially when she thinks of how they were interrupted before he could come inside after their first date.

But more than for anything like that, Emma thinks about how nice it’ll be to have something closer to a quiet night - there won’t be any townspeople staring at them and taking notes to pass around to all their friends. No one will take notice of them leaving and speculate about what’s about to happen next. Plus, the idea of Killian cooking is quite appealing.

“Saturday?” she asks before they part ways after lunch is over.

“Saturday sounds perfect,” he reassures her. And while she’s already excited for it, she also knows they have a whole week of little moments like this to look forward to.

-x-

Chapter 7

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #csrt

53 notes · View notes

shyficwriter · 5 years

Note

Hope I'm not too late for this, sorry if so. Could you do one where reader one way or another shrinks into a young kid so Yondu has to care for her all the while trying to find a cure? Sorry if this prompt is too weird or if it's late, as said, and thsnk you none the less. Keep up the great work btw your Yondu x readers really warm my heart and make my day it is soooo hard to find platonic relationship stories with Yondu.

What an interesting concept! I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this before! [Edit: I just remembered there was an episode like this on Supernatural where a witch turns Dean into a kid, so apparently I have seen this before lol]

Hope you like it! (It came out way longer than expected for a drabble though! ha ha)Word Count: 6,274(Prompts are now closed!)“Watch out!”

Those were the last words you heard before turning to see a brilliant white beam of light burst forth and enveloped you.

That morning Yondu said you were coming along on a mission to steal a machine. None of you knew what it did, just that there was a client who had hired the Ravagers to steal it from a scientist on Calurnia. The most any of you could assume, based on how much the client had offered to pay, was that it was likely dangerous. And now you were staring directly in its crosshairs as it misfired.

The mission had actually been going pretty well up until this point. There didn’t seem to be anyone guarding the machine, so the heist was surprisingly relaxed. Gef was busy un-bolting the machine from the wall with Scrote, and you were waiting with the others to help carry all the other parts out once they were done.

In a way, you supposed you could blame Peter for your situation now, for if it weren’t for him calling you over to check something out you wouldn’t have walked in front of the machine at just the wrong moment when Gef slipped and fell on the controls. Now, you might have been considered one of the more bad-ass Ravagers on the team, but since none of you knew what the machine did, no one really would have faulted you in that split second for nearly peeing down your leg when the light hit you and your heart stopped in fear, assuming you were dead.

However, that’s not what happened. You didn’t die when the blinding light enveloped you. You didn’t burn to a crisp, or melt into a puddle, or develop oozing sores, or anything terrible like that.

It was over in a split second. The beam hit you, the bright light blinding the rest of the Ravager team, and then as soon as it happened, it was over.

Confused shouts picked up volume as everyone tried to figure out what happened. Of course, because the only seemingly visible trace of you was a pile of your clothing, they assumed you had been vaporized at first. Yondu was about to tear Gef a new asshole for his incompetence costing them a member of the team, until they heard a cooing noise over the commotion.

With raised eyebrows everyone looked in the direction of the noise, not sure what to make of it. Finally, Yondu cautiously walked over to inspect the sound emanating from your pile of discarded clothes, and was shocked at what he had found.

You had been turned into a baby.

You weren’t newborn, but you couldn’t have been much older than a year old. It took you a moment to realize what happened and why everything suddenly looked bigger. At first you thought you had be shrunken, but then you looked down at yourself to see that your hands weren’t your own. It was hard to see, as you were trying to fight your way out of your now much too big jacket, but you had the tiny arms of an infant, and you realized in horror that there was only reason that could be before you hear footsteps approaching you.

Yondu hesitantly pulled back the jacket to reveal a now much younger you. He picked you up and held you at arms length. He looked at you in confusion, “What the-?” is all he managed to get out, and that’s when your infant self actually did pee down your leg, though at this time you didn’t really notice as you were still panicking. All you could think was how you now embodied a baby, and how this wasn’t ideal.

Yondu wasn’t amused, having only narrowly avoided the mess splashing on him, though the crew would have found his expression funny had the whole situation not been so bizarre.

Yondu handed you off to Kraglin, who was less than happy having to cradle your squirming baby form; you didn’t exactly like being lifted and passed around. “What are we gonna do with her?” he asked.

“We gotta change her back, right?” asked Peter.

“We can’t figure it out now, boy. We stick around much longer we might get caught.” Yondu reasoned. He instructed Gef and Scrote to finish disconnecting the machine and load it onto the ship. Hopefully they could figure it once you all got back to the Eclector and had more time.

Scrote joked about just dropping you off at an orphanage on the way instead of worrying about it, but Yondu just glared at him and he got back to work.

To the dismay of Kraglin, you began to fuss. You didn’t want to wait, you wanted changed back now!

If only there was some way to let them know you were aware of everything, that you may look like a baby, but you still had your adult mind. Unfortunately for you, your reactions were quite limited due to your infant body. You couldn’t speak to tell them to piss off, so fussing would have to do.

It didn’t seem to be working. Kraglin just passed you off. “Here, entertain the baby, Peter.”

At first Peter started to refuse, but after a receiving a warning look from Yondu he relented, and begrudgingly took you in his arms. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, kid.” Kraglin said. “Just, play peek-a-boo or some crap until we can get this thing loaded up. Just keep her from fussing.” He then tossed Peter a shirt you had been wearing from your pile of clothes. “And here, might as well cover her with something.”

Peter rolled his eyes and groaned, he hated it when Kraglin called him a kid just because he still happened to be in his twenties. He sat on the ground with you, trying his best to make the adult size t-shirt fit around your infant body.

It wasn’t until now that it hit you that you had been stark naked this whole time. You were mortified, despite the fact that you supposed “baby butt” wasn’t really the same as being nude when you were an adult.

“How’d I get stuck with the baby?” Peter muttered when he was finished.

You stared at him in annoyance. You weren’t exactly fond of this situation either. You started to fuss out of spite.

“Keep her quiet, boy!” Yondu scolded.

You’d show him quiet. You fussed louder. Yeah, you felt childish, but you felt you could make an exception for these circumstances.

Peter tried playing peek-a-boo, but you ignored him. Unlike an actual baby, you actually had a concept of object permanence, and you didn’t exactly feel like playing along. Maybe if you fussed more they’d hurry up. The quicker you got back to the ship the quicker they could find a way to change you back.

Your fussing was cut short, however, when Peter got an idea. He started gently tickling your tummy, cooing out a “Cootchie Coo!” as he did so. Your fussing, to your chagrin, turned into happy giggles.

“Aw! Is the baby ticklish?” he cooed. “Is she? Is she?”

You wanted to curse at him to quit it, that you weren’t a child. But you couldn’t, because, well, at this moment you were a child and the only sounds you could make were happy giggles as he playfully wiggled his fingers over your chubby baby tummy.What you hated more, and you’d never admit, was that this was actually kinda fun. Within a few moments you no longer felt like fussing and found yourself actually enjoying the game. You decided to blame this on the fact that you were currently in the body of a baby. If you were full size you would have punched him, you were sure. Mostly.

Within a few moments more Yondu called for Peter. They were finished with the task and it was time to board the ship. This meant the game was over and you were surprised to find that you were actually kind of disappointed.

Once back on the ship a new problem had risen. Where would they put you? They couldn’t just strap you back into your seat like normal. The seats weren’t meant for babies. After some discussion it was finally agreed that Kraglin would pilot the ship with Scrote, while Yondu sat with you in his lap in the back. He didn’t really trust the other Ravagers or Peter to hold onto you properly, figuring they’d drop you or something, and so placed the task on himself.

You wanted to fuss at this. You didn’t want to sit in anyone’s lap like a child, much less your captain’s! However, once everything was settled you found you lacked the energy to start fussing. It actually was kind of comfortable sitting in Yondu’s lap, and he was humming a tune, just low enough for the crew not to hear over their conversations, which was slowly lulling you to sleep.

The next thing you knew you had woken up as you were being laid down on something cushy. You looked around and realized you were in the Captain’s Quarters and someone had laid you on the couch. Yondu and Kraglin were discussing the elephant in the room with the rest of the Ravagers from the mission.

“What the hell are we supposed to do with a baby?” Kraglin asked. “None of us know anything about babies!” He sounded anxious.

“I’m tryin’ to figure that out.” responded Yondu. “There’s gotta be a way to change her back. Gef, you get on that. Find Oblo and the two of ya work it out. Kraglin go with them, make sure they don’t mess it up.”

Gef nodded with a, “Yes, sir!” before leaving the room, and Kraglin begrudgingly followed, afraid he’d be stuck with ‘baby duty’ if he didn’t.

Scrote popped off again about being serious about tossing you in an orphanage and you glared at him the best you were able with your baby face. He wasn’t looking, of course.

You angrily, but carefully, tried to climb down off the couch. You’d show him. You didn’t know what’d you’d do, but you’d figure it out. When you successfully landed on the floor without hurting yourself you had a mind to check if you had any teeth to bite him with. A quick search of your gums with your tongue proved fruitless. No teeth. Damn. Could you walk at least? You attempted, and made a couple of wobbly steps before you fell to the floor. You rolled your eyes. You could work on it. You decided to resign to crawling on the floor for now and listening for a bit, looking around to see if maybe there was something you could throw at him.

While you were busy contemplating ways your infant form could cause Scrote bodily harm Yondu was busy scolding him. “We ain’t gonna just put her in an orphanage! She’s still a part of this crew, and that means we’ll figure it out! Get on out of here if ya don’t have anythin’ useful to contribute ‘fore I assign ya to diaper duty!”

‘Diaper duty? Shit!’ You had completely forgotten about that. How could this get any worse? While it would be funny to see Scrote have to change dirty diapers, you’d be damned if you were gonna get him change you. Geeze. You just knew you’d never live this down when you got changed back.

While you were lamenting Scrote hurriedly walked out of the room. After he was gone you heard Peter speak up again. “Uh, Yondu-?”

“What, boy?” Yondu snapped in frustration. He was just about done with this day. He didn’t want to hear anymore questions about what they were supposed to do with you.

“Where’s the baby?”

“What?” Yondu’s expression changed from annoyance to surprise. He looked around, noticing you were no longer on the couch. “Aw, what the hell!”

You sighed. You knew you couldn’t exactly expect to be given your space right now, but come on. You crawled out from behind the couch and into view before the guys could have a conniption.

“Oh, there she is!” Peter said in relief.

Yondu walked over and picked you up off the floor. “Why can’t ya just stay put?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, but getting a pout in response.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?” Peter asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Warn someone next time, geeze!”

You could smell it too. Ugh! What did Yondu eat today?!

Yondu looked at him. “Don’t blame that on me, boy! I thought it was you-” then it it them. Yondu’s eyes narrowed at you. “Why ya little-”

It was then you too realized, in mortification, what the smell was.

“Peter-” Yondu tried, but Peter was already halfway out the door.

“Sorry, Yondu! I got to go do that… thing… chores- you asked me to do, bye!” and with that he ran out the door.

Yondu yelled some swears at him as he left before turning his attention back to you. “Dammit,” he sighed, realizing he didn’t have any available crew left to do this dirty work for him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

***

The next day at breakfast Yondu noticed Peter had already finished eating and before he could get away stuck him with the task of feeding you. When asked with what and how Yondu grabbed a yarrow root from the bowl on the table and told Peter to mash it up and spoon it to you. Yondu then grabbed a fruit for himself and sat down next to Kraglin to eat.

“Looks like you slept better than expected.” noted Kraglin, surprised that Yondu didn’t have a “the baby cried the whole night” story to share that morning. After weighing the pro’s and cons the night before Yondu claimed he decided to bite the bullet and keep you in his quarters so the crew could sleep. A ‘selfless act’ from their captain. In truth he was worried about putting a baby in the trust of anyone else. What could he say? He knew his crew.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Yondu admitted, taking a bite, “but she slept clear through the night.”

“Can’t complain about that.” Kraglin said.

“Nope. How’s Gef coming on that machine?”

“Well, he’s not there yet. He got it running, and he turned an adult orloni into a pup, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to reverse it yet.”

“Well tell him to hurry up.” Yondu warned. “We don’t got forever with it, eventually we gotta hand it over to the client.”

Kraglin nodded and left, finished with his breakfast. Yondu turned his attention to you and Peter, finding you fussing and Peter an exasperated mess as he tried to feed you.

You didn’t want to be fed like a child, you were sure you could do it yourself! But it didn’t matter how many times you’d grab for the spoon or throw the food back at Peter, he wouldn’t get the hint. You might be in a baby’s body, but was it really that hard to realize that you were smarter than one??

“Dammit, boy! Hand her here.” Yondu said in annoyance after seeing the mess. “Ain’t ya never fed a baby before?”

“No!” Peter cried in irritation. “Have you?”

“Well, no,” Yondu admitted, “but it can’t be as hard as yer makin’ it out to be!”

Yondu plopped you on to table in front of him, took the bowl of mashed yarrow root from Peter, and tried feeding you himself.

You started to fuss again but Yondu just stared ya down. “There ain’t gonna be any of that, missy.” He scolded. “Now ya settle down and eat it, that’s an order!”

You pouted but obeyed your captain’s orders, allowing him to feed you the rest of the mashed root.

“How’d you do that?” asked Peter, clearly annoyed Yondu was having an easier time. He attempted to clean himself off with a napkin. He swore, if he didn’t know better, it was like you were actively listening to and obeying Yondu’s orders.

“Ya just gotta let ‘em know who’s boss, boy.” Yondu said smugly, clearly pleased with himself. You internally groaned. What you wouldn’t give to be able to talk right now.

***

Later that day Yondu found himself with some free time, but unable to pawn you off on anyone else to enjoy it. He didn’t trust more than half his crew with a baby, and the other half was either away on various missions or working out a way to change you back. Eventually he just resigned himself to staying in his quarters with you. Maybe if he’d turn on the TV it might keep you occupied as well.

It didn’t work.

You just weren’t interested in watching some boring wrestling match, so you kept trying to crawl away from the spot he had designated for you on the floor in front of the TV. After about the 5th time of having to retrieve you from wandering off Yondu opted instead to sit you in his lap so he could keep an eye on you.

You began to fuss again. You were bored! If he was going to keep you cooped up in here the least he could do was let you crawl around! Hell, you could even be practicing walking or something!

Yondu turned you to face him. “Enough of that. What do ya want?” He said crossly. Part of him felt silly. He knew you couldn’t understand him.

You pouted and attempted to talk, but you could only manage gibbering babbles as your vocal cords clearly weren’t as developed as you’d like them to be yet for holding an adult conversation. In your frustration you smacked at his arm with your tiny hand.

“Yer a mean lil’ shit, ya know that?” Yondu said, a grin threatening his grouchy facade. He had to admit, you were kind of adorable. “We gotta work on that.” With that he started tickling your belly and you squealed in happy giggles. “See, that’s better!” Yondu laughed. “Ya don’t need to be sitting around looking so mad all the time!” He started cooing and teasing you, saying things like “Gitchy-gitchy! I’m gonna getcha!” and “Now who’s a happy lil’ shit? I think it’s you!”

You giggled and wiggled under his attack. Had you been in your adult form you probably would have punched him and told him to fuck off out of embarrassment, worried that it would hurt your image as a hard-ass. However, since you weren’t, you just allowed yourself to enjoy the game, just as you had with Peter. You supposed it could be worse, you could still be bored, and actually you were kind of having fun if you were being honest. It wasn’t often you just got to laugh and be care-free, so you supposed you could enjoy it while it lasted, even if you would definitely deny anything of the sort once you got changed back. Again, you had your “bad-ass” image to protect, after all.

The same could be said for Yondu as well. The only ones who ever got to see anything close to his softer side were Peter, you, and Kraglin to an extent. What would his crew think if they saw their mean ol’ captain baby-talking and playing with a giggly baby? They might think he was going soft, and he couldn’t have that. But he didn’t have to worry about that right now. He could just be carefree for a bit and enjoy the fact that he got to see you laugh, even if it was the baby-version of you. You didn’t seem to do much of it anymore these days. Probably too concerned with needing to look tough around the guys was his guess.

The game continued for a bit more until Yondu was satisfied he had tired you out. You remained giggly even as your eyelids drooped and before long you fell asleep for a nap right in his lap. He figured you could sleep there for a bit while he watched the rest of the match on the TV. Looking down at you sleeping he chuckled quietly to himself.

“Cute lil’ shit.”

***

By around mid-day of the next day Gef still hadn’t figured out how to use the machine to turn you back, but he had turned 5 adult orlonies into pups trying. The only thing he had discovered was that if the beam hit something that was already a baby, it didn’t have any noticeable effect. This wasn’t exactly progress, but it was a slight relief to know that if they hit you with it again and got it wrong that you wouldn’t disappear or anything.

Yondu was growing increasingly agitated at the slow progress, not that he’d tell anyone he was actually worried though. Not only were you one of his best workers, but he did care for you and Peter like his own children. You were his little girl, just as Peter was his boy, though he’d never admit as much for either. He definitely wasn’t going to be happy if they couldn’t change you back.

After Oblo left to rejoin Gef after delivering the news Peter sat you on the ground to crawl around and turned to Yondu. “Yondu, what do we do if we can’t turn her back?” He sounded more worried now. Yeah, you were already like his younger sister, but this was ridiculous. “Like, do we… raise her? And just wait for her to grow up?”

You heard this and you stopped crawling. You sat on the floor in disbelief. That was one outcome you hadn’t considered. Could you really be stuck like this? Forced to live with a young adult mind inside of the body of an infant? You couldn’t handle that possibility. It wasn’t fair. You were already hating every moment of this, and now there’s a possibility you’d stay trapped like this? You broke down, and wailed like the infant you currently embodied.

“Oh hey! Hey! Shhh. You’re ok!” Peter tried to sooth as he picked you up from the floor.

“What happened?” asked Yondu, concerned. “She hurt herself?”

“I don’t know. She doesn’t look hurt?” Peter said, looking you over as you continue to wail. “She can’t be hungry, we just fed her, and it doesn’t look like she needs changed.” He found a small brightly colored cup and in desperation to stop your cries tried to present it to you like a toy.

“I think that’s the first time she’s actually cried this whole time.” Kraglin noted. “I guess it was just a matter of time. It was actually starting to get weird.”

Just then Scrote walked by, and noticing your cries, coughed out the word “Orphanage!” as he walked past.

Yondu growled and called for his arrow, driving it to point right between Scrote’s eyes. “I told ya to knock that shit off!”

Scrote stood frozen in fear. “Sorry, boss! It won’t happen again!”

“Ya bet yer ass it won’t!” growled Yondu, “Go clean out the grease traps in the kitchen. Now.” He called back his arrow and Scrote scampered off to the Mess Hall, knowing the punishment was better than death by yaka arrow.

By this time you had accepted the cup from Peter solely for the purpose of throwing it at Scrote. You missed, of course, with your tiny baby arms not being able to throw it that far, but Peter took notice.

“Um, guys?” he asked, starting to piece some events from the past couple days together. “Do- do you think she can understand us?”

“What?” Yondu turned back and looked at the two of you incredulously. Surely you couldn’t?

“I mean, call me crazy, but she kinda doesn’t act that much like any baby I’ve seen, and it’s like she reacts to what we say. She stops fussing when you order her to, she never cried at all until just now when I mentioned the possibility that we can’t change her back, and she threw the cup at Scrote for the orphanage jokes. I’m really starting to think she can understand us.

You looked at Peter as he spoke and stopped crying. You excitedly clapped your hands and squealed. Yes! Finally someone noticed! Thank god, Peter!

Yondu and Kraglin looked at your display in disbelief and then to each other. That definitely looked like you understood Peter’s claim, but could that really be true?

“Hey,” Yondu caught your attention, bringing himself to be eye-level with you. “Are ya really in there? Can ya really understand us?”

Again you clapped and let a little squeal of delight. Yes! You could understand! Thank God! Maybe now they could stop treating you like a dumb baby!

The three men looked at each other alarmed. Peter quickly sat you down on the table. “Uh.. Ok. Two claps for yes, one clap for no, understand?”

You clapped twice, a happy grin on your face.

“Holy shit.” said Kraglin. “She’s really in there!” He almost seemed to pale at the thought. “So she understands exactly what’s been going on!?”

You clapped twice again, startling him. This made you giggle.

“I guess that would explain why she always looks so mad when we change her diapers then…” Peter said.

You frowned, and sheepishly clapped twice. You gave him a look that even he could read as “Trust me, if I could avoid it, I would.”

“Holy crap.” Peter said, and Yondu’s face showed he shared the same sentiment. “Ok, um, maybe this means she can help!” He turned back to you. “Before you got turned into… this, did you notice anything that might help us turn you back?”

You sadly clapped once. ‘No, I was too busy thinking I was dead!’ you thought.

Yondu frowned. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you changed back. Gef and Oblo are workin’ on it right now.”

You nodded. You, of course, already knew this.

Peter tried to think of a better way for you to communicate. “Um, do you think you can write?”

You weren’t sure, so you clapped three times, hoping he’d get the message.

“I’m going to take that as an ‘I don’t know.’“ he said. You clapped twice in response as he pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. He handed them to you.

You took the objects and attempted to write. Obviously you knew what words you wanted to say, and could remember how to write in your mind, however, you lacked the motor skills to accomplish the task. All you were able to produce was illegible scribbles. You looked up at him sadly and slumped your little shoulders.

“It’s alright,” Peter said, “We’ll figure it out. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be back to normal in no time!”

You didn’t respond, you were sure he was only trying to comfort you and didn’t actually believe it.

“I gotta admit, this does make diaper changing more awkward knowing she’s actually in there.” said Kraglin.

“Well I bet it’s been awkward for her this whole time,” Peter replied.

You clapped twice.

“Well, I mean, do we do things differently? She’s still in a baby body? Do we still help feed her? Or the diapers? She can’t even walk really, I doubt she can use a toilet on her own.”

You covered your eyes with your little hands in embarrassment, and that told them all they needed to know about that.

Yondu decided to speak up again. “Well, we don’t like it anymore than ya do, but since we don’t really gotta choice we’re all just gonna have to suck it up until we can change ya back. An’ that means ya gotta stop fussin’ all the time. Now we know yer in there an’ got a way of communicating ya can quit fussin’. Understood, missy?”

Begrudgingly you clapped twice. You were more than ready to communicate like an adult, but getting them to listen and understand was another thing.

Peter began to chuckle, “Ya know, once you get changed back, the crew’s never gonna let you live this baby-thing down,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

You threw his pen at him. You knew he was right. They would totally try to tease the hell out of you once this was over.

“Hey now, what’d I say about fussin’, girl!” Yondu scolded, a hint of play in his voice. He scooped you up. “If yer gonna keep acting like a baby I might as well treat ya like one!” he chuckled as he tickled your tummy, making your squirm and giggle in his hold.

The other two actually laughed, a little bit of the tension lifted. Knowing you were in there and knowing they could embarrass you to pieces by teasing you about being a baby somehow made the situation slightly better.

But one thing was certain. If you had any doubts before, you were sure you’d definitely never live this down now.

***

The next day went smoother. You were less frustrated now that the other’s stopped treating you as much like a baby wherever possible, unless they were just trying to embarrass you. Everything wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

That morning Peter asked if you wanted to try feeding yourself, and you happily tried, wanting some independence back. Unfortunately the little matter of poor motor skills came into play and it became clear that you were better off letting Peter do it for you.

Despite this, a lot of the frustration was still lifted off you, so you decided to have some fun during some off-time on the ship.

Kraglin was off helping Gef and Oblo with the machine, but Yondu and Peter were hanging out in the captain’s quarters cleaning their blasters. Now that they knew you weren’t going to go off and choke on small objects, or whatever else babies could do to accidentally harm themselves if left unattended, you were free to crawl around as you pleased. You decided to entertain yourself by throwing small objects you found on the floor at the guys and quickly hiding behind furniture before they turned. Really you just wanted something to take your mind off the fact that the client was going to be expecting the machine soon, and you were running out of time if they couldn’t figure out how to change you back.

Peter got up after the third time of being hit with your projectiles and made to come after you, threatening to sit you on top of the dresser if you didn’t quit. You avoided capture from Peter by slipping under the sofa, but Youdu pulled you out from the other side.

He laughed as you let a surprised squeal and kicked in his grasp. He flipped you upside down and tickled your belly. “I already told ya, if ya wanna act like a kid, I’ll treat ya like a kid!” he chuckled, trying to sound stern but not succeeding.

“Wait, you know what I just realized?” Peter said, looking almost shocked, with a hint of mischief.

“What?” Yondu asked, stopping his actions and allowing you to escape to the sofa.

Before Peter could respond with his realization Kraglin came bounding into the room. “Boss, we got a problem! The client is here for the machine!”

“We were supposed to bring it to him!”

“He says he got tired of waiting!”

“Well, stall him!” Yondu ordered. He turned to Peter and told him to grab some clothes from your quarters. He was going to take you and try to speed Gef and Oblo along.

***

Peter got to the room where Gef was working with the machine soon after you and Yondu did, and Yondu ushered him to shut door behind him.

Yondu told Gef that the client was there now for the machine, he had to reverse it now.

“I think it’s close!” Gef said. “Just let me test it real quick, I think I got it!”

Everyone stood back as he fired the beam at the orloni pup.

Nothing happened.

Yondu scolded Gef, and he hurried to try another combination of buttons. Again nothing.

Yondu looked furious and Gef scrambled to explain that he had only one combination left to try. This one was bound to work, and if it didn’t… well, there was nothing more they could do.

“Ya better hope this works then.” Yondu said coldly.

Everyone held their breath as Gef set up again, pushing the buttons in the final combination. The bright light filled the room and when it faded everyone looked to where the pup had been.

It had worked. It actually worked! The orloni pup was now full grown again!

Cheers of excitement filled the room and Yondu ushered Peter to get you ready. He wasn’t sure how long Kraglin could stall the client.

Peter was fitting you into one of your t-shirts and a pair of pants the best he could, figuring you would just grow into them as you changed back, when Yondu’s communicator went off. It was Kraglin saying he couldn’t stall the client any longer and he was heading your way.

“Ya heard him!” Yondu called to Gef. “Get a move on! The client will be here any minute!”

Peter quickly moved out of the way and Gef hastily plugged in the same combination of buttons as before.

Angry knocking could be heard at the door.

“Jus’ a minute! I’m comin’!” Yondu yelled back, motioning for Gef to hurry up and finish.

Gef pushed the last few buttons as the knocking began to intensify. The doorknob began to rattle and Peter quickly went to push his weight against the door.

Like before the room was filled with a blinding bright light as the beam flooded over you, and just as before it was over nearly as soon as it started.

You let your eyes adjust and patted yourself down as soon as you saw you no longer had the limbs or body of an infant. “It worked!” you said excitedly, standing up. “It-”

Just then the door to the room burst open, pushing Peter to the side as a very irritated Krylorian businessman walked in with Kraglin following nervously behind. When Kraglin’s eyes landed on you and he saw you were changed back a visible relief washed over him.

“Geeze, ya couldn’t wait for me to answer the door?” Yondu said, acting as if nothing strange had just occurred and feigning annoyance. “Ya must have been more excited for this thing than I thought.”

The businessman eyed him suspiciously, but seeing as he couldn’t find any faults to complain about he instead opted to just talk business instead. He paid Yondu the rest of the bounty and Yondu instructed Gef and Oblo to help Kraglin load the machine onto the man’s ship.

When the men had gone and it was just the three of you left Peter turned to you with a shit eating grin. “So-”

“Not a word.” You said coldly, a blush already creeping up your neck.

“That’s fine, because I don’t need any words to know this works on you now.” he said, wiggling his fingers into your stomach. It was this that he had realized earlier; a ticklish baby-you would very likely mean a ticklish adult-you, and he was right.

You smacked at his hands and told him to quit, biting back your giggles.

“I could’ve sworn I said something to ya about quittin’ yer fussin,’ girl.” Yondu interjected, a grin almost as wide as Peter’s as he joined him in the mischief, tweaking your ribs and laughing as you tried to wiggle away, laughter now bubbling from your lips. Really, he was just happy they were able to change you back in time, and glad to see a smile on your face.

“Aw, is our little hard-ass ticklish?” Peter cooed, knowing this would embarrass the hell out of you, “Is she? Is she?” he laughed, noting how you still squealed happily when he tickled your belly, despite your efforts to act like you hated them for it. You had that “hard-ass” image you needed to protect, after all. Even if you definitely didn’t look very tough at the moment.

Eventually they stopped, leaving you a mess of residual giggles. “You both suck.” you whined, grin still plastered on your face. You supposed you didn’t actually hate them for it, but they were definitely the only ones who could get away with that without you gutting them.

“Consider that payback for having to change your diapers.” Yondu chuckled, turning to leave and motioning for the two of you to follow.

“And for the constant fussing. You really were cranky baby.” Peter joked, laughing as you punched him in the arm.

The teasing from them continued throughout the day until it was time for bed. And then it picked up the next day at lunch when Peter asked if you needed him to feed you. And the day after that on a mission when Kraglin spotted an empty diaper pack on the street and joked about how he was glad they were able to change you back, because changing your diaper for three days was more than enough.Then there was all the times when you’d be alone with Peter and Yondu and they’d decide you looked “too mean” and decided to team up and “cheer you up” with tummy tickles.

You were right. You were really never going to live it down.

112 notes · View notes

justice-for-shayla · 5 years

Text

Crazy Enough

A/N: The prompt was Roommates and Friends to Lovers, so this is what you get. I’m working on the other prompts too, so be on the lookout and let me know if you want to be added to the tags for future ones.

Word Count: 2480

Tag List: @r-ahh-mi, @karla-s-main, @aquamanpng

Warnings: Implied sexual content, jealously, referenced mental trauma, nightmares, no editing to speak of.

God you loved having loaded friends. This apartment was ten kinds of amazing and there was no way in hell you could have ever afforded to live like this on your own, but with Josh and the Washington family fortune, all things were possible.

When Josh had initially suggested living together after college, you’d kind of laughed and made a joke about budget, thinking that would be the end of it, but it was one of Josh’s few thoughts that he really stuck with, clinging like a dog engaged in a game of tug of war.

“That doesn’t matter; I’ll pay for it,” He’d insisted.

You’d resisted. You couldn’t just move in with a guy for free. As much as you wanted your first real apartment as an adult to be nice, you refused to live off the Washington’s charity. “Josh, I can’t live in a place I’m not working for.”

“Come on, Y/N, you know living with me would be a full time job; the least I could do is cover your half of the rent.”

Slowly, over a matter of weeks, he’d broken down your resistance. The final wall had crumbled while you were studying for exams, subsisting on oatmeal and ramen when Josh had shown up at your door, holding a bag full of takeout. “Please live with me,” He’d said and though he smiled you knew him too well not to see the real fear he was feeling; he didn’t want to live alone.

“Fine, but I get first pick of whatever’s in that bag, and I need your notes from the Milgram lecture.”

Now that you were moving in, you couldn’t even feel bad about your dependance because this apartment was so nice. Josh’s mom had thrown herself into decorating it. She needed projects to distract herself, and decorating was one of her few passions that didn’t remind her of her lost daughters. She’d done the whole place with a strange mix of care and fervor, somehow communicating through the decor alone how desperately she wanted this to work out.

“It looks really nice, Mrs. Washington,” You said.

She smiled. “Oh, please, call me Alma. Have you seen your room yet?”

You shook your head and followed her into the best room you’d ever seen. It was all done in soft colors with large windows and tons of light, blankets and extra pillows were artfully and casually draped across every piece of furniture leaving the whole room with a cloudlike feel.

“Josh said you liked soft things,” Mrs. Washington said. “He wanted to surprise you and wouldn’t let me ask you myself.”

If she had asked, you would have lied and said you wanted to do it yourself so that the Washingtons didn’t spend any more money on you, but you couldn’t help but feel glad that no one has asked. You’d never been in a room as nice as this. “It’s perfect.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We’re so grateful that you’re staying with Josh--” She trailed off, discomfort etched on her face. “He sometimes needs.... Well it’s very good that he has good friends.”

“Right,” You said, wishing you knew how to tell her that it was okay, that you knew how Josh was and that-- though his bad episodes really could freak you out-- you would be okay with him, and good for him if you could be. “I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me, and I’m looking forward to living with Josh.”

The first few weeks were a honeymoon period while you adjusted to new jobs and city living and dealing with each other. It all went surprisingly well, and you were beginning to feel like you could handle this.

The first cold snap started the nightmares. You knew he always got bad in the winter-- he’d told you as much-- but you’d never seen it up close and personal. He became withdrawn, quiet, snappish and forgetful, none of which made for an ideal living situation.

“Josh, I’m not asking for that much,” You said, with as much false patience as you could find, “I just need you to clean up after yourself. Do some laundry, put your shit away, just so I don’t have to come home to this every day.”

“If you hate it here just move,” Josh said dispassionately, staring at a TV show he wasn’t watching.

You rolled your eyes. “Stop trying to make me feel guilty; you know I don’t want to move--”

“No, I know you can’t move,” He said, finally turning to you with lips curled in disgust. “You need a nice free place and all the food that I buy--”

“I have never asked you to do that,” You snapped. “You always offer, and if you’re going to use it to guilt-trip me, I’d rather if you just stopped doing it.”

“So now I can’t do anything nice for you? I thought we were friends!”

“Jesus, Josh, of course we’re friends,” You said, even though you didn’t really feel like you were talking to a friend anymore. “It’s just…”

“You hate living with me.” He didn’t seem to care as he said the words.

“I like living with you,” You said. “Josh, you’re my best friend, of course I like living with you, I just need you to pitch in a little around here. I’m not your maid.”

“Then what am I paying you for?” He rolled his eyes again and went back to his show, completely missing the stricken look his words had left on your face.

You think you would have rather if he’d just hit you, because anything would have been better than that. “Josh…” You want to be mad, want to yell or scream or maybe throw something and then storm off, but you can’t.

So you turn to the pile of dishes that had pissed you off in the first place, quietly did your job and cleaned them before returning them to their proper place, then took refuge in your room.

He had warned you that living with him would be a job, and you had known that in some ways it would be, but this was not what you’d signed up for. Nonsensical arguments and needle-sharp insults were not what you were looking for.

Opening your laptop-- outdated and beat up, one of few possessions that were only yours-- and started to troll Craigslist for living situations. You just wanted to know your options.

You woke up hours later to the sound of Josh’s headboard hitting the wall. If you didn’t know him so well, you might have thought he was fucking someone, but you did know him. He was having a nightmare. A bad one that threw him around in his sleep as he chased after sisters that he would never catch.

You thought about waking him, but you weren’t sure if that was the right thing to do. Would he still be mad at you if you did? Fear kept you in your bed and you cuddled the heavy, fuzzy blanket Mrs. Washington had picked out for you, keeping a silent vigil while you waited for Josh’s sleep to calm.

Several minutes or hours later, you were tugged out of a foggy half-sleep when your door slid open.

Someone was standing in the doorway, framed in light from the hallway. You sat up, jolting fully awake in a disorienting second.

“Y/N! Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry I just--”

“What’s wrong?” Your voice was hoarse with sleep, but you were coming out of the fog and could hear his anxiety. “Are you okay?”

He glanced away. “I’m… I’m sorry I woke you up. You’ve never woken up before?”

“Before? What the hell are you talking about? Do you watch me sleep, because I’m really not into the Twilight shit and--”

“No! It’s not, I mean, I just… Can I come in?”

Slowly, you nodded and made room for him on your bed, tugging the comforter close and offering him the fuzzy blanket.

He took it, fiddling with it while he sorted out his words. “Sometimes I dream that I’m running after my sisters, that they’re getting lost in the woods and if I just run fast enough, I’ll find them and bring them home.”

You nodded again, wanting to reach for him and offer some kind of comfort but hesitating before you did.

“Sometimes I dream that it’s you. That you’re running away and I need to find you before you’re gone forever too. I have to… when that happens I need to check and make sure you’re still here. That you didn’t vanish while I slept.”

“Oh, Josh…” This time you did reach for him, pulling him into an awkward sideways hug. “I’m still here.”

“Even though I’m an asshole?”

“Rephrase that,” You said.

He sighed. “Even though I treated you badly when you’d done nothing wrong. Is that better?”

“Yes, and yes, even though you were rude. I’m not going to leave in the middle of the night without saying anything, Josh. Even if the roommate thing doesn’t work out, I’ll say goodbye and leave like a normal person, because you’re my friend.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“And if you want,” You offered, pretty sure you were insane, “You can stay in here tonight.”

He nodded and fell against the pillows in your bed. “Thank you.”

After that, you made him promise to work on his emotion regulation with his therapist, because you loved him, but you weren’t going to let him take his feelings out on you. He agreed, and things did get better, even though he was still a bit of a slob and often needed to be reminded to pick up his shit.

You tolderated reminding him because he was making a genuine effort to be a better roommate in other ways. He brought dinner home and surprised you with coffee on days when you were working from home. He cleaned out the fridge and fixed the toilet when it started to make a weird noise.

He was far from the perfect roommate, but he was doing his best, and you made sure he knew that you appreciated it. At least now when he was upset he found a way to deal with it that wasn’t getting pissed at you.

So life went on, you worked and came home and things with Josh were normal and friendly, though you occasionally still squabled about random shit, as roommates are wont to do.

Everything was fine until the girl. She was fine. You were sure she was fine and that you were being crazy because of how much you hated her voice and her weird crooked smile and the way she always draped herself over josh like a blanket made out of leeches.

You considered yourself a feminist; this kind of random hatred for a woman you’d barely spoken to wasn’t like you. Still, this girl pissed you off, so whenever she was around, you hid in your room to stew while she and Josh did whatever it was they did.

They lasted three weeks before they broke up. The next girl lasted two. The next two made it nearly a month before the inevitable split. You disliked all of them, furiously refusing to identify the emotion as jealousy, though you weren’t dumb enough not to recognize it.

After the last breakup, Josh came home and threw himself down on the couch next to you. “Why can’t I do this, Y/N?”

“Do what?” You didn’t look up from your book. Hearing Josh complain about his relationships was your least favorite part of living with him.

“Date someone, be with them.” He sighed in frustration, burying his head in a blanket.

“Seems like you’re doing fine,” You said, thinking back over the string of beautiful, frustrating girls he’d brought home.

“Yeah until things start to get serious, then suddenly I can’t…”

“Can’t what?”

“I don’t know, it’s dumb.”

“What?” You repeated, trying to sound disengaged but interested nontheless.

“I can’t see them that way. It’s one thing if they’re a quick fuck, but then we’re together and I try to do stuff with them and all I want is to leave and be home with--”

He cut off and you closed your book, meeting his eyes. “Josh?”

“What?” He looked away, sounding like a petulant child.

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Josh--”

“You. I was going to say you, because whenever I spend time with them, I start thinking about how I’d rather be spending it with you, and that’s shitty so I break things off.”

“That is shitty,” You said mildly, not caring as much about those girls’ feelings as you should. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I know you don’t feel that way about me,” He said. “That’s why us living together works; because I’m the last person on earth you’d ever want to be with.”

“That isn’t--”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t pity me. You know everything about me, there’s no way anyone would know what you know, have seen me the way you’ve seen me, and still want… that.”

You thought about the night he’d come to stay in your room, curled up next to you and clinging to you because he was afraid that everyone he loved might disappear.

Everyone he loved.

“Josh…”

“Don’t. Just don’t say anything; I’ll get over it and I promise I’ll never bring it up again.”

“Josh, wait, I--” You cut off, not sure how to say what you needed to say. “I’m… I’m glad you couldn’t make things work with them. That’s pretty shitty too but it’s true. Don’t hate me for saying this, but you’re mine, Josh.”

“Yours?”

“Yes. Every time you brought one of them around here I wanted to kick her out, because you’re supposed to be mine and this place is ours and it’s just for us.”

“But--”

“Christ, what I’m trying to say is that I think maybe I love you, or at least I’m crazy enough to want to date you and see how things go. How does that sound?”

“It’s insane,” He said. “We’re friends, we could ruin-- Or, we live together, what if--”

You didn’t want to think about that so you lunged forward and kissed him.

He cradled your face for a moment before intensifying the kiss with a hand on the back of your neck. “Y/N, are you sure? There’s no going back from this.”

“We’ve been here for a while,” You said, “We were just lying to ourselves. If we’re going to ruin our friendship, I think it’s about time we got it over with.”

So you spent the night thoroughly ruining it, over and over again until you collapsed, exhausted onto your bed and fell asleep in his arms.

#Josh Washington #Josh Washington x Reader #Josh Washington Imagine #Josh Washington Until Dawn #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine

94 notes · View notes

francesderwent · 6 years

Text

“In Need of a Generic Father Figure” A Veronica Mars Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies Meet-Cute LV AU Week Day 7 Canon-typical language, but otherwise general audiences On AO3 Inspired by this post and that one scene in Charlie Don’t Surf.

______________________________________________________________

It was supposed to be a kind of housewarming-slash-homecoming party, the kind of event that was totally low key in its formulation and planning stage but got completely out of hand once things got rolling. All their friends from the old neighborhood were coming over, and it was supposed to be all nostalgic idiocy born from the eternal familiarity of each having been present for one another’s particular flavor of shitty childhood. There were no delusions about the depth of this bond, and so they weren’t expecting it to be a great party, not the best night of anyone’s life by any means, but it was the sort of gathering you could predict, could depend on. Low-pressure, low stakes, low key.

So, precisely the kind of event which would have a giant wrench thrown into it if you were to add in an unknown factor, say, a perfect stranger to man the grill.

“But he wouldn’t be a stranger,” Dick is insisting. “He’d be a dad.”

Logan gapes at him. “Whose dad?”

Dick shrugs, ineloquently.

“So by dad, you just mean some unknown-as-yet male person who has at one point fathered a child?”

“Sure.”

“So, some unknown person’s father, standing on the corner of our property, making hamburgers.”

“Grilling hamburgers, that’s essential.” Dick looks up from his computer and gives Logan a look like he’s disappointed in him for missing an obvious point. “And it’s not just some random sperm donor, dude, he has to be fatherly and shit. I put it in the ad.”

“Ah yes, the ad,” Logan says. “The Craigslist ad, which you put up online without consulting or telling me. I read the ad. And yet here I stand, questioning the entire premise behind it.” But Dick has returned to his computer, presumably to scroll through his emailed responses. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, the court recognizes that grilled hamburgers are better than any alternative. But why do we need someone else to come grill? You and I are fair-to-average at setting things on fire already.”

“We don’t have a grill.”

“No, but we both have trust funds that kicked in some time ago. You may remember them. They’re how we afforded the house…”

Dick huffs. “So we just buy a grill?” Logan gives him the raised eyebrows and jazz hands: duh. Dick bangs on the space bar. “Just buy one, from the depths of our rich boy pockets, without working for it or anything.”

Logan stares. “Are you having some kind of break?”

“It’s stupid to spend money if we could just borrow one.”

“Okaaaay,” Logan says. “So why aren’t you advertising for a grill we can borrow?”

“Because!”

“Because what, Dick?”

“Your dad is supposed to teach you how to grill!” Dick bites out.

They stare at each other for a long beat, then Dick tears his eyes away and starts clattering angrily on his keyboard. Logan sighs, then gingerly sits next to him on the sofa.

“You know,” he says, careful to keep his tone conversational, “if you wanted to sign up for one of those programs for kids with deadbeat dads where they hang out with well-adjusted adult men and learn life skills, I would have happily signed up with you, but we really should have done that when we were younger.”

Dick throws an elbow into his ribs half-heartedly. “Shut up.”

“I’m not saying, like, when we were twelve,” Logan goes on, warming to the topic, “because we mostly hadn’t figured out our dads were deadbeat by then. But definitely before we finished college and joined the workforce. I’m thinking like nineteen or twenty would have been the ideal age. Our father figures could have taught us to consume alcohol, in addition to teaching us to grill.”

“We were already pretty good at drinking alcohol by then,” Dick reminds him.

“Then they could have given us a strict talking-to about underage drinking,” Logan says. “It’s far too late for that now, and we’ve missed our chance.”

“Missed our chance…” Dick echoes.

Logan looks at him sideways.

Dick catches his eye and actually sniffs a little. “I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to tell me it’s stupid.”

Logan shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not stupid, man. I just wish we knew of some actual father figure we could get to sub in for you, rather than resorting to Craigslist dads.”

“It’s not just for me, dude,” Dick insists. “I know you care about this shit, too.”

Logan cracks a smile despite himself. “If some guy with a beer gut shows up and grills me a hamburger and calls me ‘sport’, that’s not going to make the old man any less of an abusive asshole.”

“I know, but we can make some nicer memories can’t we? Some nice dad-memories?”

For a second, Logan allows himself to enter into the delusion, but almost immediately becomes sidetracked on the mental image of Gregory Peck from To Kill a Mockingbird standing in their backyard, holding a light beer and grinning affably. That would be one thing – but he can’t imagine that any fathers like that actually exist in the world. No, this dad was probably going to be more or less a deadbeat himself, or else how would he have time to babysit a bunch of profligate twenty-somethings? At best, it would be some old guy whose kids were too grown-up and busy to talk to him anymore, a dad whose desperate neediness for attention and affirmation matches Dick’s. But then again, Dick will inevitably be drunk for the entire party – he wouldn’t notice if the dad was an escaped convict in black and white stripes with a literal ball and chain on his ankle. What harm could it do? He sighs, asks in a wry tone, “Are you going to ask for proof of paternity, or is this person going to be a fake dad on top of being random?”

Dick lights up. “That’s a great idea, I’ll edit that in!” He resumes typing at a frenzied pace; Logan watches bemusedly.

Still. It’s one weird thing on one day. It won’t make any difference one way or another, in the long run.

Nobody’s life was ever changed because a stranger made them a hamburger.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After that, Logan tries to extricate himself from the whole dad-audition process, but Dick is, as usual, both oblivious and incorrigible. Logan very quickly comes to dread the phrases “hey, listen to this” and “what about this”, since both are sure signs that he’s about to be read a joke resumé with phrases like “excels at offering positive reinforcement”, or shown a headshot of a guy in a sweater vest. So when he gets home from work and the first thing he hears is “Logan, dude, this is the one”, his first response is to groan and flop face first onto the sofa. They found the sofa at the side of the road the second week in the house and it is therefore a little worn out, so the decision to be dramatic hurts.

“Asshole,” Dick tells him absently, wandering in from the next room holding his laptop. “Listen: father for twenty-plus years, expert level jokes and manly affection, bonus secret-family-recipe hot sauce.”

“The hot sauce is a nice touch,” Logan admits, rolling over onto his back and kicking his feet up onto the sofa arm. “All of the other applicants have really fixated on the ‘dad’ part of ‘grill dad’.”

Dick nods so enthusedly it looks painful. “I know, right? And get this, there’s an attached letter from his kid,” he says. “Dear advertiser, I can confirm that the applicant has been my father for my entire life, and I can honestly say that he has excelled at the position. You would be lucky to have him at your party, where he would strike just the right balance between embarrassing and fun, call all of you by the wrong names and then substitute “son” or “honey”, and repeatedly tell you he’s proud of you. His hamburgers are to die for, and he brings his own fire extinguisher in case anything should go wrong. He has my unreserved recommendation. Also, if this is some kind of dad kidnapping scheme, I will hunt you down and kill you. Cordially, V. Mars.” Dick looks up expectantly; Logan fights a smile.

“They wrote a letter of recommendation for their dad?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm,” Logan says neutrally, then says, “Mr. Mars,” trying it out, hitting the ‘r’s and dragging out the ‘s’.

“Keith Mars,” Dick adds helpfully, and turns the computer so Logan can see the attached photo. Keith Mars is bald, just slightly on the portly side, staring adoringly down at the tiny pigtailed child with whom he is dancing, her feet on his – V. Mars is a girl, apparently. Dick tabs to the next picture: Keith Mars standing next to a grill holding a hot dog over the head of a plaintive-looking pitbull while a gap-toothed, elementary-school-aged V. Mars laughs in the background with a blue-haired friend. In the third picture Keith is older, wearing a suit and grinning widely, hugging someone in graduation regalia, her face obscured by her cap. “He looks cool, right?” Dick prompts eagerly.

“Yeah,” Logan says, tearing his eyes away from the graduation photo. Neither he nor Dick had had any relatives attend their college graduation, and he’d seen plenty of family reunions at the baccalaureate celebration that seemed more stiff and awkward than anything else, but Keith looks like he just might burst with pride. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

“Like a real dad, right?” Dick persists.

Logan snorts. “As if I have any experience with which to judge that quality.”

Dick offers a fist bump and Logan complies. “Trauma twins!” Dick says, sing-song. Logan rolls his eyes. “But he seems legit?” Dick says, returning to the salient point. “This is okay?”

Logan stands and claps his roommate on the shoulder. “Sure, man. If you say this is the one, I think you’re probably right.”

Dick beams at him. “I’ll tell him he got the gig!”

“Cool,” Logan says drily. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Since Dick thinks it would be acceptable to simply explain the dad-for-hire situation when their guests show up, Logan finds himself calling each invitee one by one the day before the party and beginning with the statement, “So you know how Dick has a tenuous relationship with reality?” Lilly laughs for a full minute and a half, and Duncan, no matter how many times Logan runs through the concept, just doesn’t seem to get it, but everyone else just thinks it’s sad.

“Oh my god, our lives suck,” Gia says, sounding as if she just realized it. “Does no one in our group have a functioning father figure?”

“Carrie’s dad was okay,” Logan offers. “But he moved out of state a few years back.”

“And he never knew how to grill!” Dick yells through his bedroom door.

“And he never knew how to grill,” Logan repeats.

“Yeah, well,” Gia says skeptically, “I’m bringing extra booze for when this weird-ass idea causes someone to have an emotional breakdown.”

“Appreciated.”

And when the day arrives, booze is the one thing they do seem to have enough of.

“Why did we say we were going to supply ingredients?” Logan wonders aloud as he methodically opens and shuts every cupboard in their kitchen. “You forgot to buy onions, we don’t own any spices, I don’t even think we have salt and pepper –”

“Logan. Man! Relax.” As anticipated, Dick is already halfway to trashed, and far from caring if their hamburgers are seasoned.

“This was your idea,” Logan says, accusing sliding into sardonic. “You’re the one who wanted to make some new dad-memories, and now because you were overly confident in a Craigslist ad, our new dad is already going to be disappointed in us.”

“Dude, holy shit –” Dick bursts out laughing and can’t continue his thought. Logan turns around to glare at him in exasperation. “What if –” Dick stammers, chortling, “what if he says the thing? ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed?’ How absolutely sick would that be?” He’s wheezing now, and Logan can’t think of anything to do except stare at him. “Just like a real dad!” Dick howls.

Logan stands, frozen, for a beat longer, and then abandons his search for the probably-nonexistent spice cabinet to reach for the scotch instead. “Gia was right,” he says flatly. “This is going to end in tears.” He pulls a little too sharply on the tab of the wax seal and it snaps off with the seal still in place. He looks at it in consternation, and it is at this point that the doorbell rings. Dick makes no sign of moving from his position, giggling slumped over the kitchen table, so Logan jogs to the front hallway, only to discover that Dick has placed all the beer they bought in front of the door, barricading it closed. He’s kicking six packs out of the way and trying to open the scotch bottle with his teeth when he finally manages to wrench open the door and is greeted by the genial but not-quite-non-threatening face of Keith Mars.

For a moment the desire to say something dismissive rises up, as if this was still high school and he was still incapable of engaging with an adult on mutually respectful terms, but Logan takes a deep breath and forces it down. “Mr. Mars,” he says.

Keith sticks out a hand. “Richard?”

Logan snorts, but accepts the handshake. “Richard is inside. I’m the roommate, Logan.”

Keith’s eyes drop to the scotch bottle still in Logan’s hand. “I hate it when that happens,” he says mildly.

Logan makes a non-committal noise. “We probably have a wine opener somewhere that should do the trick.”

“We don’t!” Dick yells from the kitchen. “I told the chicks to bring one!”

“That would be Richard,” Logan tells Keith wryly. Keith raises his eyebrows, but then reaches into his jacket pocket and offers Logan a multi-tool. “Thanks,” Logan says uncomfortably, looking down to flip through utensils instead of making eye contact. “Can I offer you anything?”

“Nope,” says Keith cheerfully, “just point me to the backyard and I’ll get the grill fired up.”

“Get the grill fired up!” Dick’s voice repeats, maniacally.

“He’s fine,” says Logan, unconvinced himself. “The backyard’s through this way.”

“No!” Dick stumbles into the hallway and spreads his arms wide, probably so as best to show off the tshirt he bought specifically for the occasion which reads “you’re all up in my grill”, a decided improvement over the grill-themed shirt Logan had to initially talk him down from, which had a meat-related innuendo on it. “I will show you to the backyard, sir!”

Keith offers a hand. “Keith Mars.”

“Awesome, dude.” Dick shakes his hand, which is apparently hilarious because he cracks himself up again. “Welcome to the party!”

Keith glances at Logan, who shrugs. “I’m just happy to be included,” Keith says, sounding, against all odds, like he means it.

“Dope,” Dick responds. “Follow me, mon capitan, I will show you to your grill kingdom!”

“Please stop mixing your metaphors,” Logan tells him, but Keith waves him off and allows Dick to sling an arm around his shoulder and lead him towards the screen door to the backyard.

“Dude, seriously, your application was whack,” Dick says. “I was like, whoa, this guy is like a serious dad!” Logan is watching them go, wondering if he’s responsible for making Keith feel safe and if he should therefore follow, when there’s a voice at shoulder-level behind him.

“So that’s the Craigslist guy?”

He turns, smoothly accepts the proffered casserole dish. “Craigslist dad, actually, or you’re missing the whole point.”

Carrie stands on her toes to look over his shoulder at where Keith is patiently observing Dick’s wild gesticulating at all the ingredients they bought. “Huh,” she says. “I guess he does kind of look like a dad.”

“I should hope so, we took the casting call very seriously.”

Carrie rolls her eyes. “That’s a fruit salad,” she informs him, indicating the dish he’s holding. “I’ve just gotta grab my guitar out of my car and then I can help set up or whatever.”

“You brought your guitar?” Logan repeats. “Are we gonna sit in a circle and sing campfire songs? What the hell kind of barbecue do you think this is?”

“A nice wholesome one, of course. You were kind enough to invite Susan and her kid, and you specifically got a random dad to come grill you food.” After a pause and seemingly despite herself, Carrie asks, “You really couldn’t have just bought a grill yourselves?”

Logan sighs. “Actually, the grill is ours. Keith had one but it wouldn’t fit in his car, so Dick went straight out and got the most expensive one there was.”

“Don’t all serious dads own pickup trucks?”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“And now you have your own grill.”

“We even managed to work it ourselves; we made marshmallows over it last night.”

Carrie makes a face. “I can’t believe you guys are living together. You’ll both starve to death or suffocate under dirty laundry within a month.”

“Nah,” says Logan, dismissive, “we can live on marshmallows for at least two months, and we can just buy new clothes and burn our dirty laundry on the grill.”

“That,” Carrie tells him calmly, “is disgusting.”

“People who bring acoustic guitars to house parties shouldn’t throw stones,” Logan counters.

She laughs and flips him off. “When’s everyone else getting here?”

He indicates careless ignorance with a wave of the hand. “Hopefully soon. I think we need to set up a watch rotation to make sure Dick doesn’t start crying on the grill dad.”

Carrie snorts, tosses him her keys; he manages to switch the fruit salad to one hand and snag them in the hand holding the scotch. “In that case, you go grab my guitar out of the trunk. What did you say the guy’s name is?”

“Keith Mars.”

“Got it. Do not leave me out there by myself for more than a minute.”

“Of course not! In fact, I wouldn’t dream of getting in your car and driving far, far away from here.”

She elbows past him, laughing, and jogs through the house to make a dramatic exit out the back door, where she is greeted by Dick’s incoherent shouts. Logan sighs, then picks his way back through the six-packs to the kitchen to put everything down, finally open the scotch, and knock back half a drink. When he gets back out to the driveway Casey Gant is there with his newest arm-candy girlfriend, and Logan finds himself cajoled into giving a house tour so he can explain to her why he and Dick decided on this house, how all the guests know each other, and that, no, Casey wasn’t lying about the Craigslist situation. By the time Logan manages to extricate himself, everyone has arrived and is milling around the backyard. Carrie waves to him from a picnic blanket in the middle of the lawn, where she is in fact playing guitar for Susan and her adolescent daughter. He likes Susan and the kid fine, but the three of them seem to be working on a warble-y song from the latest Disney princess sensation, so he hides a grimace, waves back, and looks elsewhere. There’s a few people clustered around the grill, listening to Keith tell some story which is apparently fascinating; Logan gives them a wide berth and joins Lilly and Gia instead, who are standing off to the side eyeing the whole scene skeptically.

“Don’t you ladies want to take advantage of this unique opportunity to interact with a genuine, human parent?” he asks.

“Nope,” says Gia, at the same time as Lilly says “Not even a little.”

Logan snorts. “Well, cheers to that, I suppose.”

“Yes, cheers!” Lilly says. “To dealing with our issues in therapy, rather than projecting all of our buried hopes onto a stranger with a novelty apron who could never live up to our ideals anyway.”

“Like motherfucking adults,” Logan echoes solemnly. They clink glasses.

Gia looks contemplative. “It’s not so much that he’s a random stranger,” she says. “I even kind of trust that he’s for real, you know?”

“I know,” Lilly retorts, pausing to take a big gulp of her drink. “That’s the worst part. Dick introduced me to him when I got here, and he was immediately more interested in my life and my job than my parents have ever been.”

“Yeah, but like, actually interested,” Gia adds, “like he thought I was worth his time and couldn’t wait to hear more about me.”

“How dare he,” Logan says mildly.

Gia elbows him in the ribs. “I don’t see you over there talking to him.”

Logan shrugs. “If I met him on the street maybe I’d be able to trust that he’s the real deal, but the fact that he answered the ad just seems fundamentally suspicious.”

“Yeah, but you guys aren’t paying him, are you?” says Lilly.

“Just in beer.”

“He’s probably just lonely,” Gia suggests.

“I thought the same thing,” says Logan. “But if he’s such a good father, then wouldn’t his own kid want to see him? So why would he need us?”

Lilly pats him on the shoulder. “Logan, you’ve honed your trust issues and pessimism into quite an art.”

He huffs, irritable despite himself. “I’m just saying, don’t anyone go writing him into their will just yet.” Gia looks at him little worriedly, and he attempts a reassuring smile. “I need another drink, can I get either of you anything?” They both wave him off, and he makes for the deck where all the refreshments are, but in his haste to get away, forgets to avoid the grill group and accidentally makes eye contact with Dick. Dick, of course, begins frantically waving him over, and though Logan lifts a hand in acknowledgement and tries to stay course, this only means that Dick starts yelling his name. Logan silently swears to himself that he will not enter the fatherland without a drink in hand, so yells back that he’ll be right there and prays that they’ll be out of something on the drinks and appetizers table so he’ll have to go inside to get it, if not drive to the store. Tragically, Carrie is already there, refilling chip bowls, and when he offers to help she just gives him an unsympathetic look.

“Go get it over with, before Dick convinces everyone to start chanting your name,” she says.

Logan sighs, grabs the beer with the highest alcohol content he can find, and skips down the stairs. “Logan!’ Dick crows. “Logan’s here, guys!”

“I live here,” Logan reminds him. The obvious statement is greeted by polite laughs from the Keith fan-club and drunken giggling from Dick.

“Get this, Logan!” he says, childlike excitement radiating off him in waves. “We didn’t even need salt and pepper, Keith brought his own burger rub!”

Logan looks obligingly at Keith, who nods. “Secret family recipe.”

“I thought the secret was the hot sauce?” Logan says.

“I’ve got that, too.”

Logan raises his eyebrows. “Everything’s a secret with you, Mr. Mars. And here I thought we were just on the verge of opening up to each other.”

Keith laughs good-naturedly. “I’m an open book, Logan.”

Logan is mentally scrolling through options for sarcastic replies which aren’t overly combative when suddenly he feels very, uncomfortably cold, from the back of his neck down, and can do nothing but gasp stupidly. For a moment he thinks Dick has poured ice down his back, but Dick is standing on the other side of the grill from him, looking genuinely surprised albeit delighted. Logan cranes his neck and turns in a circle, but can’t see what’s been spilled on him, though it’s entirely clear who’s to blame. “Duncan,” Logan says, flat and edging toward a growl.

Duncan has the nerve to roll his eyes. “Come on, man, it’s not my fault.”

Logan gestures to where Duncan has clearly dropped his solo cup and half a plate of appetizers on the lawn. “And how do you figure that?”

Duncan shrugs. “You know how hard it is to hold a drink and a plate of stuff at the same time.”

“Hmm, then maybe you should go inside and eat at the table – or better yet, maybe the family down the block can loan us their high chair.”

Duncan scowls at him. “Do you have to be like this, Logan, seriously? It’s just a shirt. And it’s your freaking house, you can just go in and change.”

Logan flicks his eyes over at Keith, who thankfully doesn’t appear inclined to use his fake fatherly authority to intervene and is pretending to look intently at something across the way. Logan fakes a laugh and says as evenly as he can manage, “And it was your freaking drink, so you could have just apologized.” Keith abandons his examination of the next-door-neighbor’s maple tree to give Logan a side-eyed smile, and for a moment, Logan feels a vague sense of satisfaction, before he remembers that he doesn’t care about Keith’s approval. He makes a wry face back.

“Logan,” Keith says mildly, “keep an eye on the grill? I need to grab something I left in the kitchen.”

“No problem, Mr. Mars,” Logan answers, saluting sloppily. Keith nods at him, and then pats Duncan on the shoulder as he passes; Logan interprets the move as condescending and is pleased again, and again annoyed at himself for being pleased. As a pathetic attempt at distracting himself, he pulls his arms into what was previously his favorite gray v-neck and puts it back on backwards so he can look at the stain, and then is horrified all over again. “Duncan, what the fuck were you drinking?” he demands.

Now, finally, Duncan has the grace to look ashamed, or at least defensive. “Mike’s,” he mutters.

“Mike’s lemonade is not this color.”

“It was Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade, alright!”

There are various titters from the group; Logan snorts inadvertently and lifts up the shirt to sniff the purple-y stain, which smells more like sugar than anything else. He knows he should stop pushing, but can’t quite restrain a “Dude, really?”, which turns the titters into full-fledged barks of laughter.

Duncan snaps. “Why do you have to be such a –”

“Donut!”

Duncan freezes at the sound of Lilly’s voice.

“Quit being a drip!” she yells. “Or go home!”

For a second, Duncan turns his glare back on Logan with full force, and Logan almost thinks he’s going to spit in his face or something, but then he just kicks at his dropped solo cup and slinks off toward the front yard.

“Wo-o-ow,” says Dick, with barely contained glee. “This really is the best party ever.”

Logan rolls his eyes, grabs the spatula hanging off the grill, and starts idly pushing burgers around to have something to do. “You’re happy with your Craigslist investment?” he asks Dick.

“Absolutely, dude!”

“And the weirdness of the concept still hasn’t dawned on you?” Casey adds, snickering.

“How could it be weird? Keith is awesome, and he’s the perfect addition to the party, just like the application said.”

“Of course he is.”

Logan jumps, almost drops a burger on the ground, and then turns to find that Duncan’s place in the circle has been filled. She’s on the shorter side, with blonde hair falling down her back in waves, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder, and a completely unreadable expression on her face – and based on the looks she’s getting from the others, no one else has the faintest idea who she is either. “Uh –” Logan says.

“Keith Mars is still here, right?” she asks, voice somewhere between businesslike and belligerent.

“Well –”

“He just went inside,” Dick says, helpfully. “He’ll be back out in a minute.”

Logan groans. “Dick, remind me never to commit any crimes you’d have to be interrogated about.”

Dick shrugs, the whole movement exaggerated by drunkenness. “Look at her, man, what’s she gonna do?”

Logan looks at her, less sure that he should be unintimidated than Dick seems to be; she gives him an unimpressed once-over, but then cracks a smile seemingly despite herself. “So was it some combination of getting dressed in the dark and a wet tshirt competition, or is this a bold fashion choice?”

Logan glances down at his backwards v-neck and the damp, purple circle on his chest. “Bold fashion choice,” he answers, looking up to raise his eyebrows at her.

“I wouldn’t have been able to picture it,” she says, looking him up and down again, “but now that I see it, I guess it works. In fact, you should only wear this. Like, ever.”

Logan grins awkwardly, unsure whether she’s mocking him or flirting with him, and still unsure what he, as a homeowner, is supposed to do about strangers in his backyard, even if they are exceptionally cute.

“So, this is weird,” Dick offers.

“Hey, honey!” Logan turns; Keith is coming down the steps of the deck with burger buns and cheese in hand, beaming at the interloper.

“And it just got weirder,” Casey announces.

“Yup,” echoes his date. “More drinks?”

“You bet.” They wander off arm in arm; Casey salutes Logan with his beer can.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” Keith says, dumping his armful of food onto the picnic table so he can hug the blonde girl.

She shrugs, looking considerably more relaxed now that he’s appeared. “I’m an only child, dad, you didn’t honestly expect me to let you adopt a whole party without at least coming over to check up on you. I’ve never had to share before.”

Keith laughs. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that. Why wouldn’t my grown adult daughter show up at an honest Craigslist gig to make sure she wasn’t losing her spot as my favorite child?”

“I dunno,” Dick says suspiciously, “I think she might also be here to flirt with Logan.”

“You two have met?” Keith turns a surprised look on Logan, who does his best innocent blink and tries not to broadcast that a few seconds ago he was considering using Duncan’s spill as an excuse to take his shirt off in front of this girl.

“Only just now,” Keith’s daughter assures him.

Logan nods. “You’re V. Mars?”

“Veronica,” she answers. She offers her hand to shake.

“Don’t take this personally,” Logan says, “but I wouldn’t. I’m honestly kind of covered in Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade.”

“That exists?” she says.

“There’s no limit to the abominations which crawl this earth,” he replies, straight-faced. She laughs.

“See what I mean,” Dick says to Keith. Keith looks at him blankly; Dick belches, shoots Logan a complicated and incomprehensible hand gesture, and wanders off after Casey, leaving Logan alone with the two Marses. He looks back and forth between them, trying not to stare, and wondering if it would be weird to ask what kind of degree Veronica just graduated with based on the picture Keith sent.

“So!” Veronica says, into the strained silence. “You’ve been treating my dad well?”

“He’s getting all of the standard grill-dad benefits,” Logan answers. “We didn’t want to have the agency all over us, or god forbid, the unions.”

Veronica smiles in acknowledgment, but her eyes flick to her dad with something like nervousness.

“Do you two need a minute?” Logan offers.

“No!” says Keith, confidently calm. “Everything’s all fine, here. Son, can you start putting cheese on hamburger buns? Veronica, honey, help him?”

Veronica rolls her eyes, but bumps Logan out of the way with her hip so she can grab the cheese. “So, daaad,” she says, sing-song.

“Veronica,” he says, warningly.

She actually pouts. “Come on, dad,” she says, the words coming quicker now. “It’s pretty clear Logan doesn’t care about you being his fake father for the day; his entire body flinched when you called him son.”

Logan hands her a hamburger bun he removed from the block of them in the bag, says mildly, “I thought I managed to reserve my flinch to only seventy percent of my body.”

“Nope!” Veronica gives him an apologetic smile, and then turns back to Keith. “Dad, please.”

Keith glances at Logan, back at her, and sighs. “Make it quick, Veronica.”

She drops the package of cheese and reaches into her bag to retrieve a giant camera. “So-o-o,” she says, lowering her voice, “you know that guy I’ve been on all week for a completely unrelated…work thing?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“Well, he just walked through the front door of your guy’s house.”

“No, he didn’t,” Keith says drily. She tabs through a few photos on the display, shows him one. Keith looks at her. “That can’t be good.”

She lets out a huff of breath. “No, I didn’t think so either.”

“I can see both exits from here, honey, and I haven’t turned my back once.”

“From here?” Logan repeats.

They ignore him. “If I didn’t notice him going in, it was because I wasn’t looking for people entering,” Keith continues, reassuringly. “Nobody could have gotten away, so they must all just be inside. We’ll wait it out, it’ll be fine.”

Logan is just about to give up and leave them to it so he can find another drink, and maybe even change his shirt, but that, of course, is when the air is filled with the sound of breaking glass.

Some kind of instinct takes over and he dives in between the sound and Veronica, dragging her to the ground with him despite her incoherent noise of protest. He looks up in time to see a flailing person hit the ground below the next-door-neighbor’s maple tree, surrounded by the debris from the shattered second-story window.

“That’s yours!” Veronica gasps, but Keith has already produced a gun from somewhere under his novelty apron and is pointing it at where the fallen man has gotten unsteadily to his feet.

“Police!” Keith shouts. “Don’t move!”

There’s a stunned pause, Logan takes in the faces of gaping astonishment on his friends, and then the man takes off running in the opposite direction. Keith lets out a brief curse and rips off his apron. “He’s running,” he announces to thin air, and Logan hears a siren start up down the street, so apparently he really is police. Keith throws the apron at Veronica. “Don’t let the hamburgers burn,” he orders, and then he climbs on the picnic table, vaults clumsily over the neighbor’s fence, and takes off after the runner.

“You’re going to strain your back,” Veronica yells after him, almost petulant. She elbows Logan in the ribs and he rolls off her, not sure whether she’s about to join in the chase herself or whether she’s just going to lay into him for tackling her. She gets up, checks her camera and is apparently convinced that its not broken, but still looks dissatisfied about something. She peeks into the grill, lifts a single burger with the forgotten spatula. “They’re not going to burn,” she says, disdainfully.

“Dude.” Dick jogs over so he can give Logan a hand up off the ground. “Dude,” Dick repeats, “is it just me or was our grill-dad packing heat?”

Logan pats his arm. “Not only was he packing heat, but he was almost definitely using us to surveille the house next door.”

Dick looks flabbergasted. “Shit, man. Even my fake dad didn’t really want to spend time with me.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back, once they’ve collared the guy,” Veronica offers. As if inspired, she removes the first burger patty from the grill, puts it on one of their prepared buns, and hands it to him.

Dick looks at it suspiciously, takes a bite, and then nods, but adds accusingly, “Whatever, man. I’m going to need therapy from this.” He shoots a finger gun at Logan. “So, you do whatever you’re doing here, I’m gonna go apologize to Susan for exposing her child to all this violence.”

“That’s really mature and responsible of you, Dick,” Logan says, surprised.

“Duh,” says Dick. “It’s up to us to break the cycle.” And with that, he heads back towards the rest of the party, who are all staring at Veronica with no small amount of apprehension. She doesn’t seem to notice, but absently picks up Keith’s apron and puts it on, and starts assembling burgers.

Logan can’t help but ask, “You’re not going to follow them?”

“Nope,” she says, shortly, “not my case.”

“Do you need to go after…your guy?”

“No, I’ve got the pictures I needed.”

“Then I’m sure Keith would appreciate the backup…?”

She lets out a short laugh, and Logan sees with dawning comprehension that she’s worried. “He needs it,” she answers, “but he wouldn’t appreciate it. I don’t have the clearance.”

“You’re not his partner?”

She turns to look at him like he’s an idiot. “No-o-o,” she says. “I’m his daughter.”

Logan grins, lifts his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how deep the undercover scheme went.” She snorts, flips her hair over her shoulder, and turns back to the grill. “That one on the right is getting a little overdone,” he says, pointing.

“No it’s not.” She swats his hand away, and then moves the offending burger closer to the coals, Logan suspects just to be contrary.

“So you’re not a cop?” he tries again. She shoots him an exasperated glance over her shoulder, he grins, says, “If you’re not a cop, why were you surveilling the house too?”

She huffs a sigh, puts the spatula down with a clatter, and reaches for her bag where it had fallen on the ground. “Here,” she says, and tosses something at him. He catches it, turns it around, opens it.

“You’re a private detective?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Not a cop?”

“I’m going to throw a hamburger at you.”

Logan laughs. “So, what, you didn’t want to follow in your father’s footsteps?”

“I did, he didn’t,” Veronica says casually, returning her focus to the grill. “He wanted me to aim higher. I got accepted to Quantico, and was sent home after three weeks because of my issue with authority.” She shrugs, spins the spatula like a baton. “Turns out, I’m more suited for private eye work than I am for either the feds or the boys in blue anyway.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Logan shrugs, thinking that she was already exceptionally cute, but she just became the most fascinating person on the planet. “I don’t know.”

She removes the last burger from the grill and spins to look at him, hands on her hips. He feels a goofy grin spreading over his face, and she rolls her eyes at him. “What, Logan?”

“You should only wear this.”

She looks down at Keith’s apron, which reads in big, bold letters, “NEVER TRUST A SKINNY CHEF”. She snorts. “If you haven’t figured out yet that you shouldn’t trust me, no amount of written reminders are going to do the trick.”

Logan ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck. “So I’m trusting, sue me.”

“Ah!” She taps her chin with one finger, mock-contemplative. “Is that how you ended up advertising for a strange dad to on-site cater your barbecue?”

“That wasn’t my idea.” Veronica raises her eyebrows, Logan adds, “I actually feel a lot better about your dad now.”

“You feel a lot better about him now that you know he deceived you?”

“Well, yeah,” Logan admits. “He seemed way too normal to be the kind of person who responds to Craigslist ads, so there definitely had to be a catch.” She raises her eyebrows at him, he adds lamely, “So it’s nice that the catch was he’s mainly here to catch bad guys.”

As if on cue, Veronica’s cell phone buzzes; she picks up on the first ring. “Dad?” The worry smooths away from her face at his response, and she mouths a quick apology to Logan before retreating into the corner of the yard to debrief. The last thing he hears her say is “I can’t believe you jumped over that fence, are you trying to kill me?”

Logan walks over to where Dick and Gia are relating the main event to Duncan, who has reemerged and is trying very hard to appear as if he doesn’t regret missing out. “Then Keith magically pulled a gun out of nowhere,” Dick says, miming in slow motion, “and yelled get on the ground or I’ll shoot!”

“He didn’t exactly yell that,” Gia puts in. “I’m pretty sure he basically just said ‘police’.”

Dick ignores her, too invested in the story. “But the guy just books it, and so Keith literally vaulted over the fence and chased after him, yelling and firing at him –”

“No,” Gia says.

Duncan rolls his eyes. “This is what you get for inviting strangers into your home,” he says derisively.

“Trained professionals to arrest the criminal who apparently lived next door to us anyway?” Logan pipes up.

“Professional or not,” Gia says, upbeat, “as soon as shit started to go down, Logan shielded the cop’s daughter with his body, which was pretty cool.”

“Aww,” says Lilly, coming up to put an arm around her brother’s shoulders. “And you were out in the car, sulking because everyone laughed at your drink choice!”

Reminded, Logan glances down at his shirt, which he’d mostly forgotten in all the excitement; it is now starting to stick to his skin uncomfortably. What the hell, Keith won’t be back for twenty minutes at least; he can definitely get some mileage out of this. He takes the shirt off. The girls wolf-whistle, Duncan groans.

“You know,” Lilly suggests slyly, “there are definitely easier ways than Craigslist to incorporate a new father figure into your life.”

“What?” says Dick, immediately intrigued. “Is there a more specific service?”

“Is there?” Logan repeats, alarmed.

Lilly starts laughing. “You’re both idiots,” Duncan tells them, with significantly more affection now that his knowing something they don’t has reestablished him in a position of authority.

Gia appears to be about ready to take pity on them, but is interrupted by Veronica’s return. “They got the guy,” she announces. “Dad is driving him to the station. Logan, he says he’s leaving you in charge until he gets back, not Richard.”

Dick flips her off; Logan replies, “I’m touched that he’s ceding authority to me in my own home.”

Veronica performs an elaborate double take, gestures at the house. “This is yours?”

“As far as the eye can see, or at least until where I imagine the police tape will be going up.”

“It’s my house, too,” Dick puts in.

Veronica ignores him. “I took you for an out-of-towner,” she tells Logan.

The fact that she thought of this means she’s not uninterested in the possibility of seeing him again. “Nope, local boy, though and through.”

Veronica eyes him thoughtfully. “And why are you half naked?”

He realizes he doesn’t actually have a good reason. “I was really starting to smell?”

She pretends to consider this. “I guess I’ll take it,” she finally says. Lilly starts cackling.

Logan tries not to preen. “Veronica, this is everybody; everybody, Veronica.” Veronica waves awkwardly.

“Are you going to stick around until your dad gets back?” Gia asks, faux-innocent.

Veronica looks sidelong at Logan. “Stay,” he says, hearing it come out somehow as if he were laying his heart on the line. He adds, more casually, “You can scold him for his fence-jumping.”

She considers him. “Do you have anything other than Mike’s hard black cherry lemonade?”

He cracks a smile. “I think I can scare something up.”

“The good stuff is all inside,” Lilly lies, straight-faced, then elbows Duncan, who says with faux-enthusiasm, “Oh yeah, and while you’re in there, maybe Logan could put a shirt on.”

“Like, if one jumps out at him,” Gia puts in. “Not every color works on Logan.”

“Yeah,” says Lilly. “He went through a whole orange phase. It was bad.”

Veronica looks bewilderedly around the circle, then back up at Logan. “I guess I could stay awhile,” she says, a smile pulling at her mouth.

“Don’t forget to grab hamburgers before you go in,” Dick says, serious. “That’s literally the whole point.”

“Right,” says Logan, not taking his eyes off Veronica. “Thank goodness for those hamburgers.”

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Yahoo answers post from user MeCasablancasIsTooCasablancas:

So a few years ago I met this really cool dad, super great, very wise, lot to offer as a father figure. I put a lot of effort into getting to know him and he’s always been totally chill. My roommate, on the other hand, barely wanted to talk to the dad, from day one. Only problem is, now that’s changed and we’re in competition, and I was wondering, how do I make sure that my prior claim to the dad is respected? My roommate didn’t even want a dad, but now just because he’s marrying the guy’s daughter everyone’s telling me father-in-law trumps the fact that I clearly called dibs? This can’t be right.

Also, the wedding is in two months, and even though there’s no way they go through with it, just in case please go to Craigslist and look for my post seeking a new roommate. If it helps, we have a grill.

#LV AU week #veronica mars #cate fic #vm #this fic brought to you by general insanity and my conveniently timed spring break #aaaaaaaand that's it for now folks!!#I promise I am working on the teachers AU #it's just very difficult to write a teacher AU #without including lots of stuff about students #which takes up space and time

64 notes · View notes

canaryatlaw · 7 years

Text

Okay, well today wasn't bad. Still kind of overall stressed, but dealing with it. I have time at least, to get all this shit done, get it spaced out over and all that, so that helps. Alarm went off at 7 and I got out of bed and made it to work and made it through the rest of the file for the permanency hearing, which was more of the parents being like "we're not alcoholics we don't need treatment fuck you" all the way to getting their damn kid removed, so I write up some normal permanency hearing questions and took that and the file over to the lawyer who gave it to me to talk to him about it. I ask if they ever made a paternity finding, because there was a whole big thing about it because apparently her "dad" her whole life isn't technically her legally-presumed dad because her mother was married to someone else when she was born, but I never found a finding, and then the lawyers like "oh yeah, well dad passed away in November, something related to his alcoholism." Oh. Well. And he goes on to add the mom is basically on her death bed in the same situation. Don't need treatment my ass. This poor child. She seems like a good kid though, so hopefully we can get her get into some post-high school training if not actual college. I'll get to meet her and interview her Monday. At that point I went back to my office and created a template for permanency hearing questions that I could just tweak for individual cases since the status based questions are largely the same. Somewhere in all of this my eyes were drooping way too much again so I took another 15 minute head on desk session, I might've actually passed out for a few minutes, but when the alarm went off I freaked out for a minute because I was expecting the wrong time for some reason and thought I accidentally passed out for like two hours lol. So I was fairly glad that didn't happen. Somewhere in here I also tried to call my psychiatrist about the whole Xanax thing I was discussing last night, only to be told he's on vacation till the end of the month.....I mean, the guy definitely deserves it, he's partially retired already and probably in his 70's, and I don't want to disturb him or anything, but like, I know him and I know he would want to hear two sentences from me on this issue but I didn't want to say it was an emergency because it wasn't, and if I did they probably would've put me on with one of the other psychiatrists that are filling in for him, and I'm sorry but there's no way I'm trusting anyone else with this shit. I think I'm gonna increase it to 3 mg a day for now at least, which is still within the normal range he said I could try so it's not a big deal. Hopefully that will make finals a bit more manageable. So that was less than ideal, but oh well. All of my events are really out of order for today so idk if any of this happened in this order, but around lunchtime I went to go see my across the hall friend who's now my across the building friend, to see if she was feeling better and if she wanted to get lunch because I, like a kindergartener, left my lunch box in the fridge yesterday (I had actually packed dinner in a brown paper bag for later but I didn't want to pack two of those). So we went to the "bakery" that has super awesome pizza an I got some of their pizza with the seriously biggest slices and ate like, half a slice lol. So good though. It was nice to talk to her though, we traded crazy stories from our courthouse and the DV one, and I was just like man, I'm so glad I have people I can share these things with without them being immediately horrified and me being like "yes I know those are terribly tragic circumstances but if you hang in there for a moment the court moment was really funny!!" Lol, it's gallows humor for sure but I mean gotten let it out somehow. I vent to my brother about crazy cases too, that's helpful since talking about the law is one of the few things we can talk about and actually have a lengthy productive discussion on without it somehow devolving into him being an asshole (mostly, anyway). So there's that at least. He appreciates my stories. So back from lunch and I spent a while organizing orders into alphabetized folders for two different lawyers haha who both apologized for the shitty work but I'm like hey whatever it's all good I know I'm the intern and I'll deal with your shitty jobs if it gets me a good in here. And then I had to show my supervisor how to send in the mid-semester evaluation my field placement supervisor wanted from him (oh, and he apparently knew my FP supervisor like 15 years ago and he was her boss in this office??? I swear he was everyone's boss at some point) because he was getting so lost in computer forms and retrieving files and saving them and electronically signing forms, so I'm just sitting there showing him how to do it and he's like "ohmygosh Rachel, you're so smart!!!" and I'm like trying not to laugh because he's just so adorably funny. And then of course I got to read more of the nice things he said about me which made my heart melt once again because he's literally so nice I can't handle it and his words are always really genuine too so it's nice. And yeah. So I didn't have anywhere to rush to right after leaving the juvenile courthouse today for the first time I can remember since, the summer, since I decided no kickboxing this week because I simply don't have the emotional or physical energy for it, so I was just gonna find a Starbucks to chill in and work on my appellate brief until small group time. So I got to like, take my time leaving and my supervisor is like "Rachel what are you still doing here, you're gonna be late to class!!" and it's like 5:01 haha so funny. So then waiting for the bus I saw the PD that was on the panel we did yesterday so we of course talked about delinquency stuff, like the spring break project from last year and of course eventually got into the whole transferring to adult court thing and I mentioned the slenderman case because that's just the most horrific case of misjudgment by the system and she'd heard of it of course but didn't know the details and she was beyond horrified to hear that they're trying two severely mentally ill 12 year old children as adults and having them face 35 years in prison. Like, we literally have an entire juvenile justice system FOR PRECISELY THESE REASONS. Bypassing it ignores all the science and research and not to mention the recidivism rate which skyrockets when you try children as adults. I'll cap it there though, not gonna go into a full rant at the moment (I know I've already done it on here). I got off the one bus to catch another and had to watch it stop and drive off while I was stuck on the other side of the crosswalk which SUCKS and it was just chilly enough to be annoying out today, but then thankfully another bus came like 2 minutes later which isn't typical but I was very grateful for. So I took that to the Starbucks area, then popped into Walgreens to buy more of their caramel chocolates that Lyft driver got me hooked on (lol) except they didn't have those exact ones, so I got what's basically the same but with toffee pieces and I tried a little and they're pretty amazing. So then I went to Starbucks and got an iced white tea lemonade and tried to surreptitiously eat my sandwiches (I mean I was facing the window so I didn't have to be all that secretive about it) and start the behemoth that is gonna be finishing my appellate brief, and I pretty much immediately felt lost, but always over like the stupid stuff I could find like whether saying "don't use the party names" meant the given names or the terms plaintiff/defendant....(it's the prior, I think anyway) but I figured as some sort of game plan I would work on fixing the argument section based on the feedback I got from our prof, since that still is the substance of the brief, and then work on adding all the extra parts. Half of the edits she gave me though we're like about ordering the arguments and shit and it just pissed me off because I like the way I order my arguments, dammit, because IT MAKES SENSE, and I'm sorry if it doesn't fit your blue book standard but my boss at my actual job where I submit actual motions to actual court seems to be quite impressed with it so you can take your argument order and shove it.....(note please that that wasn't actually directed at my prof, cuz I kind of like her, and I know it's the curriculum and not her setting the standards). But that just annoyed me cuz like, real life isn't legal writing fact patterns. You're not always gonna have an analogous case and a distinguishable case, and you're gonna have to make it work. I just....I get too worked up about all of it. But I at least made some progress on preliminary efforts, so maybe, 5% done? It's a start, at least. I walked from the Starbucks to church which is like a ten minute walk and even though it was still a little chilly I haven't done any walking for the past two days and I haven't had any chance to work out this week (I likely won't go to the gym tomorrow because I have no reason to be downtown) so it's something at least, to go with my push ups (which I think may be hurting a muscle in my side, because trying any new physical activity is basically let's see how I can piss my body off this time for me). But yeah, small group was good. This was something I meant to mention quickly on my last week's recap of it, but I think I might have a teeny tiny crush on one of the guys? Like it was in my head last week but it was barely anything, then I get in there today and we start talking about the marvel tv shows and you know I can talk above superheroes all damn day haha so that was enjoyable, and then he was being like "yeah it was cool being at my cousins wedding this weekend but it's also so weird being single at a wedding" and I'm like alright, that might have been a subtle hint, lol, and of course as soon as the idea even entered my head I spent the rest of the night pretty much planning our wedding when I haven't really decided if I even like the guy yet, lol. Physically he's not like drop dead gorgeous, but he's definitely not ugly and has a certain charming quality to his appearance, so I can work with that. The rest of small group (I almost just wrote Smallville) was good too, we talked about a passage in 1 Corinthians I was familiar with about love and of course I got to opine about my deep theories on the issue about how basically the passage is indicative of the entire problem of "religion" and what the church is facing today- that is, they have all the rules, all the right answers, but without love following through all of it it's basically useless, and I feel like that's so on point for what the church is dealing with right now. Like, no. Love meets you were you are. Love is right in there with your mess. Love doesn't require you to clean up your act before you're welcomed into our church. Jesus certainly didn't require it to be let into his presence, so how dare we even try to do it? And yeah, other random deep shit like that, lol, you get the picture. Took the train to the bus as my normal and AGAIN had to run to make the bus (this was a different stop, but same bus route) and again had to bang on the door to get let in while the driver was looking so put out by it and I'm just like....calm your tits lady we're giving your company money but being here, lol. But I got home, didn't almost get run over by a car but had the weird experience of a car stopping fully at a red light, and I started crossing, and then they suddenly started driving again and blew the light by like, a mile. They didn't even come close to wear I was crossing so I was never in danger or anything, but I was like seriously, wtf man? Who does that?!? Idiots. For home and watched Powerless, which was cute of course, then Riverdale which just left me with the comment that this is the one teen drama where all the high schoolers have it together for the most part and all their parents are going batshit crazy, lol. But I enjoyed both, and that pretty much wrapped up my night. And it's late, and I get to sleep in which I'm very glad about, but still I'm tired and want to go to sleep now, so that's what I will do. Goodnight mis amigos. Happy Friday.

#daily journal #April 2017

1 note · View note