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crestfallencrest · 1 year ago

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Bravus Vesperia Magica (Ch. 2)

(Basically a Magical Boy/Girl AU origin story!) Read here on Ao3 [x] (Notes at the end) Read Chapter 1 here! [x] Hi, hello there! Big Lore Dump incoming in this one and thus begins my reign of taking blastia and being like "I like these shiny rocks. I'm making my own rules now"! This one isn't as long as the first chapter but it's still pretty lengthy Haha. I actually intended for it to end at a later point but thinking about it now, I like this ending point. Plus, it means I can get it out before my trip at the end of the month.

Chapter 2: Brave Vesperia's Beginning

After grabbing onto the small red stone that seemed to pulsate with a strange feeling of power, Yuri was slammed with a multitude of thoughts, feelings and senses that made his head spin.

The first thing he noticed was that the stone in his hand seemed to explode in a bright light that almost blinded him before it seemed to fizzle away from his palm. Before he could even question it though, he felt a hard object suddenly materialize onto his wrist. Peeking one eye through the blinding light revealed a golden bracelet resting on his left wrist, the red stone embedded in the golden metal. If it wasn’t already weird enough, the stone seemed to flicker in place for a moment before Yuri felt his entire wardrobe light up as a warm feeling seemed to wash over him.

His sliced up and bloodied uniform seemed to tear away from his body, only to instantly be replaced by a dark colored tunic with white accents and dark vest fitting loosely onto his body. He feels a sash wrap around his waist, holding the loose shirt and vest combo into place. Along with his tunic, he also finds that his school pants have turned to black trousers, covered by a pair of light brown unbuttoned boots that almost reach up to his knees. His dark hair, normally tied up with a pin to keep his hair out of his face, is let loose as it falls past his face and down to his lower back. To finish off this transformation, he feels something else materialize into his left hand, where he had held the stone from before.

Opening his eyes, he finds himself staring at a long and skinny blade held firmly in his hand. The blade was sheathed, the brown casing protecting the metal within with a white cloth tied around it, near the golden hilt of the blade. Almost like it was on instinct, Yuri is whipping around, swinging the blade hard as he forces the sheath to be thrown to the side. With a certain grace and speed that he was unaware that he had before, he tosses the blade up into the air and catches it with his hand before swinging it over his shoulder.

That… was the second thing he noticed. Another familiar feeling settled into his chest. He handled this blade with ease and he couldn’t help but wonder if he had messed around with this blade before. That, obviously, was insane to think of. He would remember if he had any prior sword training before this and he was pretty certain that he didn’t have any gaps missing from his childhood memories. At least from when he would have been able to pick up a sword.

Yet, the feel of this sword was extremely familiar and gave him an at-home feeling. Not only that, but the knowledge of how to use this blade in particular flooded his brain. Knowledge of how to swing the blade in just the right way to get the best results, certain sword tricks and moves that he’s sure is not proper sword etiquette… it all rushed in and it left him feeling overwhelmed, confused…

…and oddly exhilarated.

As the light fades away, Yuri finds himself standing tall with newly recovered confidence. He was still wounded, he could feel it on his cheeks, his chest, his hand… But even as wounded as he was, he still couldn’t help but feel like he could keep going. He glances down to Estelle, who is staring up at him with bright, wide eyes before her mouth, previously dropped open in surprise, changes to a wide smile as she begins to reach out to him. ��Yuri, you–”

“Finally!” The loud and grating maniacal voice screams out suddenly and Estelle instinctively yanks her hand back and turns to face Zagi, who’s leering excitedly in Yuri’s direction. Yuri quickly grabs Estelle’s arm and pushes her behind him as Zagi happily takes a step forward. “That’s the Yuri I know! Sword and all! Surely you remember me now, right?”

He didn’t. Despite the knowledge of swordplay that the weird rock pumped into his head at lightning speed (Still weird, by the way! Would never not be weird! Ever!) , he still did not have a single damned clue as to who this guy was. But now, he could at least confidently rub it into his face.

Yuri hums casually as he takes a few steps forward, twirling his blade between his fingers with the same grace he had before. He was always agile and quick with his fingers. The amount of knife tricks he was capable of doing was absolutely mind blowing (plus, there was something funny about practically hearing Flynn’s heart drop in his chest every time he fumbled the tiny blade) but this was on an entirely different level. He had never even held a sword before, and yet, here he was, swinging and spinning it with such ease that he couldn’t stop the cocky grin from creeping on his face.

“Still not ringing any bells.” He says, taking a tiny bit of pleasure from watching Zagi’s eye twitch. “Maybe you’re just that forgettable.”

Yuri knew he was playing with fire, judging by the way Zagi’s grip on his daggers tightened and his grin dropped just slightly. He was still wounded and his body burned from the pain and his body still had a tinge of exhaustion to it. But for some reason, something in his mind seemed to call out to him, putting him at ease. Something that was letting him know that it was going to be fine. That he was prepared for this.

Which is why when Zagi suddenly lashed out, shooting himself at Yuri like a bullet from a gun, Yuri was ready for it. Zagi swung his daggers down with the same ferocity as before, and this time Yuri blocked each blow with his sword with ease. He can hear Estelle call out to him, begging him to be careful, over the sounds of steel clashing against steel. With every slash, Yuri blocked it, dodged it and sidestepped away and the feeling of fighting toe-to-toe with Zagi filled his chest with a certain joy.

However, he needed to end this soon so as soon as he saw an opening, he pushed Zagi back with his blade only to push himself forward to swing his sword at Zagi’s arm, managing to land a solid hit into the muscle. The wound cut deep, but not enough for the arm to be disabled. However, before Zagi could recover, the man raising his dagger again to take advantage of an opening he found in Yuri’s stance after swinging the sword, a dark blur darts into the fray.

It happens so fast that Yuri almost doesn’t catch it as a medium sized beast shoots past him and nearly tackles Zagi to the ground. Blue and gray fur bristle as a deep growl emanates from the creature. Yuri sees a yellow harness clinging to the creature’s form, along with a chain wrapped around its neck that partially slaps Zagi across the face as the wolf-like creature attacks Zagi’s other arm with… a dagger?

Yuri can only stand there in stunned silence as the wolf slices into Zagi’s shoulder, earning a loud hiss of pain from the man, before the creature hops off of him and lands nearby, lowering into a stance that indicated that it was ready to pounce again. As Yuri watches this creature, he notices a notable scar resting over one of the creature’s eyes and realization hits him like a train.

“Repede…? Wait, but how–?” Yuri’s head whips around scanning the alleyway for the small puppy that had been barking up a storm before this. But no puppy can be seen and instead, he hears a growl of response from the creature, which snatches Yuri’s attention back to the matter at hand.

As Zagi begins to force himself back up to his feet, Yuri can hear more laughter slip from his lips. The man was barely standing, the deep wound from his left arm and right shoulder gushing blood. A lot of it. From the sound of Zagi’s voice, the crazy bastard wasn’t going to be conscious for much longer.

“C-Cheap tactic, Yuri Lowell…” Zagi’s laugh is forced out, trying to force himself onto his knee. “Getting your lousy mutt to join in… That’s a coward’s ploy! Why not face me on your own?! One on one!”

Yuri watches as he tries to force himself back up to his feet and one glance at the sky tells him that he did not have enough time to deal with this for much longer. “Because I literally don’t care about this.”

Tightening his grip on his sword, he feels a surge of power flow from his wrist into his blade, similar to wind rushing through his closed fist. Raising his sword above his head, all he could think about was how he needed this battle to end right now before it was time to pick up Karol. Before Flynn showed up. Before Estelle or Repede got hurt. Before Zagi became even more of a problem. He needed to end this now.

“Sleep it off! AZURE EDGE! ” He calls out and swings the sword down swiftly as a powerful force of wind is unleashed, hitting Zagi hard in the chest. Zagi can barely let out a choked yelp before he is slung against the brick wall of the building, a loud crack being heard as his head connects with the hard stone behind him.

As Zagi’s head slumps, he crumbles to the ground without another sound and Yuri swears he can see a couple of cracks in the wall behind him that he was not sure were there earlier or not. There is a moment of panic that shoots through Yuri, as he begins to come to terms with the fact that he may have accidentally killed someone in self defense, but once he sees Zagi’s face twitch as he lies on the ground, he visibly relaxes.

He feels someone step up from behind him and he flinches back just a bit, the adrenaline not quite worn off yet. Estelle stands next to him, hand frozen in a mid-reach as she stares up at him with eyes filled with concern. He stares back, letting out a heavy breath before he forces himself to relax, trying to convince himself that the only danger that was in this alleyway was Zagi. Estelle wouldn’t hurt a fly. She just didn’t seem like the type.

Her eyes drift down towards his chest and Yuri follows her gaze and what he sees makes him feel a bit lightheaded. His chest was… still bleeding pretty heavily. That was a lot of blood. His hand shot to press down on the wound, and he grimaced, feeling how damp his clothes were and how pain shot through him as he touched the wound. He bit down a hiss as the last few minutes caught up to him and he felt his knees buckle just slightly.

“Yuri!” Estelle is quick to jump out and catch him, which thankfully his entire weight doesn’t fall onto her. He’s still managing to keep a hold onto some of his dignity for now and is able to stay on his feet.

From behind him, he can feel Repede dart over to his side and lean his now adult (?) wolf body to help Yuri stand up straight. Yuri is momentarily distracted as he stares down into Repede’s face, examining him thoroughly. “Is… that really you, Repede?” He asks, still feeling a bit uncertain.

Repede’s tail wags just a few times before he barks out a confirmation. Yuri lets out a small huff of laughter. “Man… Puppy puberty hits hard and fast, doesn’t it?” Another bark is heard, this one not as amused or chipper as the last. Yuri took that as a scolding for laughing in a situation like this. Fine, fine…

Yuri finally looks back to Estelle, who begins to lead him out of the alleyway. He doesn’t fight her and instead tries to hold himself up to the best of his ability. “Would you believe me if… I tried to convince you that it wasn’t as bad as it looks?”

“I’ll have to be the judge of that, I’m afraid.” There’s the tiniest smile on her face when she speaks. “Unfortunately, Flynn told me that you like to hide how bad things are for yourself.”

“Of course he did.” Dammit Flynn. Flynn’s talent of constantly selling him out to others continues, even when he wasn’t present. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a bench I passed on the way here. It was right around this corner.” Estelle pauses as she peeks around the street, making sure no one else was present. Seemed like they were in the clear. “I need to sit you down so we can get you fixed up… Plus, when you and Repede change back, you’re going to be extremely exhausted. I’d like for you to be somewhere where you can rest.”

“Change back…?” Yuri’s eyebrows furrow. “You mean Repede’s going to change back to a puppy? How does that work?”

As they walk, Yuri glances over his shoulder anxiously as they leave the alleyway and Zagi behind. It makes him a little anxious to just let Zagi out of his sight like this but Estelle was right. The exhaustion was beginning to hit and if Zagi woke up right now, Yuri wasn’t sure if he could pull through another fight. His head was spinning from the blood loss and the adrenaline was gone. So, deciding that they could probably just have Flynn call the cops when he got here, he just let Estelle lead him to an old bench that sat underneath an old coffee shop that had been shut down about a year ago.

It was a shame, really. He remembered Flynn’s dad really liking the place.

“You and Repede seem to be connected through your blastia. So when you transform, then Repede transforms too!” Estelle explains, as if the explanation helped clear everything up.

“Estelle…” Yuri groans as his head leans back against the bench. His eyes close as he tries to fight the oncoming nausea. “...Doesn’t explain anything…”

“Ah… Well–”

Estelle’s words are cut short as Yuri suddenly feels the remaining power fade away from his body with a single flash. He lurches forward, his good hand shooting up to cover his mouth when he notices that the dark tunic from before was once again replaced with his torn and bloodied school uniform. The sword vanished from his grasp, into thin air and the only thing that remained was the golden bracelet with the red stone in it.

As Yuri struggles not to lose his lunch over how odd the nauseating experience was, he notices that Repede, who had been trotting over to their bench, is suddenly enveloped in a faint glow of light before he slowly shrinks back into his previous puppy form. He takes just a few more steps before the exhaustion hits the poor pup as well and he just topples over his feet with a whine.

“Shit… Repede…” Yuri breathes out as he starts to get up but Estelle gently pushes him back down and jumps to her feet.

“Rest! Please!” She orders before hurrying over to Repede. She scoops the small dog up into her arms and quickly carries him over to the bench, laying him down next to Yuri. “He’s just exhausted, like you. The first few transformations can be rough… Your body has to adjust to everything.”

Yuri let out a quick grumble, not having the energy to once again ask Estelle what she was talking about. As he tries to give her the best side eye he can possibly muster in these conditions, however, she begins looking over his injuries. “Take off your shirt for me?”

“...You’re supposed to buy me dinner first.”

The jokes came out more forced than intended as Yuri’s head leaned back again. He moved to push his arm over his eyes as the light of the sun beginning its descent was causing him the worst migraine imaginable.

“I can buy you dinner after this?” Estelle offers with such innocence that Yuri is sure that the joke flew right over her head. Yuri can’t help but snort gently.

“Forget it…” He shakes his head as he weakly begins to shrug off his shirt.

His school shirt was completely ruined. If, by some miracle, he could sew the shirt back up, the bloodstains would never come out. Time to add a new uniform to his list of expenses. Maybe Flynn would have an extra somewhere.

As he pondered his attack plan for obtaining his new uniform, Estelle suddenly pressed both of her bare hands directly onto his wound, hearing a startled and pained yelp from the man as he flinched back. “Hey– What are you doing? That hurts!”

“I-I know, but please just be still for a moment.” Estelle’s eyes flicker up to meet Yuri’s as she gives him an apologetic stare. “It won’t hurt for long.” Before Yuri could further question what she meant (he was not getting a lot of answers from her at the moment however), a sudden glow silences his words as a soothing warmth begins to emanate from Estelle’s hands, followed by a gentle glow. Yuri’s eyes widened as he examined Estelle a bit more closely. Her eyes fluttered closed and her pink hair seemed to light up with the same glow that her hands gave off.

And just when Yuri felt like he had seen everything today, he felt the pain on his chest wash away as the wound slowly began to close and vanish. The only evidence that he had ever been wounded across the chest at all was the weak feeling he still had and the blood that remained.

As the glow on Estelle’s hands and hair slowly went away, Yuri was left gaping at her, eyes wide and mouth wide open.

“... What the fuck–” His words were forced and breathless as his mind attempted to make ANY sense of this situation.

He had been attacked by a crazed maniac who acted as if he knew who Yuri was. He had been wounded and he barely escaped death. He had been given a weird magical stone that caused him to magically change clothes, magically gave him a sword, magically gave him sword knowledge and also magically changed his dog from a puppy to an adult dog. And now, he was back in his normal clothes, his dog back to his puppy form, and the only evidence he had of any of this happening was the wound still on his hand and cheeks, the bracelet on his left wrist and the unconscious body hidden in the alleyway around the corner.

And now, Estelle, the girl who was absolutely hiding something about ALL of this was using some sort of magic to heal his wounds and Yuri, who was light headed from blood loss and sick from the transformation and just exhausted from having to fight for his life, was having a hard time processing any of this.

Which is why it was a blessing and a curse when he hears Flynn’s voice call out to the both of them from down the street.

“Miss Estellise! And– Yuri…?” As Yuri whips his head towards Flynn’s voice, he can see him jogging down the street but it slows to a stop when he notices… well… a lot.

After all, when you wander across your exhausted childhood friend sitting shirtless on a bench, covered in blood and the new girl in school sitting next to him, hands on said bloodied chest, any normal person would have questions. A lot of questions. Yuri could see a multitude of emotions wash over Flynn’s face, though he could only find the energy to pinpoint a couple of them.

Relief, upon finally finding the two of them. Confusion and something else (?) upon seeing Estelle’s hands resting upon Yuri’s chest, concern upon seeing the deep cuts on Yuri’s cheeks, fear and worry upon seeing that there was way more blood covering Yuri than necessary… Yuri could have laughed had he not been so exhausted.

“Calm down.” Yuri calls back, waving his left hand at him. “It’s… not as bad as it looks.” But it was. He couldn’t tell Flynn that though.

Estelle’s hands pull away from Yuri’s chest as she moves to stand up to face Flynn, looking like a child that had been caught stealing from the cookie jar and it was clear that she did not think of an explanation to tell Flynn when he got here. Yuri did, to his credit, consider telling Flynn the truth but if Yuri was having a hard time believing it after actually living it, he was certain that Flynn would never believe it.

“Not as bad as–” Flynn sputters and with one quick movement, he’s by Yuri’s side and is reaching for his hand. “Yuri, your hand is literally pouring blood! You’re–”

As Flynn grabs his arm and pulls the hand closer, the newly acquired bracelet catches his attention for a moment. His eyes scan over it silently and Yuri watches as another unreadable expression appears on his face. Of course, he must be thinking where the bracelet came from. Yuri wasn’t sure how often Flynn cared to keep track of all of the accessories that he owned, but he knew that Flynn knew that he had not worn this accessory to school today. But it wasn’t that weird, was it?

It’s when Flynn squeezes Yuri’s wrist, unconsciously, that Yuri lets out a pained hiss and tries to pull his hand away. “Hey man, stop! That hurts–”

Flynn seems to snap out of whatever trance, eyes widening as he loosens his grip. “Oh… I’m sorry, Yuri, I–” His eyes flicker up to meet Yuri’s for just a moment, and Yuri tries to scan his expression again to try and find what the man could have been thinking about before Flynn tears his gaze away again to stare down at his wounded hand. “Yuri, what happened?”

“I could ask you that, Flynn. What are you doing here? Didn’t you have student council stuff?” Yuri raised an eyebrow as Flynn pulled his school bag onto his lap, searching in it for some napkins to help clean Yuri’s hand.

“Well… Yes. Estellise went ahead of me while I went and finished up some last minute things.” Flynn wipes away some of the blood, earning a pained grimace from Yuri. “I had given her a call to give her directions to the apartments in the Lower Quarter and then suddenly I heard her scream your name on the other line before it went dead.”

“I-I’m sorry for scaring you, Flynn…” Estelle stammers out an apology, ducking her head as she tries to avoid looking at Yuri’s wounds. Her hand twitches and Yuri can tell she’s struggling to hold back from healing him.

“It’s fine… I promise.” Flynn looks back to her, offering the kindest of smiles before the confusion takes over once more. “But what happened?”

Flynn looks to Yuri and then to Estelle, whose mouth opens and closes as she tries to come up with a reason for why Yuri was injured and covered in an insane amount of blood. To be fair, it was going to be difficult to explain. Yuri probably couldn’t explain the… magic parts but he could maybe get away with telling some of the truth, which was that he had been jumped. Soon enough, a story was fabricated in Yuri’s head and he quickly stepped in, leaning back against the bench. “I got jumped by this crazy guy with a knife. Not sure what his intentions were but he snatched me off the street on my way home and threw me to the ground. Next thing I knew, I had a knife to my throat.”

Flynn’s eyes widen and he unconsciously squeezes Yuri’s wrist, which Yuri took as a sign to continue.

“He kept laughing and taunting me and kept slicing my cheeks and shit and even cut open my shirt.” Yuri paused and mentally slapped himself. That… sounded bad. Granted, Zagi was already as bad as they come but still… “Estelle showed up and when she screamed my name, it was enough to distract the guy. So, I decided Fuck it and grabbed the blade and pushed it away from me just far enough for me to sit up and headbutt the guy. Knocked him straight out. But… uh… that’s where all of this blood came from. His nose started bleeding. It was pretty gross. That and it looked like he had already gotten into a fight beforehand. His arm and shoulder were pretty fucked. The guy was pretty crazy.”

Flynn stares at Yuri in disbelief and looks back up to Estelle, who nods frantically but doesn’t say a word. Then he looks over to Repede, who was still knocked out from exhaustion. “And Repede…?”

Yuri’s eyes dart down to the small dog and worry floods his face. “I think… Repede’s pretty exhausted. He was kicked by that student earlier and then he had to bark up a storm in order for Estelle to find me. He must’ve been panicking so he’s just exhausted… He should be fine.”

He hoped.

“And the man responsible?”

Yuri turns his head to nod towards the alleyway. “Left his ass on the ground back there and got the fuck out of dodge– Whoa, no you don’t!” He grabbed onto Flynn’s arm with his good hand immediately, as the man was already on his feet in an instant.

There’s a moment of silence between them before Flynn turns back to him, slowly sitting back down on the bench. “Yuri, we need to call the police before he wakes up. You grabbed his knife, right?”

Shit. No. Yuri didn’t think about that. “Uh… No… I was getting over the fact that I had a knife pressed to my throat just moments before– NO, fuck, Flynn, wait a minute-!! ”

Flynn’s arm tears from Yuri as the student stomps over to the alleyway and Yuri is automatically back on his feet a second later, trying to go after him. He feels his legs wobble a bit underneath him and Estelle jumps forward to catch him but Yuri pushes through and moves to hurry after Flynn. Zagi was, hopefully, still out cold but he did not feel safe having Flynn poke around the body of the man that had nearly killed him in the alleyway.

Flynn comes to a hard stop and Yuri quickly stumbles into him which, thankfully, Flynn is happy to catch him but they both find themselves staring down into the alleyway.

The… empty alleyway.

When Estelle catches up to them and sees that the aforementioned attacker was now missing from the alleyway, the gasp leaves her lips as she immediately reached out to cling to Yuri’s arm, and for a moment, Yuri is unsure if she’s trying to help him stand up straight or if she needed help staying steady.

“Son of a bitch…” He curses, pushing himself away from Flynn and moving out of Estelle’s grasp as he steps back into the alleyway.

How had Zagi escaped? There were no open doors that he could’ve slipped into and they would have noticed someone as loud as him running out of the alleyway. There also wasn’t anything he could really hide behind without Yuri noticing him immediately. As Yuri’s eyes scaled the alleyway, he couldn’t help but let his eyes drift towards the rooftops. It would take a lot of effort but … it wasn’t impossible for Zagi to scale the walls and get to the rooftops. This would, unfortunately, come back to bite him the ass though.

“Looks like he got away…” The grumble left Yuri’s lips with a tired sigh. “Great. I think that might be our queue to get out of here.”

Flynn makes his way beside Yuri, resting a gentle hand on the man’s back to make sure that the boy remains standing. “...Yeah, we should get you to the hospital.”

Yuri blinks and dread slams into him like a truck. “Wait, hospital?”

There is a moment of silence between Flynn and Yuri for a moment and in the corner of his eyes, Yuri can see Estelle shift uncomfortably as she prepares to once again stop the inevitable argument on the horizon.

“You can’t be serious, Yuri. You were going to skip going to the emergency room?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly on my to-do list for the night. I was just going to stop by my house and grab my first aid kit. The cut isn’t that deep.”

Flynn sputters in disbelief. “ You grabbed a knife by the blade! ”

“Yep, I sure did.” It wasn’t the brightest of plans but he lived and didn’t that count for something? “Look, it’s really not that bad. I can still use it and I can still wiggle my fingers and the bleeding has slowed down. If I can just wrap it up, it should be fine.”

“No, absolutely not! I am putting my foot down on this, Yuri! You’re going to the hospital, even if I have to drag you there myse–”

Flynn’s furious tirade is cut off by the soft sound of an 8-bit tune suddenly ringing out from Yuri’s pocket. Yuri holds up a finger, to put a pause to the conversation (and also laughs a bit at Estelle letting out the tiniest “That’s such a cute ringtone…” ), as he reaches his good hand into his pocket and pulls out his (now) cracked cell phone. He huffs in annoyance upon seeing the crack stretch upon the screen but it’s quickly replaced with a tiny jolt of panic upon seeing ‘Captain Karol’ on the screen.

“Shit– Karol–” Yuri curses, earning a tiny look of guilt on Flynn’s face and one of confusion on Estelle’s, as he answers the phone in a rush. “Hey– Karol, sorry I’m late, I’m on my way!” The words rush out the second the call is answered as he already begins to stumble his way past Flynn and Estelle, moving towards Repede.

“Yuri, wait–”

“Yuri!”

Estelle and Flynn go ignored for the moment as Karol’s voice exclaims into the phone. “Yuri, where are you?! I’ve been waiting forever for you!” There’s a pause before he continues. “Are you okay? You sound exhausted…”

Yuri lets out a forced laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just got caught up in something. I’ll be there as soon as I can, kay? I just have to stop by my apartment really quickly and– and–” The exhaustion was hitting Yuri at full force now, he realized as he suddenly had to stop and take a huge breath.

He still had to ask Hanks about Repede and then likely had to ask Karol if his parents were cool with dogs inside of their house because, to be honest, he wasn’t too keen on leaving Repede outside in his current state. Looking down at the pup, he was still out cold. Part of Yuri was jealous.

He also still had to shower to get all of the blood off of him, and then find a new change of clothes and dress his wounds. He also had to talk to Estelle to find out what in the hell was going on with this new bracelet but he could probably make a note to talk to her tomorrow? Wait, no, he had a small shift at work tomorrow. Maybe he could talk to her during the lunch period? He could sneak off with her but then that would cause people to make some implications that he had no interest in having to clear up.

Maybe if–

The phone is pulled from his hand and Yuri snaps out of his thoughts. “What–” He whips around and watches as Flynn holds up his phone, giving him a quick squint of disapproval while Estelle quickly moves over to put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, as if worried he might fall over again from exhaustion again

“Hey! Give that back, Flynn!”

Flynn steps away from Yuri and places the phone to his ear. “Hello Karol, this is Flynn. You remember me, right?” There’s a pause and suddenly Flynn is smiling gently. “Perfect. So listen…”

“Flynn, give me my phone back!” Yuri snaps, moving to reach for it but Flynn makes sure to step out of his reach.

“Yuri was involved in an accident…”

“Flynn, I’m not playing around!”

“...and he’s being stubborn about it…”

“This is an invasion of privacy! Flynn!”

“... so would it be a problem if I came to pick you up…”

“Flynn, I’m warning you!”

“...so Yuri can go to get medical assistance?” Flynn finally turns back to Yuri and there’s something that sparks in Flynn’s eyes as he speaks and the smug bastard could barely hide the way the corner of his lip twitches up into a smirk. “Yes, I believe I remember the address of the school.”

Yuri glares daggers at the man, quickly mouthing the words ‘I hate you.’

“Oh, no, no. You don’t have to meet me half-way. Just stay where you are! I’ll come pick you up and bring you home. I can stay with you for the night, if that’s alright with you. Just so Yuri won’t have to feel so rushed with getting the necessary medical assistance that he needs. ”

Flynn’s final words were said with an authoritative tone as he directed his eyes directly on Yuri’s, who refused to back down under his command.

“I hope you get hit by a car.” Yuri glowers at the man currently chatting away on his phone and Estelle immediately darts her gaze up to Yuri.

“Who… is Karol?” She asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

Yuri tears his gaze away from Flynn, trying to tune out his conversation with Karol in favor of looking at Estelle. His glare lightens up into a small pout as he moves to pull away from her so he can sit on the bench. “He’s a stray I picked up.” He jokingly comments with a tiny shrug before actually explaining. “He’s a kid I watch over a lot. His parents are constantly out of town, so I got them to hire me as his caretaker when they’re out.”

If his voice sounds bitter about it, Estelle chooses not to comment on it. “Oh, that’s very nice of you… So that’s where you were going before Z– … Before you were attacked by that man?”

“Kinda. I was gonna stop by my apartment first and talk to my landlord about keeping Repede.” Yuri glances down at the sleeping dog and uses his good hand to pet him gently. He then scoffs and kicks a rock across the sidewalk “Still gotta go do that too. As soon as I get my phone back!”

Flynn makes his way back over to Yuri and Estelle’s side as he ends the call with a single tap of the screen before he gently hands it back over. “Here you go. Stop pouting.”

“Stop telling me what to do.” Yuri snatches his phone back and shoves it into his pocket. “You didn’t have–”

“Yes I did.” Flynn cuts Yuri off immediately, shaking his head. “There was no way you were going to be able to go get him. You’re shaking all over, you’re covered in blood, you’re wounded! You and Repede are both exhausted. And you think you can take care of Karol like this?”

Yuri opens his mouth to answer, ready to argue… and then promptly closes it. Clenching his good fist, he yanks his gaze away from Flynn and stares down at his feet. He refused to acknowledge just how much his heart stung at the comment about taking care of Karol. He refused, he refused, he refused–

“I can take care of him just fine.” He mutters under his breath.

There’s a beat of silence and Flynn just lets out the tiniest sigh of defeat as he moves to sit next to Yuri. From the corner of his eye, he can see Flynn and Estelle exchange a quick glance before he looks back to Yuri. “Yuri, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Yuri picks at his nails, trying not to show interest in the conversation any longer. Just leave, already.

“You take care of Karol just fine. You know that, I know that, and Karol knows that.” Flynn hesitates before he places a gentle hand on Yuri’s shoulder. When Yuri shrugs it off, he can see Flynn’s face fall a bit. “But you know, Karol is worried about you too.”

“Well, that’s the last thing I wanted, so thanks for ratting me out, Flynn.”

Flynn’s mouth opens as if to reply but he closes it into a thin line afterwards before moving to stand up. “It’s not just the injuries that he’s worried about, you know…” As he steps away, he moves to Estelle and gives her a tiny smile. “Miss Estellise, I’m very sorry for the trouble but… if I could trouble you further? Would you mind making sure that Yuri makes it to his apartment building? Once there, could you ask Hanks to make sure he makes it to the hospital?”

Once again, Flynn is bringing up the hospital. Yuri was already feeling like shit. Might as well add that nightmare to the list.

“O-Of course. It’s no trouble at all.” Estelle quickly bows her head. “I’ll… make sure he’s taken care of. Trust me.”

Flynn smiles warmly at the girl, his gentle smile there for everyone to see. Yuri pointedly looks away. “I do. Thank you for all of your help.” He offers a quick bow in return before moving to make his way down the street. “I should get going.”

“Yes, of course, be careful! See you in school tomorrow!” Estelle calls out before moving back over to Yuri’s side.

“You as well. And Yuri…?”

Yuri finally looks up from his lap, glancing over to his blonde friend. “What?” He mumbles, eyebrows furrowing suspiciously.

Flynn is staring at him once again, with that same expression from yesterday. Sad and silent, almost pleading as he seems to be scanning Yuri from head to toe, eyes lingering on his bloodied chest, the cuts on his cheeks, his injured hand– Especially his hand– before finally settling back on Yuri’s eyes. He bites his lips, considering his next words. “Yuri… Be… Be careful, okay? Please? If not for your sake, then for mine? Or at least for…” He trails off, not finishing his thought.

He didn’t have to. Yuri knew exactly what he was going to say. And he refused to touch upon it. Refused to even begin to tread those waters. Especially in front of Estelle. Flynn, thankfully, seemed to understand that as well.

“Flynn, when am I ever careful?” Yuri waves his hand at him, shooing him off. “Now go and get Karol before I change my mind.”

Flynn seems to accept that answer for now, as he turns away and begins to hurry his way back down the street. Yuri and Estelle both watch him go in silence, making sure he wasn’t going to turn back and hurry back over because he forgot something. After a moment, making sure they were good, Yuri moves to stand back up, pulling Repede into his arms.

“Once we get to the apartments, we can talk in my room.” Yuri instructs her, making his intention very clear that he was not going to the doctor. “Once I talk to Hanks about Repede, that is.”

“...Right… O-Okay.” Was all Estelle could say in response. “And… what about the hospital?”

“Forget that part.” Yuri’s reply was short and cross.

---

Despite everything, Hanks seemed to be pretty accepting about letting Yuri keep Repede up in his room. Maybe the poor old man was a bit too shook up by Yuri’s state and story to really put up much of a fight about it. While Yuri didn’t enjoy being fussed over, he would happily take that to his advantage for the time being.

He made a point to stop and introduce Estelle and Hanks to one another and the two seemed to hit it off very well, for the small amount of time that they chatted with each other. Of course, Yuri was exhausted, sore all over, hungry and unclean so he had to, unfortunately, put an end to their conversation and inform Hanks that Estelle was a friend from school that was here to help him clean up and then prompt began to head upstairs, urging the girl to follow.

He felt a small tinge of annoyance when Hanks stopped Estelle on her way up, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. From the way her eyes widened just slightly and then softened into something full of understanding, Yuri could immediately tell that whatever she was told was his business.

“Hanks, leave her alone.” Yuri calls back to him, though he quickly hides the annoyance with a smirk. “Come on, man. Stop talking about me behind my back like I’m not standing right here. At least have the courtesy to wait until I’m gone, like most of the people in this building.”

“Ah, stop getting so paranoid.” Hanks calls back, turning away as he heads for his own apartment room. “I was just telling her to slug ya if you caused her any trouble. Isn’t that right, miss?” He grins to Estelle, who gives the tiniest of giggles as she moves to catch up to Yuri.

“I guarantee you that she’s aware that trouble comes with the territory, you ol’ geezer.” Yuri grins right back, moving to open the door. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I have some more trouble to burden the nice little lady with, so buzz off.” He pauses and then peeks over Estelle’s shoulder at him. “Thanks for letting the dog stay though.”

Hanks lets out a snort. “You woulda annoyed me about it until I agreed anyway.”

“Damn straight.” Yuri grins widely before stepping inside of his apartment room. “Make yourself at home, Estelle. I don’t have much so you can sit on the bed, if you want.”

His apartment room was pretty empty and to a stranger, it probably looked a bit sad to look at. It was really just a loan bed and one dresser sitting by it, just big enough to hold his clothes in. There was also a small little kitchen area that was separated from the main room with a partial partition. Two doors also stood on the walls in the room, one leading to the world’s tiniest bathroom and the other a small closet that Yuri used more for storage than clothes. The window next to his unmade bed was decorated with dark gray curtains, partially pulled open to let in the remaining sunlight of the day.

Yuri dropped his bag to the floor by the door and immediately pulled the blanket off of his bed and began to use it to make a small makeshift dog bed on the floor next to his bed and he gently rested the small sleeping pup on top of it. “This’ll have to do for now until I can buy him an actual dog bed.”

He pauses when he notices that Estelle seems to be just hovering in the middle of the room, staring at Yuri’s bed awkwardly. Oh jeez. “It’s not going to bite you, you know?”

“Oh– I know but… it just feels rude to just come in and make myself at home while you’re still getting settled…”

“Yeah?” Yuri snorts a bit. “Well, it can also feel rude to not take a seat when your host tells you that its okay to take a seat.” There’s a pause in his voice as his grin grows wider before he speaks again, sounding scandalized. “You don’t think… that my bed is dirty, do you, Estelle?!”

Estelle’s eyes widened. “What?! No, of course not!”

“Then sit down.” Yuri orders again, grin still plain on his face as he heads for the other door in the apartment room. “I just need to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.”

Estelle pokes out her bottom lip in a pout as she moves to politely take a seat on the edge of Yuri’s bed. As she does so, she takes a moment to look around, taking note of how little furniture Yuri seemed to have. “Are you not home a lot, Yuri?”

“I’m here sometimes.” Yuri pulls the first aid kit out of the cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom before grabbing a rag as well. He quickly switches on the water and runs it underneath the stream before using it to rinse the dry blood from his cheeks. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh… um… nothing, it’s just…”

“...Not a lot of furniture, huh?” It wasn’t a hard thing to guess what was on Estelle’s mind. It was one of the first things Karol had said when he came over for the first time too. “I used to have a little table in the middle of the room that you could sit at but Flynn and I ended up breaking it so we had to throw it out.”

Estelle is quiet for a moment as Yuri wipes away some of the blood but as he looks over just how bloody and dirty he was, he lets out an annoyed groan. “I might have to hop in the shower real quick. Think my wounds will be okay long enough for that?”

He glances out of the bathroom and can see Estelle staring back at him with wide green eyes. “What? But… don’t you want me to heal them instead?”

Ah right. The events of the day were beginning to appear back in his mind. Estelle had used some kind of weird healing power on him earlier. Which was cool and all but… “I think if I showed up around Flynn with a completely healed hand and completely healed cheeks, he might start accusing me of making a pact with a demon for regeneration powers before believing that I went to a doctor.”

“Oh… right.” Estelle lets out a small chuckle but it’s weak and lacks the feeling behind it. “I guess that makes sense. I’m sorry… maybe if I had healed you before Flynn showed up, then–”

“Don’t worry about it, Estelle.” Despite the sharpness of his words, Yuri speaks gently as he moves to pull his head away from the door before pulling the door closed. Thankfully, the walls were thin enough that he could still hear her speak if she spoke loud enough. “Honestly, I should be glad that I was hurt as badly as I was. Flynn went easy on me because of that. Good thing too, because if he dug into me like he usually does, I probably would have puked on him. I was not feeling up for one of his lectures right then.”

“Are you feeling alright now?” Estelle’s voice came through loud and clear and Yuri wondered if maybe she had moved closer to the door.

He was absolutely not feeling alright. “I’ll live.” He answers as he slips out of his shirt and then moves to remove his pants. “I think I’ll feel way better once I’m clean and I get rid of the smell of this blood.”

Part of him was beginning to worry that he’ll be smelling like blood for the rest of the week. He made a mental note about grabbing some cologne or something before heading to work tomorrow. The last thing he needed was to chase away patrons and their tips because of the smell of blood. As he starts the shower, he slips out of his underwear and pauses to stare at his chest. He runs a hand over where his wound was earlier and he lets out a small breath of amazement.

“Man… it really is just gone, isn’t it?”

“Huh? What’s gone? Are you alright?” There’s a turn of the handle and Yuri’s hand immediately slams against the door in a panic.

Oh, you have got to be kidding.

“HEY! Don’t just come in here!!” Embarrassment suddenly rushes through Yuri as he holds the door closed, though Estelle definitely made no move to push it. “I’m showering! You know, when you shower, you tend to do so with no clothes on! And I am not going to be responsible for what you see!”

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” Estelle quickly stammers out an apology and Yuri could practically hear the blush in her voice. “I just– I thought something was wrong and… I’m sorry, I have a one track mind sometimes.”

When he’s sure that Estelle wasn’t going to barge in, Yuri hesitantly pulls his hand away from the door. “So I can see… Jeez, we need to be friends for at least a year and a half before you’re allowed to see me naked.”

“What– NO! I–” Estelle’s stammering is cut off by a laugh from Yuri as he steps into the shower. “Oh… Yuri, you’re awful! Please stop teasing!”

Yuri laughs a bit harder this time. “Relax, relax. It’s fine.” As he steps underneath the stream of warm water, (he would actually kill someone for a hot shower right now but unfortunately, the apartment complex was having some issues with the water temperature lately) he let out a content sigh as he felt the blood and dirt slowly begin to wash away. After a moment of silence, he finally elaborates what he had mentioned earlier.

“I was talking about my chest wound.” He calls out, running his good hand through his hair. He pauses when he feels at the length of it. His hair… wasn’t it longer when he had transformed? At least by a few inches. “I was just surprised. You really did heal me…”

There’s some hesitation in Estelle’s voice. “...Yes, I did.”

“Does that have to do with what I did? The transforming?” Yuri glances over to the golden bracelet that he had left on the corner of the sink. “What was all of that, Estelle?”

For a few minutes, Estelle does not answer and it takes Yuri some extreme self control not to push her into answering. At least not right away. He was not going to be satisfied until he got some type of answer tonight but he figured he could at least give her some time to gather her thoughts. It would likely be less confusing that way, because he just had the biggest feeling that whatever she was about to say, was about to be confusing as all hell.

“I can do it too, you know…” Estelle finally says and Yuri can hear her shift so that she’s leaning against the wall. “I can also transform. Like you did.”

Yuri lets out a hum of acknowledgement before realizing that even though the walls were practically paper thin, Estelle probably couldn’t really hear him over the sound of the shower, so he replied over the noise with a confirmation. “Yeah, had a feeling. You definitely have some kind of hand in this. So, what is it? What are these transformations?”

Yuri is once again glancing over to the golden bracelet, or more specifically, the red stone embedded within the gold metal. That familiar feeling washed over him once again, like a moment of nostalgia and he just couldn’t help but feel that the stone was important to him in some way. He almost had to stop himself from reaching over and pulling it onto his wrist. He felt a bit naked without it on…

…Oh wait. Right. Well regardless…

“They’re called Bodhi Blastia. The stones, that is.” Estelle explains as Yuri once again feels his eyes trail over to the blastia in question. “They were originally stones that enhanced one’s strength when they were worn. But these ones in general are a bit different. I’m unsure why but these particular blastia seem to change our forms a bit…”

“Just a bit, though. Really, all it did was change my clothes and give me a sword.”

“And made your hair longer! It made you look a little older!” Estelle points out, a smile on her face.

“Did it, now?” Yuri ran another hand through his hair, moving to grab the shampoo, pouring some of the liquid into his good hand. He remembered that his hair had fallen down to his waist, at least. But now, in his current and real form, it just fell a bit below his shoulders. He mostly wore it up in its usual clip but… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to let it grow out in that case. Especially if it made him look older.

“One thing I noticed though…” Yuri speaks up again, rubbing the shampoo onto his hair and trying to ignore the sting of his hand. “...was the fact that I instantly knew how to use the sword. Like… well. And I still feel like I could, if you handed me a sword like right now. It was just like a bunch of knowledge was just there. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does.” Came the quick reply. “That’s how I felt with mine. I was given a rapier and a shield with mine and it just came to me so naturally. Almost like it was…”

“...Second nature?”

“...Yes.”

Yuri pauses to step underneath the water, quickly rinsing the shampoo from his hair and out of his face. Even though his eyes are closed, he still listens for Estelle’s voice but she’s silent for the most part. He wondered briefly if that was literally all that she knew or if she were just considering her next words once more. As he finishes rinsing out his hair, he puts the shampoo aside and reaches for the soap.

“So… how does it work? Do you just hand them out to people?”

There’s a small noise of disagreement from the other side of the door. “No, these particular bodhi blastia have a special person that they’re meant for, as far as I understand.”

Yuri’s eyes narrow as he moves to rub some of the soap over his body. “And how did you know it was meant for me? How did you even have the blastia? Do you have others meant for other people?”

“I…” Estelle trails off, sounding unsure. “No. I just had mine and then yours. I don’t know where I got it from. I’ve had both from as long as I can remember. As for why I knew it was yours… I didn’t. At least, not at first. But then I was able to transform with mine and I…”

Estelle falls quiet. Yuri doesn’t say anything and instead, puts the soap back down and continues to rinse himself off. His hand and cheeks still burn with pain and thankfully, it seemed like the wound on his hand wasn’t too deep. He would probably survive without stitches but it was going to be a pain trying to get things done without that hand. As he contemplates this, he continues to wait for Estelle to continue.

And finally, she does. “... I heard someone speak to me.” She admits quietly, underneath her breath. Yuri barely catches it. “She… told me that I had to find the others. The members of Brave Vesperia and wake them up.”

Yeah. Yeah, that explained some things, specifically about the dream he had two nights ago. Though it also opened an entirely new book of questions. He loved to see it. (He didn’t, actually.)

“You mean like the star.”

A beat of silence. “You know it?”

“Sorta.” Yuri could sense the tiny bit of excitement in her voice as he moved to turn the water off. “Not much though. I only remember the name of the star. None of the lore for it. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, that’s okay, really!” The smile is still evident in her voice. “It’s part of an old fairytale. Brave Vesperia was part of a pair of siblings and the son of a world called Terca Lumireis. He and his sibling fought a calamity that threatened the world and saved it from certain doom. Afterwards, they say Brave Vesperia took to the skies so he could protect the world that he fought so hard to protect.”

As Yuri stepped out of the shower, he listened to Estelle’s story carefully as he grabbed a towel to dry off with. He could barely remember the stories from when he was little but what little he did remember seemed to line up pretty well with what Estelle said. But from the sounds of it, Brave Vesperia was a person. Or some kind of all powerful being. But regardless, they just seemed to be one person in the end, along with their sibling. But Estelle had mentioned multiple members...

He pauses as he wraps the towel around his waist, pausing his thought process to stare at his discarded clothes on the floor. Covered in dirt, muck and blood, he grimaced as he picked them up with two fingers and tossed them in his laundry basket. The shirt, however, he placed to the side. It was a lost cause, after all. As he pushed it to the side of the bathroom, he nearly facepalmed.

He forgot to grab some clothes before hopping into the shower. He never really had someone hanging out in his room while he showered before so it was something that just kind of… escaped his mind. “Er… Hey, Estelle. Sorry to interrupt, but would you mind going into my dresser real quick and grabbing some pants for me?”

“Oh! Sure, which drawer?”

“The bottom one.”

As Estelle goes to shuffle through his dresser, Yuri decides to keep the conversation going. “If Brave Vesperia was a person, then what do you mean by members? ”

“I wish I knew…” Estelle sighs and after a moment, she taps quietly on the door.

When Yuri peeks the door open, he can see Estelle, eyes shut tightly and face turned away while holding out a pair of pants, a shirt and… boxers too? He was slightly impressed and also a bit concerned that the girl had decided to dig through his underwear drawer. Considering that she didn’t seem to have any sort of malice in her body though, he decided to leave her alone.

…This time.

He takes the clothes and begins to change into them, continuing his thought process. “Maybe Brave Vesperia is one of the members. His sibling too maybe? Who were they?”

“I believe they were called the Child of the Full Moon.” Estelle answers without too much hesitation.

“That’s a mouthful.” Yuri chuckles a bit, throwing his shirt on and then moving to slip into his boxers and pants. “Hey, what if we’re Brave Vesperia and The Child of the Full Moon? Is that possible?”

There’s a small laugh from Estelle. “I’m not sure… I was thinking that maybe we were followers or chosen warriors maybe?”

Yuri snickers as he throws the door open, fully dressed and pushing his wet hair back and out of his face. He leans against the door frame, a teasing grin appearing. “Aw, come on, sister dear. Don’t be like that.”

Estelle blinks up at him, head tilted slightly. Before she could even muster a response, Yuri reaches over and ruffles her hair, playfully.

“It’s a joke.” He explains before he scoops up the first aid kit and moves to stroll past her and flops down onto the bed. Estelle quickly moves to sit beside him and moves to take the kit from him.

“Ah, here… Let me help you.”

Yuri doesn’t really have the energy to fight her on it so he just shrugs and offers the girl his hand so she could get to work on it. “So, getting back on topic. A voice told you to find these members of Brave Vesperia. And then you ran into me and…?”

“I-I don’t know. You just seemed so familiar and…” Estelle trails off again, looking rather lost in thought for a moment. “...I… I also would have dreams. I see people in those dreams but… they’re not that clear. But then after I met you, one of those figures became a bit clearer in my dreams.”

“But you started staring at me the second you laid eyes on me.” It wasn’t like he didn’t believe her. But something seemed weird about it.

Estelle seemed to silently agree that her own story just wasn’t adding up. “I’m sorry… I wish I knew why. You just seemed so familiar at the time. You still seem so familiar. I’m not sure why though.” She shakes her head and continues her story. “But in the dream I had, you– or at least the one I thought was you– had a creature that fought alongside him. Like a dog…”

Her eyes dart over to the sleeping puppy laying on the blanket and Yuri follows her gaze.

Ah. Yeah. That makes sense. At least, as much sense as this entire situation could possibly make.

“So… I… saw that you and Flynn were taking care of Repede so… I decided to sneak over and ask Repede if he knew anything about your blastia. To see if maybe he recognized it?” She must have realized how dumb that sounded as soon as the words left her mouth. Instead of looking at Yuri, she decides to pull her entire focus into wrapping up his hand.

He hisses when she pulls on the wrappings too hard. “Ow–”

“Oh– I’m sorry…”

“It’s cool.” Yuri snorts quietly. “So you went and talked to a dog about me? How did that go?”

“... Surprisingly well. Repede was actually very taken with the blastia.”

Estelle seemed to believe what she was saying but all Yuri heard was that Estelle showed up and offered Repede a new toy to play with.

However, despite it all, she was very clearly correct in her assumptions, it seemed. Now he and Repede both could transform. Which, his transforming was already one thing he was having to come to terms with… but for some reason, his dog was able to transform as well? That was something he was having some trouble making sense of.

However, he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask at the moment. He was already feeling a bit overloaded with information and he had other questions that were likely more important. “So… how do we find the other members? You don’t have their blastias or anything, right? So even if we find them, how do we get them to wake up?”

“That… I don’t know.” Estelle quickly tapes the bandages down and then moves to place a patch on each of Yuri’s cheeks. “I was hoping that maybe I can get some leads in my dreams.”

“No one else has been giving you that weird familiar feeling?” Yuri asks, only to frown when Estelle quietly shakes her head. “So no leads then…”

They once again fall into silence as Estelle begins to put everything else back into the first aid kit. Yuri takes it once she’s done and goes to put it back into the bathroom as he silently goes over all of the information he had been given.

“So, what exactly is the end goal here?” He finally asks, eyes raising an eyebrow. “What exactly are we meant to do? Zagi was insane but I doubt we transform into what's starting to sound like superhero shit just to deal with Zagi, you know?”

As he moves to lean against the door frame again, he notices just how uncertain Estelle seems about this whole thing as well. He even begins to wonder if she’s even been doing this for long herself.

“I’m not too sure on the details but… we’re apparently supposed to help save and protect the world.” Estelle says slowly, looking more than overwhelmed by this. “Lately, there have been strange rumors of monsters appearing within the city lately. But… they’re just that. Rumors.”

Yuri began to wrack his brain. That sounded a little familiar but… “Seems like they’re not too out of control yet. If they’re just rumors. Have you seen any?”

“I don’t think so. But I haven’t been doing this for too long.” Hah. Bingo. Right on the money. “But… I guess our current plan should be to keep an out for monsters, protect the innocent, search for the members of Brave Vesperia and…”

“Knock Zagi’s head in if he shows up again?” Yuri offers with the tiniest of smirks.

“Er… that too.” Estelle grimaces as she moves to stand, brushing her skirt off just slightly. “But we need to find out what exactly we need to save the world from. ”

“...Yeah. I don’t even know where to begin with that one.” Man, this was going to put one hell of a bummer on his work schedule. “Let’s just… take it one step at a time.”

Estelle nods, her uncertainty lightening just a bit. “Yes… One step at a time.” And with that, she begins to make her way for Yuri’s door. “I… should probably get going. It’s getting pretty late but… Yuri, can I ask one more question?”

Yuri pauses, moving to look up to the ceiling before closing his eyes to pretend to be in deep thought, as if carefully considering her request. “Hmmm… I guess if you have to. But only on one condition. You have to give me your cell number. In a totally platonic way, I mean.”

He very quickly added the last part. Sure, she explained why she had been staring but he still had to make sure she understood that he was not going to be making any moves on her. Just in case. He just figured this would be easier for them to get into contact with one another, especially considering the situation.

Though, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in at least hanging out with her. She seemed sweet and maybe a bit too naive for his tastes but she seemed nice enough to hang out with.

“Oh… I didn’t assume you meant anything romantic by it.” Estelle blinks at him, almost too innocently as she pulls out her own cell phone and hands it to him. “I mean, you’re in love with Flynn, aren’t you?”

Oh, he nearly drops her phone right then and there. She seems to notice as she quickly steps forward, a look of determination on her face. Oh God.

“It’s okay! I promise! I… I saw you two the other day when I was… um… eavesdropping.”

Which was very ladylike behavior, by the way, Princess.

“But your secret is safe with me! I promise, I won’t tell a soul!”

Yuri’s cheeks were burning at this point and he’s almost glad that he had two giant bandaids on his cheeks so it could help hide how hot his face was getting. He quickly typed his number into Estelle’s phone and hurriedly shoves it back at her. “Y-You’re misunderstanding.” He quickly grumbles. “Flynn and I are…”

…Hell, he did not know how to explain this to her. He wasn’t sure he wanted to explain it to her, even if he could. He and Flynn had been on some weird border for about two years now. Treading some sort of line that they had initially refused to cross for one reason or another. It was a comfortable line. Yuri liked to be on this line.

…But recently, Flynn has been trying his hardest to cross over that line. Just to take a running leap and dive right off of it and he was bound and determined to drag Yuri down with him. Whether it be Flynn’s overprotectiveness, his insistence on walking Yuri home from school, the one time he made Yuri lunch (Yuri put a stop to this immediately after.) or the fact that Flynn would sometimes touch him, oh so gently, moving so close into his space with simple brushes of the hand or gentle nudges of the shoulder, threatening to not only jump off of the line they had been treading for years, but to destroy it into millions of pieces. And he didn’t understand why, why, why–

Flynn’s actions from yesterday, however, were a first. His warm, almost burning hot hand on his cheek, his blue eyes staring directly into gray, the way his breath brushed against his cheeks, the way his pulled Yuri closer, closer, noses bumping into each other, lips barely touching, the way his hand tangled into his hair that made him shiver, why, why, why did he do that?!

Yuri couldn’t help but think that maybe if it had been two years ago, he would have happily jumped off of this line with Flynn too. He would have happily taken his hand, accepted Flynn’s eagerness to take that tiny little step forward into what he could only dream of… but things were different now. He knew that if he even dared to step off of that line, he would do nothing but cause Flynn to sink.

He wasn’t good for Flynn. And one of these days, Flynn would realize that. So he just had to be patient and try to forget about the dread that settled in his gut when he thought about it.

“Flynn and I are… childhood friends.” Yuri finally settles on an answer, not liking the way his stomach twists at that. “Let’s just leave it at that, okay? Don’t look too deep into it.”

It was a cheap answer. He knew that. He knew what Estelle saw. Yuri’s and Flynn’s faces were so close that they probably did seem like they were kissing from an outsider’s point of view. But he was going to stick to his answer for his own sake and because, as nice as Estelle was, it was really none of her business.

“But–”

“Was that your question?” Yuri cut her off with a tone that signified that they were done talking about it.

Please just drop it, I do not have the energy for this–

Estelle purses her lips together as another pout appears as she, thankfully, accepts her defeat. “No… Just…” She moves to open the door. “Earlier, you were asking what our plan of attack was… Does that mean that you’ll help me? You’ll help me find the members of Brave Vesperia? You’ll help me save the world?”

The embarrassment and absolutely not self-loathing in Yuri’s chest quickly dissipates and is replaced by a feeling of unease and exhaustion. But even then, he prefers this feeling over having to deal with certain feelings regarding a certain blonde. “To be honest, it’s hard feeling like I have a choice in the matter.” He admits, a lopsided grin appearing on his face. “Help save the world or let it die? Not much of a choice.”

Estelle’s face falls slightly. “...I suppose you have a point.”

“Yeah.” Yuri moves to hold the door open for her and as he does so, he gives her a gentle smile. “...But, if I did have a choice… I don’t really see how I could possibly leave you to deal with this by yourself. So. Yeah. I’m in. I don’t know about saving the world though… But I guess we’ll get there when we get there, right?”

Estelle stares up at him, face blank as she processes Yuri’s words… and then it’s quickly replaced with a near dazzling smile as she dives forward and wraps her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Oh, Yuri! Thank you!” She cries out happily and just as quickly releases him before he can even process the hug or even move to return it, if he wanted to.

“Heh… Yeah, no problem.” Yuri smiles faintly before gesturing her out the door. “Now get outta my house. Get home before it gets dark. Text me when you get home so I can put your own number in my phone and just so I know you got home alright.”

Estelle nods and gives Yuri a quick little bow. “Yes, thank you very much! I’ll be sure to do that. I’ll see you soon! Thank you so much!”

And with that, Estelle turned and hurried away with a happy hum slipping from her lips. As Yuri watched her practically skip away, he slowly closed the door behind him and leaned against it with an absolutely exhausted sigh. After just a few moments, he feels his legs shake before he slides to the ground, now sitting against his front door. As he went over the information he was given for maybe the fifth time that day, he lets out a shuddering sigh as he rubbed a hand across his face and he knew one thing for sure:

Flynn was going to absolutely clobber him if he found out about this.

=======

Notes:

I should also make note: Little bit of Yuri and Estelle flirting in this chapter but I'm writing it to be a bit more platonic/joking than actually serious. We heavy in the Yuri/Flynn ship on this story, my friends. And we'll also have some Estelle/Rita! (which I'll add the tag when we actually GET there hahaha) Thank you for reading! Going out of town at the end of the month but I'll try and get as much of the next chapter done as I can!

#tales of vesperia #fluri #yuri lowell #flynn scifo #tov #magical person au #Bravus Vesperia Magica #ch 2 #breaking canon lore and making it my bitch #platonic yuri/estelle

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lordcaptains · 1 year ago

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She's in over her head - whatever she's gotten herself into, it's so much bigger than she thought, and suddenly she realizes that there's no one she'd rather turn to than him.

I was fortunate enough to commission @emisart for a scene between my PC and her NPC love interest from their ongoing campaign and oh. Oh my god. They went above and beyond on every aspect of the scene - the lighting! the expressions! The mood, my god, the mood. It's just perfect for that desperate, late-night knock at the door, the disheveled, rain-drenched "I've nowhere else I want to go."

This scene means so much to me, and I'm so, so happy with how it turned out. If you can ever commission @emisart, you absolutely should. Thank you so much!

#dnd #ch: estel fletchfeather #ch: maknok wauray #i described the scene and they immediately suggested the pride and prejudice rain scene as a reference for what i was going for #and in that moment i knew this art was gonna be absolutely amazing #and it was!

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

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miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him.

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open.

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside.

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart.

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs.

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools.

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says.

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom.

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house.

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby.

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable.

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch.

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger.

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good.

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house.

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt.

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too.

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a—

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence.

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones.

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection.

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug.

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake.

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces.

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat.

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks.

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi.

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming. He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place.

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes.

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover.

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of.

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter.

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening.

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him.

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects.

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her.

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house.

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted.

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker.

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs.

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called. He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to.

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up.

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid.

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest.

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it.

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one.

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric.

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter.

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to.

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered.

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze.

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks.

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid.

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly.

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though.

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside.

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes.

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing.

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired.

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door. She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt.

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long.

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights.

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of.

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always.

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath.

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside.

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without.

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep.

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it.

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share.

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly.

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day.

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies.

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions.

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day.

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special.

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said.

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour.

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter.

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it.

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase.

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course.

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf.

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside.

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night.

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings.

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings.

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants.

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy.

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.”

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes.

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless.

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out.

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks.

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party.

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space.

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is.

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor.

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them.

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase.

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks.

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top.

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor.

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw.

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd.

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner.

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions.

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease.

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter.

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be.

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one.

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor.

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her.

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep.

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains.

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties.

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries.

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off.

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa.

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three.

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows.

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features.

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human.

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them.

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers.

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth.

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug, and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs.

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris.

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction.

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of.

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower.

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them.

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend.

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings.

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that.

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world.

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink.

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah.

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat.

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal.

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat.

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back.

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s.

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one.

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn.

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good.

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over.

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy.

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them.

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of.

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech.

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected.

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that.

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive.

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend.

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so.

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green.

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body.

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question.

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie.

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her.

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you. Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

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audreyscribes · 5 months ago

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Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🌊 PONTUS: PERSONIFICATION OF THE SEA 🌊

Author’s note: *put head into hands* Alright, so I may or may not have went off from the usual formula (Do I even have a formula for writing these at this point?) and I think I may have made the primordial demigods here more cryptid cause they’re the literal by-product of primordial beings that are also half-mortal? I won’t be including the usual blurbs at the ending cause all of them are probably pushing the word limit Tumblr has but worry not, I made up for it by putting more storylines into the whole thing. PRIMORDIAL DEMIGODS MASTERLIST: [LINK]

You have the most mundane origin as you emerged out of the sea. Need I say more? When you hear the other children of Primordials of how they were created, yours feels very dumb in retrospect. You’re created from the embodiment of the sea and while you don’t know how you’re half-divine, you certainly look like it with some unnatural characteristics that while in one light, clearly looks like you’re a creature of the sea but if they catch you in the wrong light, they’ll see the hidden and ancient depths of the sea that no one will ever hope to conjure. Seeing as your father is the primordial sea, you have more ancient sea traits than people think. Imagine the great dinosaurs of the sea or deep ancient sea creatures. Yeah. It’s more visible when you come into contact with water, but you can bring your ancient sea form forward on will if you’re on land, but it's just not as instinctive.

You lived by the sea, raised by it, and those who inhabit it. Nereus and his daughters and sons, the Nereids and Nerites, among many others make regular visitors, teaching you things. In fact, you were even visited by Poseidon who felt your existence and although you were a child of a primordial, you were still young compared to Poseidon; so you could only look up at him. Instead of being squashed by him, Poseidon let you live. In fact, he instead told you to walk further down the long line of the sea until you came upon a cabin with the name of hawk. You did as he asked, curious as you adjusted your sea legs to land by walking on the sand. You walked until you reached Montauk and a cabin that Poseidon described. You stared upon it a bit longer wondering why you were here until you saw the doors open and a woman appeared worriedly, reaching you. She wrapped your seaweed covered body with a piece of fabric,and while you relished the fluffy towel upon your skin, you didn’t know what company you had come across.

Nonetheless, that was how Sally, Paul, Estelle, and Percy gathered you around the table, teaching you how to eat modern human food while also gathering your story. Between Nereus and the knowledge of Water, you had a faint idea of who was in front of you but at the same time, you didn’t really clock on the severity of the information; you just absorbed everything like a sponge. You learned alongside Estelle and Percy personally gave you a rundown on what to do and what not to do, and no please don’t flood the toilet.

The next thing you knew, you were in a car, enamoured and playing with Estelle and her toys while Sally was peeling the car down to Camp Halfblood where there was absolute chaos. Funny enough, this was how all of Camp Halfblood and practically all the mythical world learned upon the knowledge of the primordial children that you just regurgitate to them like a water fountain. In fact, you threw everyone more in a loop when you found the remnants of the child of Chaos that everyone ABSOLUTELY DID NOT KNOW THEY HAD PRIOR in the Hermes cabin and turns out is actually missing who just up and left. Everything went over your head as you beamed up at Sally who was putting on the best motherly behaviour and asked if you were going to be okay to be with Estelle, which you were absolutely down for, and you helped Mr. D turn his cup of water into wine…which is another thing you can do for some reason. Not realising the chaos you just unearthed behind you as you played peek-a-boo and bubbles, that you conjured up yourself with Estelle.

A meeting was held; of what and how they were going to deal with this and the other primordial demigods… before you added in that the Gaea and Chaos demigods have each been gathering forces of the other primordial children…which led the others to realising you were the next one on the list. So cue the immediate warzone, notifying the Roman camp, and with the other primordial children were at their doorsteps, bringing the fight to them.

As you can imagine you have the ability to manipulate water. Just imagine what a child of Poseidon can do, but on a more innate level; so if a child of Poseidon is in the element of the sea, you are part of the sea. You are also able to turn your body into water, specifically sea water, your form malleable as big as you want or just long enough when a blade slices through you without damage. You can produce water more easily then a child of Poseidon, and your water is a reflection of you. So if you’re angry/hot headed, the water is going to be hot, and if you’re cool and level headed, it’s going to be well…cool. On consequence, you also have a salty temperament, so you hold a grudge. When you develop your emotions better, you’re less salty more ways than one.

Your key feature is that while you may look human enough, there’s something about you that invokes a sense of danger like when you stare down into a deep pool water, the depths unseen to you. You can also change your form into some sort of ancient human-oid sea creature, with scales for skin, sharp teeth like a shark, and webbed, clawed fingers. However, careful in bearing this form because if you’re on dry land it might be uncomfortable like wearing a wet, skin suit under baking sun. You also might slip into a certain mindset that might not be able to tell friend from foe.

???? EPILOGUE ??? [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

#pjo #pjo imagine #demigod h/cs #demigod headcanons #pjo imagines #percy jackson and the olympians imagines #demigod imagines #pjo fanfic #pjo reader insert #pontus #child of pontus #pontus demigod #percy jackson #sally jackson #estelle jackson #estelle blofis #paul blofis #primordial gods #primordials

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talkingpiffle · 1 year ago

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"Either as Captain O'Shea or the vengeful Earl, John Emery was a fine young romantic actor. He had style and eloquence and was completely at ease in costume drama. In July of the same year [1937] I was to see him as Lord Peter Wimsey in Busman's Honeymoon at the Westport County Playhouse in Connecticut. As is the custom in summer theaters, his engagement was for only a week. He'd had but a week of rehearsal, yet he gave a deft and amusing performance. At the time I was living in a rented house on Long Island Sound, ten miles from Westport. It boasted a swimming pool and free liquor. There I held open house for the likes of Anna May Wong, Clifton Webb, Estelle Winwood, Vincent Price, Louisa Carpenter and a lot of other friends, overloaded with leisure.

"I got a sizzling crush on John on seeing his Wimsey. After the performance I went back to see him. Would he care to spend the week end with me? John readily agreed. I found him intelligent, amusing and exceptionally good-looking. He had good manners and seemed a good listener. This last marked him a rare bird in the set in which I traveled.

"But when John asked me to marry him, I looked upon his offer as an impertinence. Wasn't he getting presumptuous on short acquaintance?"

--Tallulah Bankhead on meeting her husband John Emery, from Tallulah: My Autobiography (Ch. 10)

Newlyweds John Emery and Tallulah Bankhead, September 1937 (x)

#dorothy l. sayers #lord peter wimsey #busman's honeymoon #john emery #tallulah bankhead #was NOT expecting a lord peter reference in this book #tallulah: my autobiography #westport county playhouse

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martydearest · 4 months ago

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My live reading of Ch 2-3 of Wrath of the Triple Goddess

- I will be reading into why rick is emphasizing how the mist works

- i do appreciate the more subtle reminder about world building aspects instead of outright stating it

- GROVER BELOVED!!

- “AI generated” maybe the consistent timeline was the friends we made along the way (how many time can i make this joke??)

- Rick riordan has obviously actually spent time in a city the time

- YES SUPPORT LOCAL BUSINESS (and keep boycotting Starbucks!)

- Opening with an author writing in a café… i am calling it now Sally and Claymore know each other

- Oh my god it’s a cat cafe

- “Aside from the fact that I could never write a novel anywhere,” Percy Jackson you canonically wrote the og series and two mythology books

- Tutu barista guy live your truth (dont get set on fire)

- ESTELLE APPROCHES

- What are the ethics of grover consuming milk products??

- I feel like Rick also had a witchy themed aesthetic Pinterest board while he was writing this

- Omg Charles Mingus???

- “Not at all!” She patted the chair next to her. “Save me from this dialogue, please. I think it’s trying to kill me.” I genuinely think author-characters in these books are so so funny. Rick riordan and his seven different author insert sock puppets

- “I can’t help wondering if she’s writing a character based on me. Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid.” Im going to lose my fucking shit

- I actually am kind of hoping the meta stuff continues i think it fits a Hecate/mist themed story well

- I wouldn’t generally call og Grover hyperactive compared to the actual demigod characters and im not sure i like where this is going, relatable as hell though

- WTF happened to Sally in Gramercy Park

- Awww them 💙mother and son

- Blueberries

CHAPTER THREE

- I love demigod go bags, that’s such a good little character detail

- The no cell phones rule doesn’t work as well with the moved up timeline of the series

- Academic annabeth is a personal red flag idk how i feel ab it

- Sometimes I remember I actually really do like Percabeth

- I want to hear more about her mortal friends

- Rick dancing around her race better than that tutu guy from earlier

- I’ve never heard the word angst used like that and it’s giving me the evvie jevvies

- “Annabeth was a natural people person” the annie character assassination

- Obligatory TLT reference (i love when percy remembers the shit he did)

- I enjoy glass and marshmallows

- WHO THE FUCK IS PAUL (where did Dave go???)

- ANALYTICAL ANNABETH! There’s my girl!!

- SHE’S A DOG PERSON

- i take back what I said annabeth wtf

- Oh her childhood…

- I wonder what Rick thinks of cosplayers

- Weasel??????

- Rick Riordan needs to hire a better continuity editor

#wrath of the triple goddess #wottg live reading #pjo #Percy Jackson

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queersrus · 1 year ago

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astronomy witch theme

(nick)names:

astra, astro, astre, astera, astel/astelle, astella, ariel, aura, aurora, aurore, aure, aurelie/auralie, auralia/aurelia, atlas, aristar, aries, altair, astreaus, aether, apollo, apolla, artemis bila, boreals, boreal comet, cosma, cosmic, cosmo, celest/celeste, celestia, celestio, callisto, calypso, Cassiopeia, claudius, caelum, caelus, cassio dusk, dawn estel/estell/estelle, estella, elera, elio, esther, eclipse, eclipsa, eclipso, eostre, eos galaxy, galactica, galactico, galactix, galactic, galacta, galaxius hecate/hekate, helios, hemera, hera iris, ira juno, jupiter, janus kepler, keyra/kayra lune, luna/loona, lunar, luno, lunette, lyra moon, moona, mars/marz, miranda, meno nova, nix/nyx, nox, nuit pandora, pallas, pulsar, pollux rhea stel/stell/stelle, stella, steller/stellar, star, stella, stary/starie, sol, soleil, solar, solette, solina, solana, solace, solstice tian vesper, vega xian zorya

surnames:

astra, ayla, airy, array, aquila, antlia estrela/estrella, eddington, eridanus kepler, kuiper herschel, halley, hale, hypatia, hevelius drake starcatcher, starwatch, stargaze(r), starlight, scorpius, spellman Cassiopeia orion ursa delphi, delphius pictor fortune le fay/fe/faye nightingale, nighwatch, nightmoon moon brightmoon gloom, gloam

titles:

the witch of the stars, the witch who studies the stars, the star watch, the astronomer, the witch, the astronomer witch, the stellar witch, the witch who knows the sky, the witch of the night sky

(prn) who knows the stars, (prn) who studdies the stars, (prn) who knows the magic of the stars, (prn) who practices witchcraft in starligh, (prn) who studdies magic by starlight

1st p: i/me/my/mine/myself

si/star/stars/starself sti/stell/stellars/stellarself ai/astre/astros/astroself ai/astronome/astronomy/astronomine/astronomyself wi/witch/witches/witch's/witchself wy/witch/witchs/witchself ci/conste/consteli/constellations/constellationself mi/magi/magics/magicself

2nd p: you/your/yours/yourself

sto/star/stars/starself sto/steller/stellers/stellerself astro/astr/astrs/astrself astro/astronomer/astronomers/astronomerself wo/witcher/witchers/witcherself co/consteller/constellers/constellerself mo/magicr/magicrs/magicrself

3rd p: they/them/theirs/themself

star/stars, sta/ar, star/stary, stary/sky, stary/night, star/light stell/stella, stell/a, stel/la, stell/steller, steller/stellers, stellar/stellars astro/astros, astro/astronomy, astro/nomy, astro/nomer, astro/astronomer, astronomy/astronomys, astronomy/astronomer constellation/constellations, constell/constellation, constell/ation wit/ch, witch/witches, wit/witch, wi/witch, witch/witchy, witch/craft, witchcraft/witchcrafts magic/magics, ma/gic, magic/magical

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minty-mythos · 2 months ago

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Bull Horns and Webbed Hands (Ch. 1)

Summary: Since Percy became an instructor at camp, he knew first hand how stressful it was to be in charge of the health and safety of over a hundred demigods. Which was why he offered to travel to Olympus in Chiron's place to give the Olympians the monthly camp status report. All he had wanted to do was give Chiron the day off. He hadn't planned for anything exciting happening. He certainly hadn't planned on accidentally adopting the Ophiotaurus while he was there. As usual, nothing ever goes as planned for Percy Jackson.

A/N: My first Percy Jackson fanfiction! AKA I think Bessie is an absolutely adorable, totally underutilized character (His AO3 tag only has 16 fics as of me posting this, which is criminal)

(Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3)

~~~

The monthly status report on Camp Half Blood had been going well. Chiron had coached Percy on how the report usually went, and he was well acquainted with the finer details of how the camp was run nowadays. He’d always been highly involved in the happenings at camp, and since he had become a permanent instructor several years ago, he’d become even more knowledgeable.

A few members of the Olympian council might have been pressing him harder and asking more questions about camp than they usually would have asked Chiron, but he hadn’t faltered under their scrutiny. He knew it was a test to see if he was really capable, and unlike the other times the gods had tested him, Percy didn’t mind too much.

He’d also managed to keep all of his sharper comments to himself, which was impressive for him. His relationship with most of the gods had gotten a lot more civil over the years, even to the point of friendliness in many cases, but there were still a few he would fight if given half the chance.

He'd nearly finished his report when he was interrupted by the sound of a strange squeal and the sound of wet feet slapping loudly against bare marble approaching him quickly. The unexpected noise made Percy, who was already on edge after being grilled by the council for the past hour, instinctively tense up and reach for Riptide.

Logically, he knew that he couldn’t be in any true danger. He was standing in the throne room of the gods. No monster could possibly make their way all the way through Olympus without being spotted and killed on sight.

Even if one had somehow managed to sneak through the city, the gods wouldn’t allow it to kill Percy. Having a hero of Olympus attacked and killed in their own throne room by a lowly monster would be very embarrassing.

So Percy knew it probably wasn't a monster running at him, but he hadn't gotten this far in life as a demigod by not taking potential threats seriously.

He spun around with Riptide already in his grasp. Despite his fast reflexes, he didn’t have time to uncap his sword before a figure no taller than his waist barreled into his legs and clung to him with a tiny cry of “Percy!”

The familiar feeling made him drop his sword and immediately switch from ‘potential threat running toward me’ mode to ‘small child hugging me’ mode. He was more than used to being clung to by young children, thanks to Estelle and the younger kids at camp.

After a second to collect himself and relax his tensed muscles, Percy ran his hands through the kid’s thick hair, gently coaxing them to release him and take a step backward so he could get a good look at them and maybe get a clue as to why on earth they were in the throne room.

The kid was probably five years old, maybe a little younger given how small they were. They wore a white tunic that was cinched around the waist with a golden rope, and no shoes. The tunic was completely soaked with water. In fact, the entire kid was strangely wet. Their skin was a shade or two darker than Percy’s own, and their long black hair tumbled down their back in gorgeous curls. The bangs curling on either side of the kid’s face were pure white, a shock against their dark complexion.

Percy was confused and slightly disturbed by how similar the kid looked to himself. He’d seen the baby pictures his mother had of him, and this kid could have been his twin, if Percy had grown out his hair and been forced to take the weight of the sky at the ripe age of four. A thought grew in the back of his mind that if he ever had children, they might look similar to this child. Percy did his best to ignore the thought, even though it filled him with warmth.

The only differences were the fact that this kid was clearly not human, and their eyes.

Percy also wasn’t human, but you would be hard-pressed to tell from simply looking at him. By contrast, this kid reminded him more of young satyr kids than human children. Two curved cream-colored bull horns poked out of the child’s curls. They were just barely visible, but already sharp and dangerous.

Their fingers ended in hard nails, too blunt to be claws but too hard to be normal. Their hands were webbed, and Percy could see slits that were clearly gills on the sides of the kid’s neck. He would bet anything that if he were to take off the kid’s tunic, he would find matching slits on the sides of their torso. Their feet were covered in iridescent black scales that trailed up their calves and disappeared before they reached their knees.

And then there were the eyes. Staring up at him from a sweet face were two beautiful chocolate brown eyes that made Percy want to melt into a puddle. Their pupils were horizontal, which Percy was so used to after years of looking at satyrs that he almost didn’t notice.

But those eyes were familiar. He’d seen them, not thirty minutes earlier, in fact, when he’d stopped to say hello to Bessie before the gods officially convened for council.

Percy gasped in realization.

“Bessie?” The whispered word echoed through the utterly silent throne room.

He felt stupid for even suggesting it, but a quick glance at Bessie’s aquarium showed no sign of the creature, there was a trail of water leading from the tanks to where the child was standing, and the eyes that stared up at him from the child’s face were hauntingly familiar.

The little boy nodded vigorously at him, seemingly incredibly pleased that Percy recognized him. He raised his arms in the universal demand to be picked up, and Percy complied entirely on autopilot, picking the kid up from under his arms and hoisting him up onto his hip.

A long moment of silence stretched on as everyone in the room processed what was happening. “Ah,” Percy said, lacking anything better to say, “I… did not know you could shapeshift.”

“I didn’t either!” The boy wiggled with excitement. “I’ve never gotten this big before, so I never had the chance to try!”

That thought smothered any happy feelings fluttering in Percy’s chest as he clutched the child tighter.

Right. Bessie had never had that chance to grow up before, because every time he’d been reborn, the gods had hunted him down and slaughtered him before he could be sacrificed in a bid to overthrow them.

Percy was suddenly hit with the memory of the first time he’d met Bessie, and how the Ophiotaurus had flinched away from Riptide. He’d been so panicked he’d gotten himself even more tangled in the fishing net he’d been caught in. The thought of any child being so afraid of weapons even when they weren’t being brandished threateningly made Percy burn with anger at the gods.

Anger at the gods wasn’t a foreign feeling for Percy, but not something he could indulge in right now. He was standing in front of the Olympian council, holding a child who needed his protection. He couldn’t afford to get angry, not when it was more than his own safety at stake.

The gods had nearly killed Bessie only a few years before. The fact that Bessie could now shapeshift into a human was a strange new development. He was clearly no longer a mindless beast, if he ever was to begin with, and he could act independently. It was something no one had expected and it was entirely possible it would make the gods reconsider their decision to not kill him.

Percy wouldn’t let them do that. He’d fought against the idea years ago, and he would fight even harder now. This wasn’t a random sea creature anymore. This was a child. A clearly sentient child. If the gods dared to debate on whether or not to kill him in front of Percy, he was going to do something drastic.

The thought of the gods made Percy realize that none of them had said a single word since Bessie had appeared. He looked up toward the thrones, not sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t what he found.

The gods, every single one of them, looked frozen in varying degrees of shock. Apollo’s mouth was hanging open in a rather ungraceful manner, his sunglasses falling down his nose to expose eyes wide in surprise. Artemis’ expression mirrored the sun god’s with such precision it forcibly reminded Percy that the two of them were indeed twins, despite their differing personalities. Athena had gone completely still on her throne and the only sign she was alive was her wide-eyed gaze tracking Bessie’s every move.

Poseidon was no exception to the shock, staring openly at Percy and Bessie as if they’d both grown second heads. Although Percy supposed Bessie had technically just grown a human head, so that wasn’t totally out of line.

Which, hold on-

“Do you like the name Bessie?” Percy asked, just to make sure. He’d given the name to the little mer-cow before he’d known the creature was sentient- or that he would eventually shapeshift to have a human-ish form, holy shit- and it was a girl’s name. Not that it being a girl’s name mattered, not really, but he’d rather ask.

Bessie blinked up at him innocently, eyes impossibly wide. “Why wouldn't I like it? It’s my name!”

“Fair enough,” Percy muttered, once more very distracted by the strange feelings welling up inside of himself as he stared into Bessie’s wide brown eyes. Protectiveness, possessiveness, love.

The feelings themselves weren’t all that strange. He’d felt similar things for the children at camp, and his friends and family. Percy had always loved quickly and possessively. Once he decided someone was his- his friends, his family- he would defend that person to the death, do anything for them. He suspected that was something he got from his father, who was known to be possessive and overwhelming in his love.

The emotions hadn’t come from nowhere- he’d always been fond of the Ophiotaurus, but the sight of Bessie in his arms made them swell in intensity. The only time it had come close to the intensity he felt now was when he’d met Estelle for the first time.

‘Is this what it feels like to be a father?’ Percy wondered hysterically. Oh gods, did this mean he was effectively Bessie’s parent now? (The kid definitely looked enough like him to be his kid. Which was baffling… Why did Bessie look so much like Percy?)

The Ophiotaurus was supposed to be one of a kind, so Percy doubted there was a mama mer-cow anywhere out there. Certainly, none of the gods would have any sort of parental claim on the child after all they’d done to him. And Percy had been who the Ophiotaurus had sought out initially, back on the quest to rescue Artemis. He’d also responded to Thalia, but it had been Percy he’d followed in the end. He had even listened when Percy had told him to return to the Long Island Sound with Grover.

And now, the first time he’d gained a human form, he’d run straight to Percy.

Fuck, was Percy a dad now? He wasn’t prepared to be a dad! He was a college dropout who worked a dangerous job as a sword instructor at a camp for demigods, and he still- for all intent and purposes- lived in one of his dad’s houses since he still slept in Cabin 3.

Recently, Percy had realized he wasn’t willing to bring children into this world when they would be in constant danger from monsters. Even if he raised his children in New Rome they’d be required to join the Legion, which would put them in danger anyway. If he adopted a mortal child, they would still be endangered from the monsters that came after him, and they wouldn’t be able to protect themselves with the mist veiling the truth from their eyes. He’d always wanted to have kids, but if he’d been forced to conclude he wouldn’t be able to have any in good conscience. He’d consoled himself with being able to look after the younger kids at camp and soiling Estelle rotten, even if it wasn’t the same.

But now, here was a child who was clearly already attached to Percy and had no one else to care for them. A child who would already be targeted by monsters, regardless of what Percy did. A child who needed him.

Fuck, was he seriously considering adopting the Ophiotaurus? Annabeth was going to be so disappointed that he’d adopted a child with no prior planning…. But if Percy was going to adopt a child, this seemed like the most likely way he’d go about it. He’d never been one for planning ahead.

Percy didn't realize he’d been staring Bessie directly in the eyes until the child broke eye contact and started to kick, pointing down at the ground insistently. “Put me down now!”

“Put me down now, please,” Percy corrected him absently, the response automatic.

Bessie dutifully echoed him, and Percy let him down. The child took off running immediately, and Percy nearly started after him, before stopping. It wasn’t like he could get lost anywhere in the throne room, and Percy was a little curious about where the kid was heading.

Bessie made a b-line towards the hearth, which made everyone in the room startle, including Percy. Everyone knew what the consequences of Bessie burning were.

Thankfully, Bessie slowed down well before he got to the edge of the hearth. He approached the edge slowly but clearly filled with curiosity. The child crouched at the edge of the hearth, which was burning low today, but still warm and welcoming.

Percy suddenly realized that Bessie had spent most of his short life on Olympus, trapped in the tank Poseidon and Hephaestus had built for him. It wasn’t a bad environment; Poseidon wouldn’t have stood for a sea creature getting a less than adequate enclosure.

But that was just it. It was an enclosure meant for an animal, not a child. Percy couldn’t comprehend how Bessie must be feeling right now. Overwhelmed, most likely, but still insatiably curious about everything he’d been able to see but never explore over the years.

Bessie reached out a small clawed hand- gods, he was so small- and pressed his hand to the bricks that made up the side of the hearth.

In a flash that made Percy instinctually cover his eyes to shield himself from the sigh of a god appearing, Hestia was sitting at the hearthside, not far from Bessie. The child made a sound of surprise that sounded suspiciously like a moo, shying away from the newly appeared goddess.

Percy hadn’t expected to see Hestia today. He’d known she’d been in the throne room for the entire meeting, but she hadn’t taken on a physical form. From what Percy had seen over the years, this was typical for the goddess. Hestia seemed content with her decision to give up her seat on the council to Dionysus. She stayed out of the meetings and didn't interfere unless there was a great need for her to intervene.

But she was here now, looking like a young girl like she typically did. Hestia smiled at Bessie. When that caused Bessie to shy away even more, her smile flattered slightly, and she turned her attention toward Percy, who had been watching the interaction like a hawk. They locked eyes, and Hestia’s smile returned with full force. Percy thought Hestia looked incredibly pleased and a little bit smug as she drew her long veil closer around her.

There was no time to contemplate what the goddess might be thinking, as Bessie seemed to have enough of having the goddess so close to him. He slowly inched away until he had put some distance between them, then turned and ran away.

Straight toward Poseidon.

The rest of the gods seemed to have gotten over their collective shock, but that didn’t stop Poseidon from twitching as Bessie ran as fast as his little legs could carry him toward the sea god.

Only Percy’s trust in Poseidon allowed him to let Bessie continue doing whatever he was doing.

That newly blossomed and fragile trust in his father was something born from several trips to Atlantis which allowed him to spend more time with Poseidon than ever before. Actually being able to sit down and talk about the events of the two wars had cleared a lot of the tension between the two of them.

Percy had learned exactly how much Poseidon cared for him. The god had even declared Percy a prince of Atlantis, further proving to the demigod that his father was serious about the fact that he wasn’t going to drop Percy as soon as he was no longer useful in fulfilling a great prophecy or two.

It was Percy’s trust in the position he held in his father’s heart that allowed him to hold back from calling for Bessie to return to his side. He wouldn’t come to any harm by Poseidon’s hand, at least.

Bessie continued straight on, ignoring Poseidon and ducking around his legs to get to the throne, giggling with quiet awe-filled joy as he carefully inspected the barnacles and sea stars that encrusted the legs of sea god’s throne.

Thankfully, he didn’t try to touch it. Percy might have been able to sit on his father’s throne, but he doubted Bessie would be able to handle that sort of raw power coursing through him, and that was if Poseidon didn’t kill him for daring to touch in the first place.

‘I would die for you,’ Percy thought suddenly as he watched the kid crouch to examine a colorful piece of coral. The intensity of his thoughts startled him, but he didn’t find himself wanting to take them back. ‘‘I would kill for you. I’d fight the gods themselves if I had to,’ he thought very intently in Bessie’s direction, as if it would allow the boy to read his mind.

His dad made a strange, strangled coughing noise, and at least half of the council shifted uncomfortably. Percy was once again reminded of his audience, and of the fact that gods could read minds. He winced- he really didn’t need to give the council any more reasons to want him dead.

Thankfully though, none of them looked particularly murderous at the moment.

Hera was staring in Poseidon’s direction, but didn’t seem too upset. Demeter‘s eyes were closed as if she were trying to block out the world, and she looked incredibly… Long-suffering was probably the best way to describe it. Hades had looked even worse, his head in his hands as if nursing a blossoming headache.

A gleeful look had overtaken Ares’ face, which made Percy incredibly wary. He would have to keep an eye on the war god. If Ares thought he could use Bessie to get to Percy, he was sorely mistaken. Thankfully, Aphrodite had turned to glare her lover down. He looked cowed, at least for now.

The gods’ reactions made Percy feel strangely nervous. He’d never cared very much about their opinions of him before, since several of the gods in this room had been trying to kill him since before he even knew they existed, but this was different.

“Bessie,” he called quietly. “Come back over here, please.” Bessie obeyed, running back over to him and demanding to be held again. Percy obeyed. The child was a strange mix of hyper and clingy, flipping easily between clearly wanting to run around and see everything, and wanting to be held at all times.

“I wasn’t done looking!” Bessie complained when he was in Percy’s arms, but didn't seem too upset.

Hera finished glaring at Poseidon and cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “I believe,” she said, sounding like she was forcing herself to not scream, “That perhaps Perseus should take the child out of the room so we may discuss this new… development.”

That sounded like an excellent idea to Percy, especially since Bessie had flinched and cowered into his chest at the sound of the goddess’ voice. But of course no one asked him what he thought.

“I will not allow the boy to take the creature away,” Zeus rumbled in response.

“Bessie is clearly not a creature anymore,” Percy protested, only to be largely ignored.

“It would be unwise,” Athena agreed.

“Don’t be obtuse, husband,” Hera snapped at Zeus. “They won’t be allowed to leave the mountain. We must discuss this, and having the child in the room would be unwise.”

This last part was said derisively in Athena’s direction. Hera didn’t say having Percy in the room would also be unwise, but everyone could hear the implication, even Percy himself. A moment before he’d been all for leaving the room as soon as possible, but this made him hesitant to leave. If they were deciding Bessie’s fate then Percy wanted to be there to speak in the kid’s defense like he had the first time.

On the other hand, Percy knew what it was like to hear the gods debate whether or not you should die, and the last thing he wanted to do was subject Bessie to that.

His conflict must have been obvious on his face.

“Go,” his father’s voice echoed in his head. Percy met his father’s eyes and saw understanding there. “Take the child away from here. I will do my best to protect him.”

Percy wanted to protest that that wasn’t good enough, but before he could, his father’s voice came again.

“Percy,” His father sounded amused, even in his head. “I was able to prevent his destruction before, was I not? He is yours, so therefore he is mine. I will not allow harm to come to him if it distresses you so. Trust me, my son.”

An ancient, possessive part of Percy wanted to preen at his father acknowledging Bessie as his, but he refrained. He didn’t know what was going to happen in the next few hours, let alone the coming days and months. He shouldn’t be getting attached to the child so fast. The longing that had hit him so swiftly should’ve been alarming, but for some reason Percy couldn’t bring himself to care.

Maybe it was the fact that Bessie looked so much like Percy. Maybe it was the fact that Percy could recognize himself in Bessie, as a child who the gods had tried to kill before, and was still in active danger of being killed now.

Whatever it was, Percy couldn’t shake the feeling of possessiveness that had come over him, and he didn’t want to. Bessie was his.

He gave an awkward bow, hindered by the squirming child in his arms, and then turned to leave the room as quickly as he could. As he had half expected he would be, he was stopped by Athena objecting once more.

“I agree that the Ophiotaurus would not be in any danger from the boy, but there are plenty of others who would be tempted, even on Olympus.” She was leaning forward in her throne, eyes still trained unnervingly onto where Bessie was nestled in Percy’s arms. She looked too much like an owl who had locked onto their prey and was trying to figure out the best way to go in for the kill.

Hera waved a hand dismissively. “Perseus has proven to be more than capable of holding his own in a fight.”

Even against a god, went unspoken. Ares’ expression soured, and Hades, who had finally lifted his face from his hands, just looked exhausted. Neither of them reacted any more than that, though.

Athena sat back in her throne, seeming to concede the point. Percy felt himself relax slightly now that he was no longer pinned under her gaze. Zeus also seemed to have bent to his wife’s will, as he said nothing more. “Go,” his father urged him mentally once again, and this time Percy listened immediately, leaving before any of the other gods could come up with another reason to protest.

#mint's fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #bessie the ophiotaurus #percy jackson #accidental baby acquisition #rrverse #pjo poseidon #fluff #pjo athena #pjo bessie #pjo zeus #pjo hera #pjo #rr verse

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