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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.5 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens, Depression

Notes: As a heads up, this chapter includes a depiction of depression.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Read Chapter 5 on AO3

Read it here!

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Before Edge was willing to leave the house on what was likely a fool’s errand, he went back upstairs to peek in on Stretch. It was difficult to tell what was going on beneath the tangle of the blankets, but he seemed to be more relaxed from his tight, fetal curl of earlier. Probably sleeping and that was good.

Back in Underfell, his brother’s supposedly laziness used to drive him mad, but coming to the surface world brought a few humbling realizations. Depression was exhausting and so was low HP, and he no longer questioned the need for plenty of rest from any of those he cared about.

A closer inspection showed the blankets rising and falling in even rhythm, deep, slow breaths and Edge let out a near-silent, relieved sigh of his own, hoping that Stretch came out of the other side of sleep at least a little improved.

Edge hesitated at the bedside, wondering if he should leave a note. He decided against it. Stretch had his phone, he could text if he needed anything. Enough dithering about, whatever it was that Red was dragging him out of the house for must be at least a little important, the cameras Edge knew were hidden outside their house surely showed him what happened last night and—

Edge went stock-still on his way out the bedroom door, his hand still on the doorknob as suspicion along with sudden anger welled up in his soul. He closed the door with care and with slow deliberation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a curt text back to his brother, Tell me what this is about.

No response and just as he was about to shove his phone back into his pocket came, awful slow these days, bro. hurry up and you can see for yourself.

His phone creaked in his hand and Edge forcibly loosened his grip, shoving it back into his pocket before he could give in to the childish urge to throw it against a wall. It wouldn’t change a thing except give him the extra headache of being without a phone until he could get a replacement. Red would have his fun and there wasn’t an angry text message in existence that would change that. There was only one way for his niggling suspicions to be confirmed and that was to play the game.

But he would have a thing or three to say once they were done, of that he was certain. Edge snagged his keys on the way out the door and headed out to his car.

The address Red sent him wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive to the mostly abandoned neighborhoods of Old New Home. As he pulled up to the abandoned lot, Red stepped out of a shortcut on the curb, hands in his pockets and his semi-permanent grin wide.

It set Edge’s emotions into a roiling conflict. On one hand, he was very annoyed with his brother, verging on furious if this turned out the way he suspected, and on the other…

On the other, the last time he’d seen his brother, it had started with him lying on Edge’s kitchen floor, bleeding out in his arms, and ended with Sans carrying him away. He looked tired, but that was more normal than not with Red.

Interesting to note that he was not wearing a matching collar to Sans, which meant either Sans had no idea what a single collar relationship symbolized, or he knew all too well and Edge wasn’t taking that thought any further. Brotherly concern was one thing, but he was not interesting in knowing the minute details of their relationship, so long as they were happy.

Speaking of happiness, Red’s grin was practically gleeful as Edge got out of the car. “awful slow, there, bro. gimp leg holding you back?”

“Shut up,” Edge said automatically, even as he limped over with cane in hand, “and start telling me why you dragged me out here.”

The mocking pout was all the more disturbing for being on Red’s face. “what, no hug?”

“I’d attempt it to prove a point,” Edge told him dryly, “but I have enough injuries without you literally stabbing me in the back. What. Do. You. Want.”

Red only shook his head, sighing as if with deep disappointment, ah, he was in a cheerful mood, wasn’t he. “all those years of you harping on manners and i ain’t even getting a how’s it going, how you been feeling, looking a lot better without all your marrow leakin’ out. no love at all, boss?”

If he wanted to play, Edge did still remember the rules. “Very well. How is Sans doing? He looked well when he brought me your report the other day. Is he taking care of any more of your work?”

That smile slipped a fraction. “he’s doin’ fine.”

Edge only looked at him, brow bone raised. If Red wasn’t going to discuss the elephant in the room, Edge would be more than happy to allow it to step on his foot. “I’m only asking as the Director of Operations, literally your boss, as you so enjoy pointing out. I’m sure you understand that it’s important for me to know what work my people are handling. In case there are any liabilities.”

That wide grin turned faintly wry, Red’s crimson eye lights gleaming his amusement. “yeah, fuck you, boss. he’s doin’ real good. decided for some dumbass reason he needs to move in. stupid fucking cat is having a fit.”

“Ah, yes, fuck you, only the very best comeback in your arsenal for me, I’m sure. And I can’t even begin to imagine why he’d want to move into that garbage pit you call a home.” Edge crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at his brother. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Now, where is she?”

Red barked out a laugh. “oh, very good, little brother, already figured it out, didja.”

“Your puzzles haven’t improved since Junior Jumble, it was not that difficult.”

“not for you.” As far as he was out of his childhood years, hearing that rare tinge of pride in his brother’s voice still made him want to preen. Edge squashed the urge, following as Red jerked his head towards overgrown field behind him. “come on.”

The terrain would have been aggravating even with two perfectly working legs. Having one that sent up threatening warning twinges with every step made it all the worse and the soil was loose and muddy, hard for feet and the tip of his cane. Grimly, Edge follow his brother through the hip-deep weeds, taking sour enjoyment in the fact that they were nearly above his brother’s head.

“she was a bitch and a half to find, i tell you what,” Red said conversationally, shoving his way through the vegetation. Edge supposed he should be grateful Red hadn’t either gone all-out jungle trekking and brought a machete or worse, offered to shortcut them, if only to force Edge to refuse. The very thought of taking one of Red’s shortcuts made his gorge rise. His brother tromped on obliviously, or at least giving a remarkable appearance of it, “this little gal has some tricks. little chickie crossed a lotta roads to get here.”

“Care to explain how you even knew how to look for her?” Edge asked sardonically and it was just as well Red wasn’t looking at him, because Edge couldn’t hide his surprise when he answered.

“sure. i was the reason she was missing to begin with.”

Edge stopped, “What? What the fuck does that mean?!”

“keep your hair on, you want me to explain or not?” Red kept moving and after a moment, Edge followed him, hands clenched into painful fists to keep from reaching out and strangling him. All that would do was waste time and amuse Red all the more, and Edge was trying to keep his contributions to his brother’s sense of humor at a minimum. “motion sensor went off at your place in the wee hours last night.”

“Motion sensors that you are not supposed to have.”

“huh, strange thing,” Red mused aloud, “don’t remember anyone sayin’ i couldn’t.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“anywho, went over to check it out.” He paused, swearing under his breath as he picked several dried-up thistles from his jacket without even bothering to flick any in Edge’s direction and utterly ignoring Edge’s visibly simmering impatience. “and i saw some kinda animal with too much fur and not enough feathers to be in your coop. your little lady was outside in the fenced area and close to bein’ a midnight snack. so i scooped her up, but before i could deal with the toothy lil’ problem, your liability came swooping in like a fucking bare-ass bat out of hell, firing bones every which way. i shortcutted out before he could turn me into a kabob. didn’t really mean to take her along for the ride, but i didn’t exactly have a wide selection of options.” Red craned his head to look over his shoulder slyly, “’least the view wasn’t bad. he musta felt me getting ready to clean house and hightailed it down. honey bun has pretty good reaction time. better'n yours."

Edge ignored that. “And you didn’t bring her back afterward because?

Red only shrugged. “couldn’t. she weaseled her way loose the second we hit grass again and took off. spent half the night and all morning lookin’ for the little fucker. once i figured out where she was holed up, i messaged you.”

Edge exhaled slowly, struggling with his temper. “And why didn’t you simply tell me all this earlier? Stretch is sitting at home mourning her and you—"

“and if it turned out she got hit by a car or some shit?” Red countered sharply, “really wanted to go there? figured it’d be better to make sure she had her feathers intact before i got his hopes all up.”

That was surprisingly valid as excuses went, and yet, “You could have told me! At the very least I could have helped you search!”

“think so, little brother?” Red looked at him with enough scorn that Edge had to suppress a flinch, “or you think maybe you woulda told stretch, try and cheer him up a bit? i wanted you to look her over, make sure she's all right first, but hey, you go on and call him right now if that’s what you think is better.”

Edge ground his teeth and said nothing. All the arguing in the world couldn’t make Red understand that this might have been the last thin, straw that broke the back between Stretch and a very dark day. His brother coped with his issues in much different ways, in Edge’s experience usually copious amounts of alcohol. Perhaps Sans would have been able to explain it better. Or perhaps he would have already given in and slapped Red upside the head, it was a fair chance either way.

They kept up through the tall grass. It shushed around them in the light breeze, that rustle the only sound, surrounding them, and his car growing small and distant behind them. Red was panting when they came to a small clearing, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees as he panted out, “here we are.”

There, sitting happily in a trodden down area of grass, was Nugget. She cackled out a greeting, loud in the muffling hush of the grass, but concerningly she didn’t move when normally she would be dancing flirtatiously around Edge’s legs.

“Is she hurt?” Edge demanded. He reached for her, ready to carry her back to the car and straight to a veterinarian.

Red scratched at the back of his skull, “see, that’s the thing—”

Before Edge could pick her up, she let out a warning screech and tried to peck at his hands. He snatched them back, staring down at her in bemused shock.

“—she seems to be in a mood of some sort,” Red finished, “can’t figure it out, she ain’t bleeding and she hadta walk all the way over here on her own. i woulda brought her back to your place when i found her, but she was pretty insistent on stayin’ right there.”

Baffled, Edge ran a Check on her, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed to do on a chicken. Her HP was fine, and he thought it better not to question why she had a LV of 2. “She doesn’t seem hurt.”

He reached out again cautiously, ignoring her pinching little beak attacks against his gloves, and lifted her up. Beneath her, the grass was torn up and arranged into a sort of nest and inside it—

Red crouched down to peer into it, mouth twisting crookedly. “huh. where you figure she got the golf balls?”

“I have no idea.” Standing in a field questioning the intentions of a chicken was not where Edge ever expected to find himself.

Red reached in and pinched a small, white object between two sharpened fingertips, lifting it up from the pile to inspect it despite Nuggets increasingly loud squalls of betrayal. “there’s one egg, anyway. least she’s still layin’ for you.”

Tucking Nugget against his side to stop her squirms, Edge only stared at it, perplexed, and said slowly, “That isn’t one of her eggs. Nugget’s eggs are a pale green.”

“huh.” Red set it back gently into the pile of grass and golf balls, and scrubbed hand over his face. “lemme get this straight. your little mini liability found a random egg in a pile of golf balls and decided to settle in and play momma? that’s what we think’s happenin’ here?”

“Would you like me consult my crystal ball? I don’t speak chicken and you’re the one whose been spying on them.” Nugget was getting increasingly difficult to hold and her forlorn and angry cries were either too heartrending or too annoying for Red to ignore. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

“hang on to the little shit,” Red ordered, even as he stepped sideways into a shortcut. Leaving Edge alone in the tall grass with an increasingly distraught chicken.

“Hush, hush, come on now,” Edge soothed, gentle petting what he could reach of her feathers. Her loud clucks dissolved into unhappy coos, looking up at Edge with mournfully beady little eyes. How was this his life, Edge wondered, with weary amusement, catering to the whims of a bird that once he would have seen more as lunch than a pet. He gave her a gentle scritch underneath the chin and she crooned softly, her small eyes closing as she finally settled.

Only to squawk loudly as Red abruptly reappeared, “here we go.”

In his hands was a hanging basket with a spray of flowers only just beginning to bloom from the leafy tendrils. It was rather lovely, definitely expensive, and absolutely did not belong to Red.

“Where did you get that?” Edge demanded.

Red shrugged, “only thing that matters is they didn’t see me.” He dumped the flowers out onto the ground in a sad splatter of leaves and potting soil, then crouched down and began filling it with grass. “c’mon, the joke’s getting’ old and the crowd’s restless, let’s get the show on the road.”

Edge made a mental note to have a much nicer replacement sent discreetly to anyone who complained about a missing floral arrangement and started to crouch down to help. Only for his brother to brusquely wave him back.

“hold the fucking chicken, i got this,” Red snapped. He didn’t look up at Edge, stuffing grass into the basket furiously. “you been standing long enough, last thing you need is to get down here and not be able to get back up. bet that leg is singing an ava maria by now.”

Slowly, Edge straightened, watching silently as Red filled the basket and he didn’t protest his leg was fine, didn’t try to reassure him, only let him make a messy little nest in the basket. He added the golf balls, nestling them into the grass, then hesitated over the egg, finally giving Edge a side eye. “uh. so do we take it or leave it?”

“Take it,” Edge decided. “Perhaps Stretch can do some research and find out what kind of egg it is.”

“it’s your funeral, don’t blame me if you end up with pet crocodile or some shit.”

“Nonsense, crocodiles aren’t native to Ebott. Snakes, however—” He trailed off as Nugget renewed her struggles and leaned down to set her in the basket. She settled immediately, fluffing out her feathers and nestling in. “I suppose that’s that.”

“yep, take ‘er home.” Red stood and stretched, both hands pressed into the small of his back as the joints popped. “by the way, i saw you doing work on the coop. ain’t a bad idea, but you don’t have a fox problem, boss.” His brother straightened and tucked his hands into his pockets, his grin colder, sharper, and in that moment, he could have stepped dusty and damaged directly from Underfell. “’least not anymore.”

He was gone before Edge could even open his mouth to ask.

He was alone again in the tall grass with nothing but a contented chicken for company and his car a painfully long walk away, particularly when lugging said chicken along.

“Thank you, brother,” Edge said, with an equal measure of sincerity and sarcasm. There was nothing for it. Edge heaved up the basket in his free hand and started to struggle his way back through the field.

Time to head home. Home, yes, home, where Stretch was hopefully still asleep, and Edge could only hope that seeing Nugget would shake at least a little of his depression loose. The thought of even a faint smile from his love was enough to make the growing ache in his leg well worth it.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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diddlesanddoodles · 5 years ago

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Dumpling ch. 20

(Author’s notes: Posting this one early as a thank you to @thespicynoodle for all the amazing art work they did for Dumpling!)

To Yale’s credit, he did not immediately dismiss her claims of dead people in the walls as the stressed induced imaginings of a lunatic. He waited for her to calm down and then asked her gently, “What do you mean in the walls? Here in the castle?”

She nodded, fighting a fresh wave of tears. “I saw them...when...”

“S’alright. Don’t force yerself. Just take deep breaths and talk when yer good and ready, eh?”

After a moment, she had regained enough composure to begin to explain just how she had managed to come across the catacombs.

“Oh, Dumplin’. No need t’be scared of some dusty old bones,” Yale assured her. “The dead can’t hurt ya.”

“But...”

“Probably been there since the castle was first built thousands of years ago. This place has been destroyed and rebuilt and switched hands so many times over the centuries I wouldn’t be surprised t’know it use to be a human castle. Someone had t’ave built them tunnels after all.”

“Yale...” she said quietly. She was so afraid to say it out loud. “They spoke to me...”

He blinked in confusion and seemed to have trouble understanding exactly what she was trying to say. “The...bones?”

“I’m not crazy...” she sobbed, feeling the shame and fear of not being believed, but Yale hurriedly hushed her.

“Nah, nah. I believe ya!” he assured her, bending his head lower as if to show her his grinning face. “Just...never heard of bones talkin’ before.”

He watched her for a moment, studying her face. “Ya tell Maevis about it?”

She shook her heard as she wiped the moisture from her face with the collar of her smock.

“Just you...”

“Just me?” Yale asked pleasantly surprised. “Well, don’t that make me feel special.”

She could not help but smile at that and it was glorious how it seemed to break apart the heavy stone that seemed to have lodged inside her stomach. The welling of emotion seemed to be drying up and she began to feel a little more in control of herself.

“S’ what did they say?” he asked, propping his head up in his hand. “These chatty bones.”

“I couldn’t understand them at first,” she said. “But they were saying...the prophecy about the King? The one that… why everyone calls him the Gold King...”

Yale looked incredulous and just a bit disappointed. “That’s...odd. I would’ve thought they’d have something a little more interestin’ to say stead of that old thing.”

“But in my dream...the nightmare, I mean...” she said. “It said...he said that someone could see me and was coming...”

“Hm,” Yale pondered that, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That what has ya scared, eh? Something from the dark’s gonna come after ya?”

"I don’t know...maybe...”

“Well,” said the young giant. “I’ll say this. You’ve had a rough go of it fer as young as ya are. I’m not gonna tell ya yer wrong to be scared, ‘cause if I were ya, I’d be terrified all the time. But if ya can believe anything, ya can believe me in this…"

He pinched her face gently between two fingers. “I ain’t gonna let anything bad happen to ya.”

She did believe him, but even that wasn’t enough to fully erase the questions and concerns. As though sensing her doubt, he squished her face lightly and despite her somber mood,

Nenani could not keep the giggle from escaping. Yale hummed, satisfied.

“Have I ever told you about my family or how I started here?” he asked. Nenani shook her head, still smiling, as she pushed his fingers away. He gave her no paused and scooped her up then settled into his bunk himself. One he made himself comfortable, he sat her down on one of his bent knees. “Well, there’s me Mum. Dad passed some years ago when I was small, around yer age. I’m the oldest and only son and then there’re m’ sisters. I’ve got six younger sisters, lass. Six! Lots of hungry lil’uns running round, gettin’ into scapes and pullin’ hair. I had t’be there fer ‘im when I was still a babe myself.”

Yale paused, lost in thought, and then seemed to snap back to attention. He smiled warmly at her. “And ya remind me a whole lot of ‘em. Th’way they were back then. Suppose that might be why I took such a likin’ t’ya right after I first caught ya.”

He poked her in the belly, grinning when he was able to weasel another giggle from her.

“It was real rough after dad died. Real tough. Mum and me were at it alone just the two of us fer a long while, just trying to keep food in the house and a fire lit. I...didn’t handle it well. Started stealin’ and being a lil shit and makin’ hard fer Mum.” He paused to take a long rejuvenating breath. “I know how hard life can get when ya don’t have just one of yer folks around and had I lost Mum too...I don’t know what I’d done. I was a mess back then. Worried Mum sick that I’d end up arrested or worse. So she got me a job here as a tenderfoot under Farris since he had a reputation fer straightenin’ out snot nosed hooligans like me. M’first day I called Farris fat and he punched me in the face.”

Seeing Nenani’s incredulous expression, Yale laughed. “Oh yeh, I did. It took some time, but he managed to straighten me out right. Hatin’ him fer it fer a while too. But once he saw that I wasn’t entirely hopeless and actually had a brain, he made me his assistant and started teachin’ me about the spices and plants. Gave me responsibilities. A purpose. A direction t’my life that I didn’t have before. And in a lot of ways he saved m’life too. And m’family’s. S’why he call yell and scream and curse at me all he wants all day long and I’ll still be singin’ his praises till the day I’m six feet under the dirt. He made me family.”

“...but don’t you miss your Mom and sisters?”

“A’course! Oh, I write to’ em when I can,” Yale said. “Four of m’sisters are married with lil’uns of their own now. I try to visit ‘em just before th’ winter solstice, but I haven’t been in a long while. Last letter I wrote t’my Mum was just after you came to us actually. Wanna know what she said?”

“What?”

“Well, first she scolded me fer makin’ ya think we were gonna eat ya and makin’ ya cry, but then she also reminded me to remember what it was like right after Dad passed and all that hurt I had inside and how scared I was. She said imagine if ya were one of my lil’ sisters goin’ through all what ya were and to make ya feel like ya had a safe place to just be to get through that hurt.”

He smiled sadly at her and for a moment, he looked much older than he was and she could see the faint traces of his own trauma etched into the lines of his face.

“Now, I know we ain’t ya blood family and maybe we’re not the best role models fer a wee lass, but I think we’re an alright substitution. We do in a pinch, eh?”

Nenani belatedly realized she was crying again, but the fuel that was feeding the tears was an entirely different emotion. “So ya don’t need to be scared no more.”

Gingerly, Yale wiped her cheeks with a corner of his apron. His smile was so comforting to Nenani that she could feel the last flecks of her night terror dissipating and leaving her with a solid sense of warmth and security. Wordlessly, Yale plucked her up again and settled down against his pillow before placing her on his chest and draping one hand over her shoulders and back, rubbing lightly. He began to sing…

Far away in the blue hill valley

Therein lies a weeping willow tree

Its bark is silver

and the leaves are golden

But I care for none of these

Don’t cry my darling

For I am here with you

Though you can no longer see me

I’ll be with you

In the blue hill valley

Sleeping with you

Underneath that weeping willow tree

…………………………………………..

When she woke the next morning, light was spilling through the open curtain to the barracks and she was confused to find that she was all alone. All around her, the other bunks were empty with clear evidence that they had been slept in, but no giants. She found it very odd that she had not been awoken with the rest of them, but as she thought about it further, she decided not to question it and enjoy the relative quiet and comfortable place on Yale’s pillow. However, just as she was drifting back to sleep, the light from the kitchens flickered and she opened her eyes to see Farris standing next to the bed, looking down at her with an amused smirk.

“Enjoy yer pitty sleep, Dumplin’?” he asked. She stretched and tried to bury herself further into plush bedding while making an incoherent mewling sound that translated roughly to ‘I still wanna sleep’. Farris laughed and slapped the wooden support of the bunk above. “Yer burnin’ the mornin’ away, lass. C’mon, up with ya. Yer with me today.”

She mumbled something in reply, but her words muffled by the pillow.

“Well, suit yerself,” Farris replied, walking back through the curtains and yelling back to her, “Ya just wont be gettin’ any breakfast then.”

Nenani pushed herself upright, strands of wild frizzled hair draping over her face and she hollered back. “No! Wait! I want breakfast!”

Nenani rolled down the pillow and hastily clambered down the side of the bunk and stopped just outside the barracks entryway where Farris’s boots blocked her path. He looked down at her expectantly and raised an eyebrow. “Yer lookin’ a lil’ bushy there, lil’un.”

Nenani ran her hands over her head and tried to brush down her wild hair. She had not braided it the day before as she normally did to keep it neat as Lolly had shown her, and having slept with it unbound had left her with quite a mane. Farris watched her try to tame her hair for a moment before shaking his head and bending down, crooking his finger at her and trying not to laugh. “C’mon, lass. Ya can try and manage that thing over yer porridge.”

Farris sat her on the long table with a small helping of porridge and handed a note off to a footman before disappearing into the spice pantry. Kol and Quinn were in the throws of the last big push for the morning’s baking and had no time for morning greetings as servants and footmen flooded in to collect their offerings onto trays and into baskets for the upstairs tables. Herit was on pit duty and still wore his torn shirt, now repaired, but not very well.

“Feeling better?” he asked, smiling at her despite the arduousness of his task.

“Yeah, a lot,” she replied, flushing a little in embarrassment. “It was just a nightmare. Sorry for screaming...”

“I had real bad nightmare once,” Herit told her. “I dreamed that m’ old Gran visited me here and she started yelling at me fer not puttin’ enough sultanas in the scones like she’d taught me,” he said. “Then she turned into Farris, but still had on Gran’s frock and I ended up brunin’ the scones.”

Nenani snorted into her porridge, which Herit deemed a victory, but his smug grin dropped as soon as Farris exited the spice pantry. The spice master pinned the younger Vhasshalan with a warning eye. “I don’t wanna be hearin’ nothin’ about me wearin’ yer Nan’s frock again, Herit.”

“Aye, boss.”

“Good lad. Keep that spit going now, no slackin’. It’ll put some strength into them beans ya call arms.”

Red in the face with both embarrassment and exertion, Herit turned his attention back to turning the iron handle of the spit. A fat boar, just barely showing any color, rotated slowly over the fire. Nenani ate her breakfast, watching the comings and goings of the kitchen in full swing. When no one was looking, Kol ran over and slipped her a piece of sweet roll and then gave the remaining portion to Herit, who gratefully stuffed it into his mouth. When Farris walked back into the main kitchen, the young giant hurriedly began to turn the spit faster to make it appear that nothing was amiss while trying to quickly chew and swallow.

Farris had began to organized a selection of various cloth covered pots and small satchels filled with herbs, placing the lot of them in a basket. Once satisfied, he set a kettle onto to the fire and then took a moment to check the rotating boar. He hummed disapprovingly and turned his head to bark at Herit that he was turning too fast.

“Yer gonna drop dead at that pace,” he warned. “Steady, boy.”

“Avery makes this look so easy...” Herit grunted, wincing as he went. “No wonder he’s built like a bull.”

“Let that be a lesson to put ya off from fightin’ in my kitchen,” Farris laughed. “Think about yer sore arms next time ya get the urge to throw a punch.”

“What’s this about fighting?” Nenani’s head turned at hearing the familiar female voice and she smiled brightly as Lolly stepped down from the servants stairway and into the kitchen.

“Nothing, lass,” Farris assured her. “The tenderfoots got into it last night. Gjerk’s got a busted lip, but that’d be the worst of it.”

Lolly looked Herit up and down with a critical eye. She did not seem impressed. “Brawling at your age? Really. Your mother would swat you.”

“Already did it fer her,” Farris quipped proudly. “Pit duty fer that one today, then Gjerk’s turn tomorrow. A few hours turnin’ a boar will do the trick nicely.”

“I suppose it would,” Lolly said approvingly before turning her attention to Nenani who was standing near the edge of the table. She crouched down, smiling brightly and gently took each of Nenani’s hands in hers, playfully swinging them to and fro. “But I’ve come to check on this one. How are you, my darling?”

“I’m doing good,” Nenani said. She had not seen Lolly very much at all since first arriving in Vhasshal as her duties kept her very busy and it made her that much happier to see her again. Lolly and the other lady servants had been so charitable to her and she had never forgotten that kindness. Lolly laughed lightly, turning her attention to Nenani’s wild mane of unkempt hair. “What are we going to do with all this? Haven’t you been keeping it tied up like I taught you?”

“I have, I promise,” she assured Lolly. “But I didn’t yesterday. I...forgot.”

“She had quite th’adventure yesterday,” Farris added. “Suppose ya heard all about the Ibronian.”

“Creag?” Lolly asked, saying his name almost like a curse. She scowled at the mentioning of it as though it left a sour and unpleasant taste in her mouth. “Yes, I am regretfully very familiar with his person.”

“S’ya hear about him tyrin’ t’kill Jae, then?”

“I did,” Lolly said, looking genuinely concerned. A stark contrast to how Nenani recalled the last time she had spoken about the King’s ward. “He isn’t hurt is he?”

“Nah, the brat’s still in one piece,” Farris assured her. He jerked his head down in gesture towards Nenani. “That one was with ‘im when the Ibrinoan went after ‘im though.”

Lolly’s eyes grew wide.

“What? No!” Lolly turned her attention back to Nenani, seeming to be searching for some evidence of injury or trauma. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? Ah! That bastard, I could skin him.”

“Oh, ho-ho!” Farris laughed, eyes bright with mirth at Lolly’s verbal slippage. “Language, lass!”

“Oh, shut it, Farris. I’m sure she’s heard far worse down here with you lot.”

“Oh, aye,” he agreed. “That she has. But narry ya worry. He wasn’t interested in that one anyway. They’re both fine and unharmed. Rattled a bit maybe, but nothing more. Did manage to lose her marker though.”

“Oh, did she,” Nenani felt her face flush as Lolly hummed thoughtfully, scanning her over with a critical eye. “Well, I see you’ve gotten her a new one.”

“Keral found her wanderin’ the halls alone,” Farris explained as he retold the story of the prior day’s escapades. He seemed to have been able to find the humor in it and didn’t seem to be at all angry and she was very grateful for that. “And ya know how he gets with ‘em.”

“Oh, you haven’t any standing this that defense,” Lolly reprimanded. “You’re just as terrible. You all had this one absolutely petrified. Took us over an hour to convince her she was safe and no one was actually going to eat her.”

Farris just shrugged noncommittally. He was not denying the accusation.

“Best way to keep wayward humans from wandering onto the grounds is t’make ‘em too scared to even try,” he said. “’Course that was before I decided I’d keep her. Then she caught the reap.”

Lolly’s eyes turned sad for a moment and she nodded knowingly.

“So it’s true then?” he asked her suddenly, bringing the topic back to Creag. “He’s bein’ sent off?”

“Yes,” she said. “He was escorted to the border this morning.”

“Suppose the Queen’s not too happy about that.”

“It was her idea,” Lolly replied. “His majesty was going to have him serve a small sentence and return back to her service, but she recommended that he be sent back home.”

“Really? Well, I find that shockin’.”

“I know what people have been saying about her. And while I don’t think she has not been deserving of some of it, Queen Rosanna is making an effort to conform to our ways.”

“The humans ya mean.”

“Yes. She’s been very receptive to my and the other ladies advice when we speak of their virtues. The war is over. These people are broken and lost and mean no harm to us. I think we finally began to get through to her and I believe that might have been what angered Creag into action.”

“That’s why he went after Jae? ‘Cause he was pissed his mistress might be changin’ her tune?”

“I don’t know this for a fact,” Lolly replied. “But the day before yesterday was when I suggested she try and make amends with Jae or at the very least allow him to properly apologize for his behavior. As a good faith gesture to the King at the very least. His majesty has been worried that Jae hasn’t come to see him in so long. Since the wedding, I believe. She must have noticed her new husband was not happy about that. And then yesterday Creag did what he did. And now here we are speaking of it.”

Farris leaned against wall, humming contemplatively. “Hm.”

“I was actually hoping to speak with Jae,” Lolly said, craning her head looking about the room. “He is here is he not?”

“Aye,” Farris replied with a nod. “King’s orders were to keep ‘im down here till he collected the brat himself. Bart’s puttin’ ‘im to some weed pullin’ out in the yard. Gotta keep them little hands busy or they’ll find their own trouble.”

“Ah, good. I will go to him later,” she said, running her fingers over the brush of Nenani’s hair. “For now, though, I think I need to fix this one’s hair before she starts attracting birds.”

“Attracting birds?” Nenani asked bewildered. Farris grinned at them both.

“She’s sayin’ birds might wanna start buildin’ their nests in yer hair,” he chuckled. “If they haven’t already.”

Nenani opened her mouth to protest, but could not come up with an adequate response.

“Hm,” Lolly mused, again studying the whole of Nenani’s person. “Maybe a bath first and a change of clothes. Farris, could I trouble you for-”

“Already ahead of ya, lass,” Farris replied, pulling the boiling kettle from the fire and setting it down atop a wooden trivet. “I’ve got a basin ready in the pantry and her spare clothes are in the chest on the shelf just there.”

Lolly nodded approvingly. She gathered Nenani up and tucked her into the crook of one arm and reached for the kettle with her free hand. “If I didn’t know any better, Farris, I’d say you’re starting to become quite good at this.”

“Ain’t nothing to knowin’ when someone needs a bath, lass,” he laughed.

“I do not stink!” Nenani snapped, incredulous.

Farris did not reply and Herit just laughed.

…………………………………….

She had forgotten how nice a hot bath felt, especially as the weather was increasingly cold and rainy. The basin was quite large and its normally use was for pealing giant rhotas, which were just very large potatoes. So she had plenty of room to splash about and Lolly even indulged her and allowed her a few minutes of free play before getting down to the business of actually washing. Her hair, as Lolly warned her, was a beast to get washed and untangled. But at last, Lolly exited the spice pantry with a clean and brushed Nenani. Hair neatly plaited and tied.

“I’ll talk with the girls about making you some more clothes,” she muttered as she rummaged through the small chest of clothes, all of which had been made by her and her fellow lady servants. “You’ll be growing out of these ones in no time. And a scarf too, I think. And some boots, as well. These slippers are starting to wear awfully thin and – oh! Jae there you are! I had hoped to...why are you all wet?”

Jae had wordlessly entered the kitchens, red faced and fuming. And completely soaked from his head to his toes. Out in the courtyard, Bart was hysterically laughing. Upon hearing Lolly, both Quinn and Kol glanced over and upon seeing the boy’s sorry state, they too let lose a bout of hearty laughter.

“Yer lookin’ like a drowned rat!”

“Fuck off,” Jae growled.

“What happened?” Nenani asked.

“The gutter was clogged,” he growled, not really looking anyone in the face. “I unclogged it.”

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“No,” Jae replied. “Not really...”

Jae leaped easily down the few steps and into the kitchen proper and made a bee line towards the hearth, ostensibly to warm himself up. Lolly stopped him, blocking his path with her foot.

“You need to change out of those clothes, young man. You’ll catch sick.”

“Fantastic,” Jae replied flatly, glaring up at the large woman. “But it doesn’t matter anyway since I haven’t any spare clothes.”

“You have plenty in your room,” Lolly replied, returning his glare. “You remember, don’t you? Your room? The one you haven’t even seen in weeks?”

“Well I can’t get to them now,” Jae snapped, raising his voice and becoming visibly agitated. “Warren says I can’t leave till he says so. So here I’m staying. In wet clothes. Because fuck it!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, son,” Lolly shook her head disapprovingly. “What has gotten into you of late? You disappear for weeks at a time and when you do show up you’re in the Library and you don’t speak to anyone-”

“You mean I don’t speak to you,” he spat.

“Or the King,” Lolly spat back. “Do you have any idea just how worried he’s been?”

“Obviously not enough to actually come and find me!” Jae yelled angrily, his voice breaking. “You tell me that I’m wrong for not going to him? Why did he never come to check to see if I was okay? Because I’m the joke. Oh let’s have a big laugh at Jae! Fucking idiot can’t do anything right. It’s so funny how he got drunk and spilled gravy on the Queen! So embarrassing for him. Let’s laugh at the poor fucking orphan boy who can’t even sleep in his own damn room anymore because some boulder headed lunatic thinks I’m somehow going to kill Vhasshalan’s unborn heir. Isn’t that fucking hilarious!”

No one was laughing anymore and Herit’s winding of the spit had slowed almost to a stop. Both Quinn and Kol were frozen and staring, bowls of dough stopped mid-knead. From the outside courtyard, Yale and Avery poked their heads inside, curious at the commotion.

“Jae,” Lolly said softly, her words painted with faint concern. “None of that is true...”

“You wanna know why I spend so much time up in the tower with Barnaby and Maevis?” he asked, breathless with emotion and anger and pain. “BECAUSE THEY DON’T MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I’ A FUCKING IDIOT!”

“Alright,” Farris snapped, appearing from behind Lolly. He glowered down at the human boy and reached down to sweep Jae up in his two calloused hands, not very gently either. “That’s enough of yer bellyaching, ya lil’shit.”

Jae was not happy at all as he was lifted off of the ground and he struggled violently, tears blurring his vision. “Farris, I swear to the fucking Gods if you don’t put me down right now-!”

Farris deftly grasped the boy’s face between his fingers, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “You’ll be quiet is what yer gonna be, boy. Do you understand me?”

Jae’s breathed hard through his nose, nostrils flaring. He glared into the kitchen master’s face, but did not say anything. Farris brought his face closer to Jae’s and lowered his voice in warning. “I said...do you understand?”

Jae jerked his head in something akin to a nod. Satisfied, Farris tucked Jae under one arm and turned to Lolly. “We don’t have anything fer ‘im to change into. Ya mind fetchin’ him something, lass?”

Lolly looked as though she wanted to say something, but stopped herself. She spared one sad glance towards Jae before nodding to Farris. “I can do that. I won’t be long.”

As Lolly turned to rush up the servants entrance stair well, Farris turned and disappeared into the spice pantry and closed the door behind him.

………………………….

Nenani sat quietly on the table, staring at the green door and worried. Since she first met Jae, she had sensed a sadness about him, hidden under his jokes and laughter. And it made her incredibly sad to know her friend had been hurting and not once had she tried to help him.

She was a terrible friend and it made her feel wretched.

“Cheer up, Dumplin’,” Yale told her as he took an empty seat near her. “Jae will be fine.”

“He was really sad,” Nenani answered back without looking away from the green door. Her dejected and sad frown gave Yale pause, and he reached out nudged her shoulder. When she turned her doleful eyes to him, he sighed.

“Remember what I told ya last night?” he asked her. She nodded. “Well, he’s going through that hurt too. Best thing ya can do fer ‘im to keep being his friend, eh? He thinks just ‘cause we give ‘im a hard time means we ain’t ‘is friends, but it ain’t true. Don’t gotta be ‘round here long before ya realize we haze all the tenderfoots. He’s just growin’ up and confused. Old enough to know some things and too young to know anything else. He ain’t the same lil’ urchin the King dragged back from the moors all them years ago. When ya get t’be around his age you’ll understand. The time between being a kid and becoming an adult is really hard and confusing.”

“...will I be that angry?” she asked, not entirely following.

“I’m ain’t no prophet,” Yale shrugged. “But maybe. Ya both have a lot in common, losing yer folks young. That pain can make ya real angry if ya don’t know what t’do with it.”

She did not find that to be much consolation, but she nodded anyway. Lolly returned a little over twenty minutes later with a small bundle and without any greetings to the others, she went straight for the green door and knocked lightly.

“It’s me, Farris,” she said. “I have his clothes.”

The door opened a crack and there were some words exchanged that were too quiet for anyone else to hear. Finally, Lolly nodded and turned back towards the stairway as the green door closed shut once more.

Yale’s attempt at distraction was to have Nenani name all the herbs and vegetables as he went about his work prepping for the afternoon luncheon. Avery made himself a nuisance of himself by walking near their work table every so often and try to convince her that she was mispronouncing the names.

“It’s not pars-lee, lass. It’s pear-shly.”

“No it’s not,” she said as he walked away. “Pars-lee.”

“Pear-shly!” he yelled back with a cheeky grin.

He would repeat the exercise whenever he walked by and over the course of a half hour, its scope extended beyond just the items that they were working with to any random fruit, herb, or vegetable. Yale was no help and allowed the torment, finding it too amusing.

“Tay-mat-a,” Avery quipped as he walked by with a basket of venison heads to be boiled down, heading out into the courtyard.

“Tomato!” Nenani yelled back at him.

Avery poked his head back inside and answered back, “Poy-ta-ta!”

“POTATO!”

From her vantage point, she could just see Avery’s back as he turned towards the courtyard, but he stopped and turned completely around, hurrying back into the kitchen. He plopped his basket of deer heads onto a counter and peeked back through the archway.

Yale stared at his fellow cook bewildered. “What’s all this?”

“The King’s in the courtyard,” Avery replied in a hushed whisper.

Yale started. “What now?”

“The King!” Avery turned to look at Yale with fervent eyes, a mixture of excitement and confusion. “He’s in the yard right now!”

Yale was immediately on his feet and rushed to the archway, peeking out curiously. Nenani saw every muscle in the black haired giant’s body stiffen.

“Oh, fuck. He is.”

“I wasn’t lying!” Avery protested, still in a hushed whisper.

“Well so much’a what comes outta yer gob is rubbish,” Yale countered. “I had t’make sure.”

“Ah, go fuck yerself, Yale.”

“Not in front of the King, I ain’t!”

Avery looked like he wanted stay mad, but his scowl broke and he snickered. Something outside caught both their attentions and they scrambled away from the doorway and stood stiffly to the side. A Vhasshalan guard, dressed in the same type of boiled leather armor as captain Rheil, walked through. He scanned the kitchen, eyes falling to all persons inside.

“Over here please, gentleman,” he said to Avery and Yale, gesturing with a jerk of his head for them to stand off to the side and away from the door. Both cooks moved with alacrity and stood straight and stiff. He pointed to Herit. “You, over here too.”

Herit looked panicked. “B-but...but I can’t stop spinning the spit sir, it’ll burn!”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, lad.”

Poor Herit was shaking, looking between the guard and the green door and knowing very well what Farris would have to say of he saw Herit walk away from pit duty. Guard's orders or none. With extreme reluctance, Herit stepped away and moved to stand next to Avery and Yale. The guard spotted Nenani on the table and did a double take, blinking. “Ah...uh, y-you’re fine there, human.”

“Oh...okay,” she replied awkwardly. There wasn’t many places she would have been able to go in any case. She couldn’t climb table legs like Jae.

“William, please,” said King Warren as he stepped into the kitchen. The air seemed thinner suddenly as everyone seemed to breath in all at once. He was much as Nenani remembered him, but he was dressed more formally than she had ever seen and his hair had actually been pulled back into a plait. “These men have plenty to do without us interrupting them. Please, continue as you were. I don’t wish to distract you from your duties.”

The King nodded to each of the kitchen staff present and he eyes fell to Nenani and he smiled warmly. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, little ma’am. I do hope these fine fellows have been taking good care of you.”

All of a sudden, Nenani lost all sense of what she should be doing with her hands and her face felt hot. She nodded.

“A-are you here to see Jae?” She asked, hoping she wasn’t stepping out of line. She suddenly realized she had not curtsied. Did she need to curtsy? How did one curtsy again?

“I am,” he replied with no inflection of irritation. “I’ve come to collect him, actually.”

There was a part of her that was aware that she was being impertinent and she really just should remain silent, but she decided it was worth the risk. “He’s been really sad. But he won’t say it. And he’s really angry too, because he’s hurting. I think...I think he misses how things were before the wedding. Uh, your majesty.”

She bobbed awkwardly in a pathetic attempt at a curtsy. Her heart thrummed alarmingly in her chest, hoping she had not insulted the King or spoke out of turn. But the King did not look angry at all. He looked sad in the same way she had seen Jae look sad.

“Thank you,” he told her, voice gentle and he sounded sincere. “Thank you for taking care of him. He is very dear to me.”

“You should tell him,” she said. “It would mean more if you told him.”

The King nodded thankfully before turning his attention to the green door. As though sensing, his Majesty’s presence, Farris pushed the door open and stepped through. He bent down in a shallow bow to King Warren. No words were spoken as the King walked to the door, giving Farris a nod before entering. Farris closed the door behind the monarch and stepped aside as the guard took post in front. The kitchen master gave the guard a once over and snorted as he moved away. A glance to his left and upon seeing the boar over the fire standing still, jerked his head towards Herit who was decidedly NOT at the hearth.

“GET YER ARSE BACK ON THAT SPIT!”

Herit leaped back to his place and began to spin in earnest, sweating and panicked. “S-sorry!”

Farris loomed over poor Herit, laying into him, but Nenani’s attention was drawn away as she was suddenly swept up and carried out through the archway.

“W-what?” Nenani looked up to see Avery’s face. He grinned down at her.

“Got a job fer ya, Dumplin’,” he told her.

“What job?” she asked, frowning with suspicion. He walked along the side of the wall to a small window set near the ground. It was the window that looked into the spice pantry. He sat her down carefully and stepped back. She looked at him confused. “What?”

“See what the King’s sayin’,” he whispered. “Yer small enough no one’s gonna notice ya.”

“I-I don’t wanna get in trouble!” She replied, matching his hushed whisper.

“Ya wont!” he assured her before slipping back inside the kitchens.

She stared incredulously at the spot where Avery had been and then looked around the courtyard to find it quite empty. Bart and Gjerk were no where to be seen and neither was anyone else. Her ears prickled as she picked up the faint sound of the King’s voice and she turned to the window. It was dirty and obscured by weeds. Careful and trying not to make a sounds, she knelt down near the edge of the window and listened.

“Are you going to speak to me at all?” the King asked.

She wiped some of the dirt from the window and through it, she could see Jae sitting next to the basin, his hair wet, but now dressed in dry clothing. His eyes were red as though he had been crying.

“Jae, I know you’ve been avoiding me these last weeks. But this silence is not helping. I cannot fix if I do not know what is wrong.”

“I just want to be left alone,” Jae replied, his voice raw. “I know your busy.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make time for you. Gods above, I rely on you to give me an excuse not to have to speak with Lord Eldherst. I’ve had to sit through seventeen meetings with that old fart. He is convinced that the south moor would be the perfect spot to erect the new armory.”

Jae’s morose face cracked a smile. “Heh. Serves you right.”

The King seemed to take heart in his ward’s small smile. “Please tell me what you want of me.”

Jae’s smile faded and he looked down at his feet, pained. “I don’t need anything from you that you’ve not already given me. I know...I know I’ve been a brat. I haven’t exactly made this marriage thing easy for you and I’m sorry for what happened at the wedding. I thought it would be easier for me to just...not be around while you and the Queen...y’know. Got to know each other?”

The King looked tired and as Jae spoke, he seemed to wilt. “Rosanna does not hate you, Jae, if that what you fear. She wants a chance to apologize to you properly.”

“Why? What does she have to apologize for?”

“For driving you away. From me.” Jae had spent most of the conversation staring at his feet, but upon hearing that, he looked up. “You are very dear to me, Jae. I owe you so much that I could never put into words and will be in debt to you for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything Warren,” Jae snapped. “I was gonna die out there if you hadn’t found me. You took me in, clothed and fed me, you even taught me to read! I don’t want to be a burden or to get in the way. I don’t feel like there’s a place for me here anymore. So, it’s just easier this way.”

The King crouched down so as to be eye level with the human. “Why would you ever think you’re in the way?”

“You’re gonna have a kid soon,” Jae replied, scrubbing fiercely at his leaking eyes. “There isn’t a place for me by your side anymore. I...I k-know I’m not...I’m not your son, so...”

Jae’s words broke and he shook with real effort to hold back his emotions. King Warren looked awestruck and horrified. Then without a word, he reached out his arms and wrapped them around Jae, drawing the sobbing youth into him and tucking him into the crook of his shoulder.

“What would make you ever believe that?” the King demanded. “Of course you are my son. From the moment we left those moors, I took on that mantle and I will never betray that vow. You are my son, Jae. And I love you dearly.”

Jae’s eyes were wide and he shook as he began to cry and hiccup. His face disappeared as he buried it into the King’s shoulder.

“Of course you are, you daft boy!” the king answered, though Nenani did not hear the question. She felt her cheeks and there were wet. But she was not sad. She felt happy and relieved and looked down at the King of Vhasshal, an imposing giant with the power of an entire kingdom behind him. And there was Jae. A human. Small and penniless. And she felt so happy for them.

The back of her shirt was abruptly yanked upwards and she was swept up from her spot on the ground and lifted high into the air. A warn calloused hand wrapped around her middle and she found herself the focus of a very unamused Farris. “Just what in seven hells d’ya think yer doin’?”

“Nothing...” she replied meekly.

“Nothing,” he echoed back, clearly seeing through her. “’Nothing’ she says. First yer caught stealin’ from th’ King and now I catch ya spyin’ on ‘im? Yer sure determined to see them dungeons, ain’t ya, Dumplin’?”

“No!” she said, worried now. “I didn’t...I wasn’t! It...it was Avery’s idea!”

Farris covered her with his hand, muffling her cries of protest and shook his head with a long suffering sigh. “Yer hopeless, lass. Right ‘n properly hopeless.”

#Dumpling #fantasy story #gt #g/t #giant #tiny #Vhasshal #KING OF VHASSHAL #warren #jae #farris #nenani #yale #avery #lolly #angst

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whirlybirbs · 6 years ago

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how about some protective arthur???? soft man lookin out for his miss turner?????

a/n: micah bell is a dick fart, pass it on. have some arthur bein’ arthur, some protective boy, and some smoooooooochin’ bc i love these soft idiots. here’s the masterlist!

You do not like Micah Bell.

You do not trust Micah Bell, you do not go near Micah Bell.

Yet, somehow, the leech always manages to find his way to you – he’s like a shadow, just around every corner you turn with something smart to say.

(You’d liked it better at camp without him there. His ‘return’ was met with a quieted amount of disdain, it seems. No one wanted to openly admit distrust to the conniving weasel – though you had called the kettle black to Hosea the moment the outlaw had stepped back into the camp he’d deserted for weeks.

“It seems you and your beau,” Hosea had said, leaning back and watching Micah haul his things into a nearby tent, “Have the same sentiments.”

Arthur is good with things like that – he’s a good judge of character with strong intuition and an honest loyalty to his people. If you were able to pin Micah down as someone you didn’t trust, you wondered how Arthur felt.)

You’re wrist deep in laundry when he clears his throat above you. You glance up, only for a second, and at the sight of his boots duck your head down again.

“Leave me be, Micah.”

“Aw,” he chirps, “An’ here I was, gunna ask about the lil’ bit a news a birdie told me this mornin’.”

You say nothing, only dig your hands in deeper to the pail and scrub.

“I heard,” he kicks off from his spot by the tent’s post, “That you and our lovely, idiot cowpoke are… what’s the phrase? ‘Sweet’ on one another… If y’ask me, that’s just a more genteel way t’ say you’re fucking but –”

“Mr. Bell,” you snap, “If you don’t mind –”

“There she is,” his smile grows at your heated posture, squatting down, “Y’know, that damn near broke my lil’ heart – pretty thing like you, shackled up t’ an idiot like Morgan –”

You slap him so hard his head reels.

The whole camp falls silent at the sound – you’re like an angry cougar, teeth gritted and nostrils flared. Micah, when he turns his head back around and muscles his jaw, has a hand-shaped mark across his cheek.

“Watch your mouth, Mr. Bell.”

“You best watch your back, Miss Turner –”

“Micah,” it’s the booming voice of Arthur now, boots trampling the dirt as he hauls himself over with hurried strides, “Y’ got ten seconds t’ make yerself scarce before I put a bullet between yo’ eyes.”

You don’t back down. Your stare is mean and angry and it’s like fire – Micah, despite his pride, stands and waves off Arthur.

“Calm down, calm down, cowpoke –”

“Shut up, Micah.”

“I’ll give it t’ ya, Morgan,” Micah seethes as he backs away, “She must be fun in bed.”

You have to stop Arthur then as you’re sure he’s going to snap Micah’s damn neck with his bare hands. You drive yourself between them both before they begin to lock antlers like bucks in the wild – you press your palms to Arthur’s chest, mindful of the wound there, while speaking quickly.

“He ain’t worth it, Arthur.”

“Listen t’ yer girl, Arthur.”

Arthur snarls, fists balled tight at his sides. “You even breathe near her again, Micah, I swear –”

“I’d like t’ see you try, old man.”

“Enough!” you snap, turning around so fast you nearly give yourself whip lash. Your voice hikes high and sharp in a way Arthur had never heard before. You’re angry, “Micah, fuck off.”

That makes Arthur smile. Micah, sure enough, swats at the air and skulks off to his tent at the far end of camp and you watch, ensuring he’s miles away before you even dare turn your back. He’s like a toothy, mangy coyote… waiting for the best time to strike. You heave a sigh, finally, and turn back to Arthur. He’s looking at you, a bit of worry in his eye.

“I had it handled,” you say slowly, hands on your hips.

“Oh,” Arthur snorts, “There’s no doubt in my mind about tha’.”

There’s a beat of a moment between you both – you blink up at him before smiles wash over you both.

“Nice slap.”

“Kinda hurt.”

“Want me t’ kiss it better?”

You laugh, then, shoving him playfully as he trails behind you – a bit like a loyal guard dog – and settles on the crate beside the washing bin. You slip to your knees, taking a breath in the shade before turning your attention back to the garment in the wash. It’s one of Arthur’s shirts.

He notices how carefully you work to wash the blood out.

His hand finds your hair, tucking a stray strand back into it’s place within your braid.

You stop, then, turning your attention to the outlaw beside you.

“What?”

“If he ever bothers you again –”

“You’ll shoot ‘im?”

Arthur laughs. “Maybe. It’d be a great excuse. But, m’serious… I’ll handle it. Micah’s… Micah’s a snake.”

You lean back on your heels, stealing his hand from your hair. He presses softly to the curve of your cheek and you press a kiss to his palm. “Arthur Morgan, loyal to a fault an’ ever the protector, huh?”

His eyes are a little wide, face set with an adoring look. “Fer you, yea.”

You smile, then, big and warm like sunshine through parting clouds. Arthur happily watches, trying his best to memorize the curve of your lips and the way your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. You pluck at his fingers, enjoying the warmth and weight of his hand in yours. His eyes fall to your mouth again, and yours his.

Tension hangs between you both.

“… I guess everyone knows, then.”

“Hm?” he grunts, “‘Bout what?”

“‘Bout us.”

Arthur nods, then, swallowing and raising his brows. “That… a bad thing?”

You roll your eyes. “Arthur – I was… I was tryin’ to insinuate that means – well, it means you can kiss me whenever you’d like.”

He laughs – embarrassed and sheepish and boyish and excited all the same. He shifts in his spot, tipping the brim of his hat back with his finger as he leans forward and catches you in a quick one; your elbows fall along his lap and the closeness is wonderful. Arthur happily sweeps you into a tender hold with his hands, fingers playing absentmindedly with the hair at the back of your neck.

“Get a room!”

You swore, in that moment, Arthur was going to shoot Micah Bell dead.

But, a girl can dream.

#simpler said aloud #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfic #Anonymous

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gattius-starfrost · 5 years ago

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Harboring Shadows - Part 2

(( Follows Part 1, found here ))

“Tell me something only Alteris would know.”

The Cryromancer’s emerald gaze flickered over Alteris, expectantly. She didn’t recognize him - how could she? He’d changed rather drastically since he was a Blood Elf, bound to a body of Nepen’thea’s design. There were days he didn’t even recognize himself! If only Gattius were here… he could vouch for him! But he wasn’t sure how much longer the doctor would be. And time was running out...

“Oi, might be tough, lass. I know a lot other folks dunnae.” he smirked cheekily, stalling for time to think. “But… aye, gimme a second. Head’s a wee bit fuzzy, thanks t’ yer brutish friend, there.”

Alteris looked Grakkar over. Where had he heard that name…? No matter. He had to focus. The ren’dorei struggled to think of something that would prove who he was. To Gattius, it’d be simple. But to Syrielle? He had no idea what she did and didn’t know about him. Or about Gattius… But it wasn’t the time to be cautious with information. She may have thawed him out, but she’d proven decently enough that she didn’t mean to keep him alive if he wasn’t who he said he was. Especially if she thought he were Sunborn. He wouldn’t blame her, either. Sunborn was a dick. But walking all the way back into Quel’Thalas again sounded tedious… he had to give her something.

“Alright, well… I know Gatto’s favorite drink’s whiskey. An’ he smokes, thanks t’ me. Got ‘im hooked back durin’ the Outland Crusade.” he stated, almost proudly. “An’ he’s got a tattoo on ‘is shoulder. Phoenix-lookin’ bird. Had it fer years.”

These were all things that came off the top of his head. He hoped they’d be enough proof…

Syrielle crossed her arms. The information he gave matched up. Either this was Alteris, or this was another Ren’dorei that had done his research. A frown remained on her features. Obviously she wasn’t convinced.

“Let’s pretend you are Alteris. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be conducting… business… elsewhere.”

She made certain to leave out what ‘business’ meant. There were other ears in the room, after all...

“Oi, y’mean fuckin’ Gatto?” he shrugged - clearly far-less concerned about who heard. “Aye, normally we go someplace quiet fer that. But I ain’t ‘ere fer that.”

His smug smirk faded some, as Alteris shook his head. He sighed, heavily - coughing again a bit as a result.

“M’ situation’s changed. I need t’ lie low fer a bit.”

Grakkar’s face contorted in confusion. He looked to Syrielle, brow askew… but remained silent. Maybe that had multiple meanings in elf culture…? He’d have to ask Kai’eka later.

Syrielle’s ears twitched and she grimaced as the Ren’dorei so crudely clarified the word ‘business’. She let out a sigh, both upset that Grakkar had overheard, but also relieved that this was, in fact, Alteris.

“You can release him, Grakkar,” she finally said, “This one is a friend. And uh… not a word of this to anyone, yeah?”

It was difficult for Grakkar not to say anything in that moment. And while he didn’t utter a word… his expression said it all. He averted his eyes, awkwardly, from Syrielle, as he set to freeing Alteris. He gave the void elf a look as he unbound him. Alteris smirked back proudly in response. He felt vindicated at least - if this wasn’t proof enough, he knew Gattius would vouch for him once his work was done. As he was untied, he moved to stand up from the chair. He chuckled at Grakkar, noting the incredulous expression on his face.

“Hmph! Wot’s th’ matter, Orc? Ne’er fucked a lady’s husband b’fore?” he taunted.

A quick and strong hand thrust Alteris back into the chair, as Grakkar growled. He leaned in, teeth bare.

“Mind yourself, you little purple weasel.” he snarled. “She said you’re a friend… not that you needed all your limbs intact.”

Alteris only grinned wider. This Orc… was damn hot! He looked him over, lightly biting his lower lip as he did so. His face was… nothing special. But that muscular form, those tribal-esque tattoos, and that commanding presence he had… not to mention he’d managed to sneak up on him earlier! He nodded slowly, compliantly.

“Aye… whate’er y’ say, Muscles.” he winked.

Grakkar backed off, still snarling, and took position beside Syrielle. He didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he got the majority of it figured out. He was no stranger to meeting various needs outside committed relationships. This void elf was clearly some manner of vice to Doctor Starfrost… and Lady Starfrost seemed okay with it. Still, he didn’t like how this one eyed him up. It wasn’t sizing up for a fight… more sizing up for something else. He grunted.

“Quit looking at me.” he barked.

“Hard not t’, big guy.” Alteris smirked in response.

--Then it clicked. The name… he knew it from Kai’eka!

“Figured y’d be used t’ ren’dorei attention, aye? Seein’ as yer th’ one fuckin’ my sister, Kai.”

Grakkar’s shoulders sank. Eyes wide. He glanced quickly, wordlessly, to Syrielle… and the immediately away. Azeroth was too damn small…

Syrielle opened her mouth to ask Alteris to stop harassing her employee… but instead her jaw dropped and she looked over to the Orc. The way he snapped his gaze away awkwardly indicated that it was true.

“—err… you keep our secret, we’ll keep yours?” Was all she could think of saying. Clearly, she was in no position to judge.

She frowned, gaze turning to Alteris once more, “Wait… you mean the berserker woman is alive?! I thought she was dead!”

“--Aye, she died once.” Alteris grinned wide. “On that orc’s dick.”

Grakkar brought his face to his palms, sinking down where he stood. So much so, Kronk concernedly came to brush up against him. Ancestors, this was awkward! Alteris reveled in it, however, as he rose once more from his seat. He wandered back over to the bar, where his drink was still waiting for him. He felt rather securely in, at this point.

“Like I said, lass… I know ‘lot other folks dunnae.”

Syrielle brought a hand to Grakkar’s shoulder to give it a comforting pat. Part of her wanted to know exactly how he had ended up in bed with Alteris’s sister, but another… more wise part of her, told her to just let it be. She made her way to the bar, across from Alteris. Her fingers weaved in a specific pattern, levitating a bottle of arcwine and wine glass over.

“Want anything to drink, Grakkar?” She asked out of courtesy. He certainly looked like he needed it. She didn’t even wait for an answer, already pouring him a mug of ale now that she had her wine.“So, what’s going on, Alt? What’s got you running off to hide in Horde territory?”

The Void Elf looked Syrielle over, hesitantly. He felt no obligation to tell her anything, now that he’d proven who he was. She wasn’t exactly going to kick him out - she knew as well as he did Gattius would be more than a little upset if she did. His smirk grew a bit larger, before he took another swig of his drink.

“Long story, lass.” he shrugged the question off. “Suffice t’ say… I got nowhere else t’ turn.”

“Hmph. What of your sister?” Grakkar asked, as he took up the mug Syrielle offered. “Will she not take you in?”

“Heh, th’ only guy she’s been ‘takin’ in’ lately is you, big fella.” Alteris quipped - much to Grakkar’s displeasure.

The Orc growled lowly, drowning his anger in a large gulp of ale. He didn’t like this elf… not one bit! Alteris chuckled a moment longer at his witty wordplay, before sighing, and shaking his head.

“--Nah, but seriously… cannae turn t’ ‘er on this’n.” he vaguely explained further. “Won’t go inta detail… but I went’n pissed a lot o’ folks off. Includin’ Kai.”

He shrugged a shoulder, before taking another sip of his drink. It wasn’t exactly a lie…

“Gatto already said I could stay. Pointed me t’ ‘is lil’ passage inta th’ manor, an’ all that.” he gestured to the door through which he’d come. “Dunnae know how long I’ll be, but hopefully nae too long. Dunnae wanna… interfere…”

Try as he did, he couldn’t mask the disgruntlement with this situation. Specifically, with Syrielle. His tone betrayed it just a bit.

“I, uh… I know it’s askin’ a lot.” he added… for cover.

Syrielle raises an eyebrow, but took a drink of her wine. She highly doubted that Gattius would make a big decision like that without consulting with her first, but she didn’t feel much like arguing.

“We’ll do everything we can to help you out, yeah,” she finally said, “My only concern is this: do the people coming after you know to look for you here? I’m all for providing you with shelter, but we have a son to protect. I just need to know if I should be ramping up security measures or not.”

It wasn’t something Alteris considered, really - he expected the Coterie would know well enough to check here for him, given his history with Gattius. But at the same time… it felt too obvious a place he’d go. Kai’eka knew him well enough, from the last time he ran out on her. She didn’t find him for years after that. Surely she’d find searching Quel’Thalas for him to be a waste of time. Hopefully. Besides… if he could hide amidst Gattius’ shining Light before, he could do it again!

Either way, telling Syrielle seemed like a bad idea. One that could cost him his little hiding place… And he simply couldn’t afford that.

“Doubtful.” he shrugged, casually. “Folks think I’m dead. They won’t come lookin’ fer me. Jus’ need t’ keep outta sight fer a few weeks. Couple months, maybe. Let ‘em mourn an’ move on, y’know?”

He almost felt bad, lying to her. Almost.

Syrielle nodded, swallowing down another gulp of wine. She doubted Alteris would do anything to bring harm to Gattius and his family. She didn’t know him well, but her husband did, and that was enough for her.

“If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be a problem at all. I’ll let the staff know you’re here so that you can move about the manor, though if any of my co-workers drop in, you’ll have to stay out of sight, yeah?,” she twirled her glass as she made the to do list in her head, “I’ll have one of the spare bedrooms ready for you tonight… —Ah, unless you prefer sleeping in our room? Our bed is pretty big.”

Of course she couldn’t pass up making that offer. She gave him a playful smile. Gattius would no doubt roll his eyes at her if he were there.

"--Light, I leave you alone with him for two minutes…" came a voice familiar to the trio.

Gattius emerged from the door leading to his clinic. He looked frazzled, worn down from stress not only from working so much, but also thanks to Alteris' surprise visit. He did indeed roll his eyes at Syrielle, letting his half-quip hang as he went for the bar. If was only about lunch time… but the doctor needed a drink.

#character story #Alteris Sunwhisper #Syrielle Starfrost #Gattius Starfrost #Kai'eka Sunwhisper #Grakkar Gorefang #... and Kronk!#blood elf #void elf #mag'har #warcraft

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sirkkasnow · 5 years ago

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12 Finer Points Of Damage Control

Ao3 link

07/20/13-07/25/13 Saturday - Thursday

Stan didn’t say anything when he got home, because the slumber party crew had arrived and there were people underfoot everywhere. Clary coordinated dishwashing duties in the kitchen, passing silverware off to Candy and lifting plates out of Grenda’s towel as soon as they were dry. “Did you get dinner?” she asked as he stuck his head warily through the door. “We have leftovers.”

“Uh - I’ll wait until you guys’re done, thanks.” Mabel teetered atop a stepstool to put away glasses. She managed a shameless wink over Clary’s head. Pacifica sat at the kitchen table looking bored and vaguely hostile, fingertips busy flicking across her phone’s screen. “If you got a minute later, Clary, could we have a word?”

“You bet, Stan, I’ll come looking for you.”

There was really no time at all to talk. Clary chased after the four girls like a harried mother goose, hopping over Waddles when necessary. Stan could not believe the amount of chatter they generated - commentary on the guest list, the likely menu, Ford’s relative hotness - he winced at that one.

They spent a good hour in the living room huddled around Mabel’s phone, watching videos and arguing over the party soundtrack. Clary was pushing for classic tunes, forties and fifties stuff. “Lowest common denominator. Everyone can dance to that.”

“My grunkle’s got pretty light feet,” Mabel shot back. “Seventies or bust! Let’s give the old man a chance to strut his stuff!”

“Every time Stan struts his stuff, something gets broken.” Pacifica was leaning in, still looking a little bored but at least engaged. “Which might be fun to watch.”

Stan hovered within earshot for a little while, hoping Clary would pull herself free, but he gave up after one too many intense debates over boy bands. He’d have to wait them out. The cash was burning a hole in his pocket anyway. He stomped off to the old office, flicked on a lamp, cleared a space on the desk and buckled down to work.

He couldn’t really enjoy the whole process with the sense of impending doom winding tight in his chest. The old answering machine’s red light blinked angrily from across the room; he threw stuff at it - Gold Chains For Old Men from last April, a Lil’ Gideon promo t-shirt, a ratty coonskin cap he’d never repurposed - until something stuck and covered it up.

By the time he had the guest list and the cash bundled up and packed away in the safe it was well past midnight. Stan crept through the darkened house, reflexively avoiding all the creakiest spots in the floor. Dipper, he knew, was crashing on the study couch downstairs.

Indistinct girlish voices and the steady thump thump thump of muffled bass were still trickling under the kids’ door. The narrow line of light painted onto the floorboards was dim, at least, so things must be winding down by now. Stan paused and raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and slunk off towards his own room.

He was on the verge of tucking himself in when he heard the soft creak of hinges down the hall. Cracking his door open a sliver revealed a bare glimpse of Clary tiptoeing out and downstairs in pajamas and kerchief. Eventually she returned with the plastic pitcher and a few old tumblers.

Stan just watched. She glanced over as she made to slip back in, spotting his silhouette against the faint light of his room, and with a tiny conspiratorial smile held a finger to her lips.

He closed the door, flopped flat on his back in bed, and stared at the ceiling that was too far away to actually see until he tumbled unwilling into restless sleep.

Come morning the yammering traffic of teenage girls throwing together a full-on Mabel-style breakfast was too much to bear. There wasn’t a chance in hell of extricating Clary from the chaos, so he headed straight for the museum.

Soos had rigged construction curtains across the space they’d blocked out. The ‘Coming Attraction!’ sign sported a cheerful, toothy, horned-and-winged weasel with wide cartoon eyes, probably Melody’s work.

Stan had argued for scaling the whole production down a little, but Soos had been adamant in his laid-back way. By hook or by crook it was going to be a walkthrough with hidden lighting, surround sound and special effects, whatever that meant.

He spent most of his time slathering black paint over the framework that had already gone in. The blackout shell that would eventually enclose it all would at least cover up any number of construction sins. Positioning marks for lights, showpieces and electronics got chalked in according to the elaborate plans he’d been handed.

Morning tours swung past his sheltered corner and Stan listened in pleased bemusement. There was already a snappy line of patter for the new exhibit. Soos had a gift for this - the style had changed but the appreciative giggling and gasps from his audience were familiar.

After all, Stan had fallen into the role. Soos had aspired to it.

It was easy to lose himself in the work for a couple of hours, but eventually his stomach’s vague grumble and the angle of sunlight through the windows warned him that he had other things to worry about. Soos stuck his head in between curtains and tapped at the framework. “Time for lunch, Mr. Pines! The girls have all gone home and I think Miss Clary’s got sandwiches made up.”

“Yeah, yeah, comin’.” Stan rubbed at a few flecks of black paint on his fingers and emerged squinting into the main room. “Sounds like a nice busy mornin’. Everythin’ all right with plans for the dance thing?”

Soos tugged a notepad out of his jacket. “Oh, yeah, we’re selling a ton of tickets! I guess they all saw your posters. Lots of messages came in last night. Took a while to get through them all before we opened up. And we had a bunch of people asking about dinner tickets?” He flipped a couple of pages while Stan cringed internally. “Yup, about fifteen of those. Couple more calls today, too, and a few people asking at the gift shop.”

“Uh. Yeah. About those. Didja get phone numbers an’ names?”

“Oh, sure. Looked like you settled on eighty-five bucks apiece for those, so that’s what we charged.”

“What you - Soos, did you actually sell them tickets?!”

Soos blinked. “Well, sure! I saw the envelope in the safe and that ticket book, so I figured you and Miss Clary worked something out. It’ll be one big party!”

“Sweet Moses.” Stan squeezed his eyes shut, slapped a hand to his brow, and started to pace. Surely there was still a way to contain the damage. “Okay. Okay, you got contact info, all we gotta do is call people - “

He swung around to look out across the exhibit space, spinning possibilities in his mind - reschedule, shift the venue, anything but issuing refunds. His focus flicked blankly from point to point, then settled on the woman standing with arms folded right behind the Sascrotch.

Ah, fuck.

“Stan,” Clary said gently. “May I have a moment of your time, please.” It wasn’t a question.

Stan held out a hand. Soos laid the notebook in his palm and backed away until he was out of her line of sight.

Clary turned and walked with measured strides through the museum and then the house until she’d arrived at the porch. Stan followed with feet dragging as though they were already encased in concrete.

She set hands to her hips and looked out into the distance - he wasn’t sure if she even saw the trees. As the silence drew out he thumbed through Soos’ notebook and mentally counted up tickets, arriving at a number large enough to make his stomach flip in delight and dread.

“The girls and I came up with a guest list of eighteen people,” Clary said at length. “Am I to understand that we are expecting more, now.”

Stan cleared his throat and launched in. “So, funny thing, I stopped off for a coffee down at Greasy’s an’ Susan’s the one who brought it up, since you’ve been lookin’ to get this whole thing organized for the last couple days, said you asked about cherry pie, good choice by the way - “

Not a word. Her fingers were drumming out a restless rhythm against the khaki of her shorts.

“So yeah. Yeah, people were startin’ to get the wrong idea ‘bout dance party tickets so I thought maybe we’d, y’know, sell some dinner tickets since they’re so hot on it, we’ll make enough - more than enough! - t’offset all the expenses an’ then at least we know who’s comin’, we don’t get a buncha people bustin’ in uninvited - “

“How many?”

He had a good head of steam up and had to fumble around for a second. “Uh - what?”

“How many tickets?” She hadn’t raised her voice but there was an edge in it like the wind of a January blizzard and he nearly shivered.

“Looks like about fifty - “

“Fifty!” Clary barked it out and turned to glare at him full on. Her face was pale, a hard spot of angry pink high in each cheek. “Stan, that’s seventy people. I can’t cook for seventy people out of the house, there is no damn way and the minute money’s involved you need a certified commercial kitchen! How in the hell - “

Stan knew he’d gone red in the face and hell if a direct challenge wasn’t making his temper start to flare a little, too. “Well - well, fine, we have Greasy’s make it all! We shuttle it up an’ make sure we have plenty of paper plates, no problem!”

Clary scoffed. “There is no way you didn’t sell this as a home-cooked meal from your very own resident lawyer.”

Okay, so she wasn’t entirely wrong. “No one’s gonna care about the food. They just wanna meet you - “

“So you’re telling me I make a decent roadside attraction?”

The last syllable rose and broke. She clapped a palm over her mouth. Stan looked at her, his jaw gone slack, a sharp little sting lodged in his chest. Tears of fury or frustration had welled up at the corners of her eyes and one made a break for it as she pulled a shaking breath.

“I need a minute,” she said, rough-edged.

“Clary. C’mon.” He reached out, hoping to lay a hand on her shoulder. She twitched away, then slipped past him with fluid ease, making no contact. In three long strides she’d thrown a leg over her bicycle. One foot found a pedal and she took off at speed down the path that’d eventually get her to town. “Oh, come on!”

Both of the kids clattered out onto the porch, standing to either side of him.

“Grunkle Stan?” Mabel looked up to him in wide-eyed concern. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”

“She forgot her helmet.” Dipper folded his hands, thumbs twirling awkward loops. “Uh, so the dinner thing got - bigger?”

Stan set a hand to his chin for a long moment, breathing through his fingers to steady himself.

“Yep,” he said. “She’s headin’ out to work on logistics an’ supplies an’ so on. We’ve only got a couple days to pull it all together, yeah?” Stan scraped up a smile and lightly patted Mabel’s hair. “You know how this town is, things get outta hand pretty quick. We’re all gonna have to pitch in, got it?”

Mabel looked on the verge of tears for a moment, then her back straightened and her jaw set in determination. “I don’t know what the heck just happened but we are gonna fix it. Right, Dipper?”

“Right, Mabel! Come on, we’ll go track her down!”

“Kids. No.” He shook his head when they looked up at him in surprise. “She wants peace an’ quiet, she gets peace an’ quiet.” Mabel looked briefly mulish, Dipper troubled, but he put on the stern look and eventually they nodded.

She didn’t reappear that afternoon. Stan did his best to stay busy with piecing the exhibit together, focused more sharply than usual in service of not thinking about anything else. He was genuinely starting to worry along towards dinnertime when his phone chimed with an incoming one-line message, then more in rapidfire sequence.

Rented out Greasy’s kitchen. Add’l food lined up. Updated menu. Pls send guest list when complete. Still need: tables & chairs, linens, serveware. Suggest asking McGucket. Manor might have garden party supplies.

Hesitant, Stan tapped in: You okay?

The reply was near instant. I’m fine. Will see you at dinner.

He’d about finished off the wiring, packing away tools and electrical tape, when Mabel came dashing in out of breath and yanked aside the construction curtain. “She’s back! C’mon, c’mon, you’ve gotta clean up!”

Ford had been on dinner duty that evening, which meant it was heavy on vegetables and light on anything interesting. Dipper and Mabel were buzzing around Clary. She looked freshly scrubbed, maybe a little drawn, tossing together a salad at the counter. Her head came up as Stan entered; she set down the dressing, marched right over and offered her right hand. “I apologize.”

Stan accepted her clasp immediately and squeezed in what he hoped was reassurance. “Hey. Ah, glad you’re all right, real sorry about the inconvenience an’ all.” Grateful though he was to see her, the smile she wore was surface-slight, her eyes cool.

“I’ve run fundraisers before. It’ll all be under control in a day or two.” Clary’s fingers slipped from his and she pivoted to collect the salad bowl. “All right, you lot! War council time! As you know we’re running the biggest party of the summer here at the Shack and I am going to need help from all of you.”

Ford dished up brown rice and poached salmon. Clary laid out the menu, jotted in several additions and got quite serious with Mabel about desserts, settling on ‘Fireworks Krispy Treats: They’ll Light Up Your Mouth!’ in addition to the cherry pies and lemon bars she’d apparently negotiated with Susan.

“You,” Clary said, pointing her pen at Stan. “Logistics. The exhibit and the seating are yours to manage. Remember that at this rate we may have to set up an outdoor dance floor. You,” indicating Ford, “please keep working on my car. I’m going to need both of you early on the morning of this thing to knock out the chicken.”

Stan watched the whole process with trepidation - she was a monster of efficiency and it was a far cry from the laid-back approach she’d been taking for the last couple days. “Yes ma’am.”

“We’ve got less than a week to knock this out of the park.” Clary took up her fork and saluted the table at large. “Let’s make this legendary.” She tucked briskly into her dinner and finished well before everyone else, dropping off her plate at the sink and ducking out of the kitchen before Stan could catch her.

It went like that for the entire following day. Clary disappeared before anyone was awake, communicating only in an endless series of texts. Most of those hit a broadcast group including Stan, Soos, Ford and the kids, friendly if brisk updates on the state of the picnic.

A few of them came only to Stan, and those were ...terse.

Status on tables etc?

Updates to guest count?

Pls keep any receipts for supplies. Will collect them later.

An argument about who was going to pay for what would be coming down the pike soon, he was sure of that.

Got time in the morning? he tapped in.

Working to clean Greasy’s kitchen up to code. Will probably finish tomorrow. A pause, then: Wouldn’t want to poison half the town.

Clary didn’t even make it back for dinner that night. When he went looking for her the next morning she was already gone, and her phone went unanswered. Stan lasted until just before lunchtime before pure frustration drove him to start working his way through local contacts to track her down.

“Greasy's diner - we have food!” That was Susan for sure, sounding slightly manic.

“Heeey, Susan. listen, is Miz Merrick down there? She headed out early this mornin' and I was wonderin' where she landed.”

“Oh, gosh yes!” Susan giggled against the background racket of customers. “You should've seen her. She's been hauling stuff out of that old walk-in fridge that I didn't even know existed! We've got some pretty weird specials for lunch, let me tell ya. She’s helping with the rush while she's stocking up all this stuff for the big picnic - ooooh, it's all going to be delicious! I can't wait!”

Stan squinted. “Wait, what, you're comin'?”

“Oh, sure! She traded me a ticket and got me the ingredients for all those pies!” Her cheerful tone dropped a little into rusty affection. “I can't wait to take a spin around the dance floor with you.” He thought that over, then shuddered faintly to himself.

“So, ah, she free to come to the phone? Guess she's set hers on silent or somethin'.”

“Gimme a minute, sweetie, i'll go check.” The rattle of industrial-grade china and indistinct conversation went on as she left the receiver on the counter, calling out towards the back of the place.

Eventually she wandered back. “Sorry, Stan, she's in the middle of juggling like eight trays of biscuits. Says she'll see you back at the Shack tonight.”

Stan propped himself against the wall and managed not to sigh. “All right, Susan, thanks. Glad she's gettin' out ahead of it all.”

“You bet, sugar. See ya in a couple days!”

He'd been too engrossed to notice company in the hallway, and when he glanced up glumly it was right at Mabel perched on the bottom step with Waddles leaning into her side. Stan jerked upright but she was already shaking a finger at him.

"Don't you give me that look, Grunkle Stan. She's too ‘busy’ - “ Biiiiiig air quotes around that one. “- to talk to you, right?"

“Ah - um - “ He juggled a couple of possible deflections, then shoved the phone in his pocket and looked at her in naked desperation. “I swear this is not what I meant to happen!”

Mabel heaved a theatrical sigh. “All right. This is something I can fix. Clary and I have an appointment with Soos' Abuelita tomorrow morning.” She waggled her eyebrows. “A secret appointment. When we get back at around lunchtime you better be ready to shake your moneymaker, got it?"

“Shake my what now?”

“You two are gonna host this thing, so you better dance. And since the spotlight's gonna be on you, you'd better be good! Everyone will be watching!”

Oh boy. He was probably a dead man walking as it was and this wasn’t gonna help.

“And that means,” Mabel said, cheerfully oblivious, “That you two need to practice. Don't worry. Mabel's on the case and I'll make it happen.” She zapped him with the finger-guns and shoved Waddles aside enough to get to her feet. “I'll let you know where you need to be and when. Make sure you’re tidy, okay?”

‘Where’ turned out to be the old storage room he’d converted to a ramshackle boxing ring, the ropes downed and folded up in a corner. ‘When’ was late morning the following day, and ‘what’ - well. That was answered when Mabel came in, dragging the karaoke machine in her wake. Clary stepped in right after, a bandana at her neck and another binding back her hair, bleach spatters dotting her old t-shirt.

Stan stuffed hands in his pockets and rolled his shoulders back, doing his level best to meet her eyes without a twinge of guilt - because, come on, they were going to make a ton of money on this picnic thing - and found himself mostly failing. He was really starting to hate the polished, faint, impenetrable smile she had for him.

Mabel’s voice was a vague buzz through the tangle of his self-justification but he caught the gist of it - dazzle the rubes, make it look easy, inspire swooning jealousy in the audience. “All right,” she wrapped up, as rah-rah as he’d ever heard her. “Let’s you and him dance!”

Clary pinched her lips, unfolded her arms, and stalked out across the floor to join him.

“So,” Stan said.

“Mmhm.”

“Carved some time out of the schedule?”

“Barely. Your young lady over there makes a good argument.”

This was worse than her trying to punch him. Clary settled into the arch of his arm with professional precision, a frosty six inches of space between them, the six inches his mother had lectured him about a billion years ago and that he’d promptly ignored at the first opportunity to get up close and personal.

Stan maintained that six inches like his life depended on it because maybe it did.

“My waltz is all right. My samba’s shaky. Meet in the middle with foxtrot?” Clary looked up to him with clear, fearless eyes, the faintest of curves drawn along her lips. Her fingers were chapped and rough in his.

“Might as well start off easy. Mabel, whatcha got, pumpkin?”

“Got it!” There must have been some consultation beforehand because what came out of Mabel’s hot-pink speakers was honest-to-god big band music. Stan nearly protested and stifled it when Clary looked at him askance.

“Come on now,” she said sweetly. “We should really start with the lowest common denominator, shouldn’t we? If you would.”

He inhaled, flexed his hand at her waist and rocked back for the first step.

Their first pass around the room was dismal. She obviously had some formal training and he could barely remember what the hell went into a foxtrot, it’d been so long since he had done anything more than improvise on a foxtrot theme. There were a few near misses with her feet before she clicked her tongue and murmured. “Slow, slow, quick quick. I can tell you know this.”

One brassy number blended into the next as they paced and whirled, Mabel razzing them or calling encouragement by turns. “Clary, stop looking at him like you want to stab him! Dance is the language of love! You gotta sell it better than that!”

“Maybe I want to stab him.” Clary glared somewhere off over his left shoulder.

“No you don’t. You want to knock the socks off everyone at this party, right? I know you two can do it.”

Stan gritted his teeth and fought to earn back her trust with the respectful press of his palm, honoring whatever distance between them she wanted. By the third pass the six-inch block of ice had softened a little. “Spin?” he suggested, and at her faint nod he tried some fancier footwork.

They were uncoordinated, discordant, his feet clipping the edges of her sandals, frustration building between them as they lurched and wobbled. Mabel’s face was a worried glint in a corner of his eye. When Clary went off balance she caught herself with the awkward combination of a foot jabbed down out of sequence and his hand tightening at her waist in support.

He couldn’t quite look at her, but he hissed out, low as he could, “This is not gonna work if you can’t trust me a little.”

“Should I trust you?” she breathed back at him in a near-subsonic murmur. Her fingernails pricked at his shoulder.

Stan snorted softly. “Hell, no, you shouldn’t.”

There was a little pfft, pure disbelief, and a direct sidelong look of complete exasperation. The music spun to a stop as they stood interlocked and distant, then finally, mercifully, launched into the next tune. Something in her ramrod spine trembled, then snapped; he felt her make herself relax and sway into his grip.

“Fine,” Clary said dryly. “Honesty I can work with.”

This one was easy, a big swinging number with a nice solid four-square beat, nothing but a framework to whirl around the room to. Stan took it slow at first. She’d stopped fighting him so much, still hesitant but at least responsive to the little nudges that offered guidance, and as they moved he felt the tension in the room dissipating. The next time he signaled a spin she took the cue, pivoting neatly through and landing back in the crook of his arm with a quirked brow.

After a couple minutes he chuckled in surprise. “You’re not terrible at this.”

Her heel came down square on his toe, deliberate, he thought. “I suppose you’re not terrible either.”

Mabel relaxed too, flashing him a hasty thumbs up when Clary was looking elsewhere. The next track she cued up was overtly sappy, loaded with layered strings and lyrics dripping with longing. “Mabel,” snapped Clary. “Next please.”

“Sorry, wrong song!” Mabel wasn’t the least bit repentant but she did skip this one.

Time pressure was sort of a foreign thing for Stan - he had no problem putting his head down and plugging away, but was used to more open-ended projects. Possessed by grim determination, assisted by Soos through a couple of late nights, he got the Dreaming Denizens exhibit up and running in the nick of time.

They’d moved the cannibal pixie village over to hang in the rafters above the disguised darkroom. Melody had rigged a couple ragged little bits of LED-centered tulle mounted on wires to flutter around in the shadows. The effect was surprisingly creepy and convincing once they’d tweaked the lighting in that corner.

The ticketed picnic crowd had swelled to nearly seventy before Stan managed to shut it all down. Fortunately the Northwests had abandoned enough folding tables, chairs and lawn tents to handle twice that, easy, in the cavernous manor basement. At Clary’s direction they’d also hauled out enough stainless steel chafing dishes to serve a small army. Of course, they were serving an army.

“You could do weddings,” Stan mused to Soos as they stacked folding chairs in the lee of the Shack. “Bar mitzvahs, birthday parties, hell, just rent this stuff out. Be a shame to just let it molder in storage.”

“Set up a chapel?” Soos wiped his brow and grinned. “Might be fun, Mr. Pines. There’s still plenty to do around here.”

“I’m retired, y’know that. I’m only willin’ to crank out brilliant new merchandisin’ concepts for free because I like ya, kid.” Stan plucked off Soos’ cap and ruffled his hair before pivoting to haul down the next stack of chairs.

Dance practice with Mabel became an urgent matter for the last couple days before the event. Clary and Stan carved out half an hour at a time between projects. Mabel played all kinds of music at them - big band, BABBA, a smattering of 80s stuff, one or two classical waltzes - and they worked to adapt.

All of it was still professional. Polite. The impulse to pull Clary close for the slower bits was ever-present, but like hell was he going to screw things up any further. At least she was starting to pick up a familiar glow of satisfaction as they got the measure of one another. As partners they were really beginning to click. He regretted on some mercenary level that there wasn’t a contest or something around to game.

Thursday of that week was a whirlwind of setup and anticipation. Tents popped up like mushrooms across the summer-bleached lawn, the entire Shack crew bustling to get it laid out with time to spare. Clary was either helping move tables into place or tapping into her phone with a frown of focus, tracking the thousand things that needed to get done.

By late afternoon they were as close as they were going to get - the audio equipment would go up in the morning. Mabel and Dipper had been hovering around the edges of the fracas in anticipation, and as things slowed, they pounced.

“Clary, c’mon, we need to let the others finish up out here. I’ve got a couple of drink concepts in the kitchen I really need you to check out..” Mabel caught Clary’s hand and tugged, heading for the house. Clary was still thumbing through some checklist as she allowed herself to be hauled along.

Dipper waved frantically from the porch. Stan took the hint and headed off at a trot down the Shack’s long drive. By the time Clary was back outside, sipping warily from a tall glass of some sparkling pink concoction, he was rounding the corner in the purring Fairlane wagon.

Clary shrieked. She managed to fumble her glass down to the ground and dashed over to the car, running hands along the freshly rechromed grill, then flopping over to stretch her arms out along the polished hood. “I can’t believe it! Look at this thing, it’s like brand new!”

Stan killed the engine, hip-checked the door closed and held out the key, the finest of the Mystery Shack’s souvenir keychains dangling from its ring. “Ford an’ McGucket finished up late yesterday. I still want t’go over the insides one last time, but she’s runnin’ like a champ now.”

The first unrestrained smile he’d seen on her all week lit up her features. With great delicacy Clary hooked a finger into the keyring and plucked the key from his grip. “Thank you. All of you.”

“Nothin’ left to do but get through this party and then you’re finally on the road, huh?” Stan hooked thumbs through his belt loops and gave her the best of his showman’s grins, papering over the regret twisting hard in his gut with practiced ease. Her eyes flicked to his.

“We’ve still got a ton of work to do.” Clary reached out with a fist and cautiously nudged him in the shoulder with her knuckles. “I’ve got to go finish up a last round of prep at Greasy’s. You and Ford be ready to go at quarter to six, got it?”

“Got it.”

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“Should I trust you?” You’ve seen midwinter storms friendlier than the icy glint of those eyes.

Of course you can trust me!

We said we’d get the car fixed, we’re getting it fixed!

Honestly? Nope.

#Gravity Falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #Swooning Over Stans #Stanley Pines #OClicious #fanfic

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thehomierobbstark · 7 years ago

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Waffles

Part 1.5 Part 2

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: @yung-glvdn-goddess

A/N: Ok, y’all, we slowing it down a little bit with this fic. This only gonna be two parts though, so the good stuff is comin. It just didn’t feel right putting it in the same chapter.

Super special shoutout to @cawifornia for all the laughs in helping me out with this! We had too much fun XD.

Warnings: Mad fluff, tiny bit of Daddy kink, pero no smut (yet). Visuals are included.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!! x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

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

“No! Bring that back! Waffles!”

You chase your puppy across the room as she takes off with your shoe, tail wagging enthusiastically behind her. You were so entranced with her adorable floppy ears you didn’t even see the tiny devil swipe your heel from under the bed.

You and Erik had just adopted her a month ago, and you were still getting into the swing of training her. You knew it would take a while before she was able to grasp commands like ‘sit’ and ‘down’, but you’re pretty sure she should’ve started to grasp ‘no’ by now. Especially since that’s all you ever seemed to be saying lately.

“Waffles! NO don’t chew that one! That’s mommy’s favorite!!!” You screech as you run after her, her chubby little legs clumsily buckling under her as she tries to round the corner. You scoop her up before she can make a run for it towards the living room, and weasel your blue suede platform out of her mouth.

“If daddy see’s you chewing on this he’s gonna kill us both!” you admonish into her ear, and she turns to nip you on the nose before sloppily licking your face, making you giggle.

Seeing as blue was your favorite color, Erik always went above and beyond in providing you with amazing gifts in the shade, each always managing to take your breath away more than the last. He gifted you things in other colors as well, but every time you saw something blue you knew it was his way of expressing his deep affection for you without having to use words.

It’d started on your one month anniversary, with a gorgeous box of blue roses he’d left on your doorstep. You were surprised Erik was the type to celebrate something so trivial, let alone remember the date, but when you walked in the door while searching for a card amongst the roses, you looked up to find him shuffling from foot to foot in your entryway. That was the day he’d confessed his love for you.

The second time had been when he’d gifted you your blue platforms, currently wet with puppy saliva, which you’d found on the bed the morning after a night spent at his place. It had been three months you’d been together then, and he’d planned an evening out for the both of you; dinner at your favorite Japanese restaurant, dessert while overlooking the canal in the center of town. You had no idea that Erik “Killmonger” Stevens could be so traditionally romantic, and that night he’d undressed you with his mouth, leaving your heels on to remind you of who you belonged to.

The most recent gift had been by far the cutest. You’d come home exhausted from work to find Erik waiting for you in the kitchen, arms behind his back hiding something from you. He made you close your eyes and hold out your hands, before placing something in them. When he instructed you to open your eyes, you looked down to see a Tiffany & Co. box, tied with a bow. You’d looked up to Erik with a wide eye’d look of almost terror, ready to immediately decline the gift because it was too much. He was generous with his gifts, but he’d never given jewelry before, and you didn’t want him thinking he had to literally spoil you to keep you. Before you could get a word out though, he’d interrupted you.

“Before you let ya mouth get ahead of you, open it first.” he’d teased, and you rolled your eyes at him before listening.

Untying the bow you’d opened the box, and found a black leather dog collar resting on the silk padding. You picked it up, voice caught in your throat as your excitement started to bubble over. You’d opened your mouth to speak, but he’d interrupted you again with a raise of his hand, reaching down to pluck the silk padding from the box to reveal an accompanying friendship bracelet. It was blue.

That night you’d spent the entire evening in bed researching adoption centers, arguing about which puppy you were going to adopt.

“Nah, babe, we not getting no damn foo foo ass dog.”

“Nigga you bought it a Tiffany collar, it’s already gonna be foo foo by default.”

“Man, whatever. You know that was mostly for yo lil bougie ass anyway.”

“Good. Then my lil bougie ass gets to pick the dog.”

He griped in your lap, arms wrapped around your waist as he’d watched you click around on the computer.

You’d paused, gasping.

“No.”

“Erik!”

“Y/N, no.”

“But she’s so cute! Look at her widdle ears!!”

“I am lookin at her damn ears, why they so fuckin hairy!?”

“She’s a dog, Erik!”

“And? Shit look like a baby Chewbacca.”

“How bout you Chewbacca that damn patch in yo beard, nigga.”

He still hadn’t forgiven you for that one.

But, after 15 minutes of back and forth roasting that ended with you having a sore ass, he begrudgingly agreed to go with you in the morning to see about adopting her.

And here you all were. One month later and Waffles had fit perfectly into your little family. She’d even managed to grow on Erik, which shocked the hell out of you, especially when you’d caught him cradling her tiny body in his arms on the couch, both of them knocked out after a long day. It was only her second night home. While Erik would never admit it, you knew why he’d fallen for her. It was those big, floppy, hairy ears of hers.

You admired the collar around Waffles’ neck, and the one around your wrist, while you stroked her ears. The lock to the front door clicked, breaking you from your reverie. You turned to see Erik walking through the front door, and started talking excitedly in Waffles’ ear.

“Who is that? Who is it baby girl? Is that daddy?”

Erik stood in the doorway, shaking his head as he chuckled at you baby talking the dog.

She wiggled around eagerly in your arms, her little body jerking this way and that as she buzzed with joy.

You crouched down and placed her on the floor, still holding her as you spoke some more.

“You wanna say hi to daddy? Go say hi to daddy! Go!”

You let her go and her nails skitted across the hardwood floor as she took off, plowing clumsily into Erik’s shoe when she reached him.

You laughed as Erik swept her up in one of his big hands, peppering kisses all over her ears.

“Wassup Pancakes? Huh?” She kissed his face with enthusiasm, happy her partner in crime was finally home.

Walking toward you, Erik started to whisper loudly in her ear, so that you could hear, too.

“You better tell ya moms to stop callin me Daddy before I put a real baby in her,” he warned, his eyes holding something sinister behind them.

You roll your eyes and reach out to him, pulling him to you by his shirt.

“Hi Daddy. How was your day?” you look up at him, grinning innocently.

He puckers his lips in a fake frown, nodding slowly as he looks away.

“Oh you thought I was playin? Okay.” He walks over to the patio, opening the screen door and placing Waffles outside. “Bounce lil nigga.”

Walking back, he pulls at the sleeves of his leather jacket, taking it off, and you can see the definition of his muscles stretching the white V neck shirt he was wearing.

He takes a finger and holds up your hand, the one still holding the blue pump.

“Wheres the other one?” he asks, eyeing you in a way that already starts to make your insides turn.

“Upstairs.” You answer, trying to keep your breath from hitching.

“Go get it.”

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

Happy Mothers Day homies!! Whether you’re celebrating with your mother figures, kids, or just hangin with your furry babies, I hope you have a great day!❤️❤️

#i truly don't mean to keep breaking things up into two parts #but it just didn't feel right getting down and dirty in the same chapter as cute ass waffles lmaoooo #also yes #i absolutely cried looking at dog pictures when writing this lmaoaoo #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black!reader #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger #bp #TheHomieFics

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titleknown · 6 years ago

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In a weird sleazy city, on an early November night, in an apartment slightly too small for hosting parties, there was a celebration being held. If one went up to the door, or looked in the window, one could see lights; a few candles, mostly electric, and hear the sounds of speech...

One could see faces talking about lives no longer amongst them, not solemnly but raucously, as the smell of chilli peppers and beans cooked in lard filled the air and sugar skulls adorned countertops. The host was unusual yes, a great muscular yellow-spined beast of a monster-woman by the handle of Body Shock. with the subtle crackle of electricity around her, but this was not a time where that was relevant.

This was a time for memories, as she roamed around the room, receiving and pushing forward wild antecdotes of days gone by, and music playing from several daisy-chained dollar-store speakers that she added a tune or so to the playlist when she heard someone mentioning a person gone by to them and their favorite song.

And all of this was around a great-small altar, built of brick and cardboard as high as the celling would let it go, and painted in bright colors, adorned with photographs and keepsakes and sugar skulls and candles, a fulcrum around which the party revolved.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. For, the door had creaked open and; into the room entered a woman. She carried an aura that brought a hush upon the crowd, a lean and deathly pallor of power despite the top of her hat barely reached to the shoulders of the next- shortest person in the room.

It was Boss McGlade, arch-criminal and enemy to Body Shock, and if her eyes were not already blood red, they would have turned such as Body Shock grabbed McGlade by the front of her shirt collar.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Shock said, in a voice b=vaguely approxiamting calm.

“Now, now,” said McGlade, flashing a shark-toothed; smug grin, “Is that any way to treat a guest? It would be gauche of you to disrupt this party with an assault on my person, as would it be gauche for me to commit any acts of assault against yourself in front of so many witnesses.”

Body Shock hoisted her higher “Nice fuckin try, but you still ain’t answered my question” One of the guests had gotten out a sword cane at this point.

“Simply put, because of your exact sort of response, and because I felt I could do so with few reprecussions, it would be of little benefit to yourself to call the authorities on a party in this neighborhood.”

Body Shock lowered her a bit. It’s fascinating how the two were united in their mutual distaste for cops, with reasonings that sometimes even matched up. “How the fuck do I know you ain’t here on some bullshit?”

“You would not believe me if I claimed I wasn’t. Plus, again, witnesses would be a means of disadvantage to us both, would they not?”

With that, Body Shock dropped her unceremoniously, with McGlade landing right on her own two feet with equal lack of pretense. “Alright, but I ain’t takin an eye off yas.”

“I would expect nothing less” said McGlade, as she went to get a plate.

The mood went back to celebration, albeit with nervous glances at the strange, blue-pallid woman who seemed only interested in a small cup of ginger-ale and a plate slathered in refried beans. But, her focus was on the altar, and the image at the top.

“Hm. Who is this man? You must find him of a great deal of importance for his position at this apex of your ofrenda.”

“Hey, it ain’t just mine, it’s the whole party’s altar. And if you’re lookin for hostages, you’re a few years too late. He’s gone.”

“An acquaintance of yours perhaps?”

“Fuck me, he’s my grandpa, ! Only motherfucker in the whole fuckin family who was ever nice to me! Like, when I was a kid, my parents bought a rabbit, said they’d got me a pet. I was so happy to see that lil’ fucker, Trucker I named ‘em. Month later, turns out it was fattenin’ him up for meat! And they laughed n laughed when I had the stew n I asked where Trucker was”.

“While outside my context, I would presume that seems hideous behavior.”

“I cried for a whole day! But abuelo, he was over there for dinner that night, didn’t know until they told him about 'em, convinced 'em to give him the bones n what was left of the skin for a lil funeral; in a shoebox. He even held a lil ceremony, n kept the foot on a necklace for me to keep,”

Body Shock pointed up at the apex of the Ofrenda, and there was an old; shriveled rabbit’s foot by the portrait of the old man “I still remember the vacant lot it was in…”

Body Shock sighed and put her head down “We were the only ones left there that weren’t trainwrecks or complete motherfuckers. He tried to make sure I got what he had when he left, but the parents weaseled a way to get it for their 'business.’ Like, you heard o the Necro-Narco epidemic?”

“I am vaguely familiar” said McGlade, lying only in that she was in fact extremely familiar with its various fallouts.

“Yeah, that was part o what they did. But hey,” Body Shock said, perking up immediately “they’re probably in a fuckin ditch somewhere, let 'em be forgotten!” She held up a drink and shouted, “A toast to abuelo, wherever the fuck he is right now!”

Glasses were raised, a toast was shouted, and Boss McGlade was suddenly looking down. If there was a vulnerable expression on her face, nobody but her could see it under her wide-brimmed hat and downturned look. Her hands were in her pockets.

“So, whattabout you Doc?” Body Shock responded “Got any loved ones you wanna offer to, some fuckbuddy got whacked by the mob; some dead ma who you wanna avenge or whatever people like y-”

She stopped as McGlade dug something out of her pocket. There was a slight snap of electricity amongst the silence of the audience, only for it to dissipate once everyone saw what it was. A small plastic figurine of what looked like a toy soldier, but with a broken egg with bat wings for an upper body.

She placed it upon the table next to an old; drippy candle, and dug out and placed a sugar skull next to it from her pockets, one of many she had pettily knicked for later consumption. She breathed in a deep sigh, and one could see her hair do a slight bristle as she began to speak:

“I am not at liberty to discuss the further detailings of this event, but I will state that I spent most of my younger life in a series of cruel and abhorrent laboratories, a child treated as simply a prisoner, a child lab-rat. There were others in that lab, and the one I remember most…”

She paused for a moment. “Her name was Susan.”

A few guests could swear they saw tears run down from her eyes. “That wasn’t the name they gave her, but she said she liked it instead of that number they gave us. She was my age, maybe a few months older. She was the only person who was a friend there to me, she shielded me from the punishments for when I had to sneak a scrap of food to not starve from the experiments.”

There were most definitely tears running down from her eyes now. “She used to smuggle in comics and these little figures from this collection. This was one of the ones she didn’t have before she, before she…”

McGlade breathed out a shuddering breath, “I don’t know if she’s even dead. They never found the body. We were going to get married, if we ever got out, we promised each other…”

Body Shock said nothing and walked over. She picked up the figurine, off the table, and placed it right at the top, next to the image of her grandfather.

“Hey, now,” Body Shock sad awkwardly. She wasn’t particularly equipped to deal with her own emotions, no less those of others. “Why don’t we put 'em up top? Seem fitting, like, thematically, yanno?”

Then, transitioning away from that awkwardness, she raised her glass. “A TOAST, TO SUSAN!”

There was a cheer, and a raising of glasses from the other participants and then’; at once; a raised glass from McGlade.

And so, in a weird sleazy city on an early Novermber night, a truce was called for this night alone. It may at first seem strange to call a truce on a holiday of the dead, but the dead never truly die if they are remembered. And, through kindness’ hands, memories work, and the dead may walk again, if but for one night…

So yeah! A more ambitious character piece, to celebrate the true meaning of Day Of The Dead!

As per usual, this drabble is under a CC-BY-SA license for direct adaptation, but all the characters/concepts/settings/ect are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY-Vanilla license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!

And, if you wanna support me, maybe check out my Patreon, or even just send a Ko-Fi my way! Every penny is appreciated, and I am eternally grateful for those who donate!

#drabble #drabbles #day of the dead #dia de los muertos #my art #my writing

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gunnygazette-blog · 4 years ago

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Wk#6 Game-by-Game

(4) undefeated teams left...soon to be (3)… While (4) winless teams look to stay that way for another week...or maybe...two could change that...

GAME OF THE WEEK

(4) Wild Weasels (4-0) @ (2) Aud-i-Bulls (4-0)

Why?: Battle of Undefeateds...in which 5 of their 6 previous match-ups were decided by a TD or less...

Question...who has the longest winning streak against the Quot-a-Bulls? Anyone?...yep the Waskaly Weasels... The Donut Boys have won their last regular season meeting 26-19(2020) and were the last team to extend the Horned-ones now 3yr absence from the ‘ship 22-13(2019)… Against the Horned-ones they have average 22ppg A Passing offense that relies on the Qbs ability to run has given the Toros fits before...and that is what this is... But can they do what no offense has done yet….score more than once… Defensivley they are better then the Chefs…but they have yet to be challenged by a top offense...

The Quot-a-Bulls have been on their “2021 Revenge Tour”...taking out the Chefs two weeks ago...but then stumbled through the Fish last week. Now they set their sights on the Wiley Weasels and hope to get back to their earlier success when they had 4 game winning streak. Against the Waskily Weasels they have averaged 29.5ppg and may need that type of score to win this game…but a lil’ bit of a run game would help… Defensively they may be up for this task...they just have to keep the QB uncomfortable...

Prediction: Waskily Weasels 21-19...

My pick: Not sure if I agree...offhand I’d say the former champs...but after last week I’m not so certain but still...Meee-Ah-mee by 2...

Game #2

(7)Teddy Bears (3-2) @ (1) Runnin’ Naked (3-0)

Why?: Undefeated against the hottest team with losses

In 2019 these two split their match-ups to share the Division Title but Team Florida took the rubber match in the play-offs… This year, they have already met once...a 28-22 loss that was not only the final loss in their 2-game losing streak but also the start of the Grizzled-ones three game hot streak…

Against the Run Nekkids they have averaged 18ppg...and they may need more than that this week. Specifically though they need to make sure they don’t give J-ville short fields… Defensively they have to step up and take away the one WR that burned them for four long Tds...

Nekkid as Jay Bird just sprinted past the Against the Furry Woodland Creatures in Week one...four times actually. They’ve averaged 18.75ppg against the Teddies and if the Grizzleds didn’t learn to take away the long pass, they’ll go north of that score. They’ve struggled in the redzone and against better teams and that may be an Achilles heel… Defensively, in their previous meeting, they left a lot of room for improvement. If they can force negative plays like they did last week...this could be a runaway game…

Prediction: Undefeated continues 17-14

My pick: Furry-ones really need this one...but it looks like that win streak is over...

Game #3

(15) Rust Curtains (1-4) @ (8) Stanky Feet (2-1)

Why?: Decent First game...

A tight 22-16 game may be a precursor to a fun rematch… The non-steel curtains have been competitive against teams not from the West side of the Conference… They have been undefeated when they can get over the scoring hump of 20pts… This offense is all about the QB...his passing...his running...they have problems protecting the QB and gets inaccurate when on the run… One of the keys if they are going to win is hold on to the ball and not give up short fields...especially dumb special teams play... Defensively they have had problems stopping offenses from doing what they do best. If a team is a running team...they’ll get run on...if they are a passing team...they’ll get passed on… This week will be the air attack...specifically the middle of the field is where they’ll get hurt...again…

Stanky Feet will try to rebound after their first loss… Offensively, they will try to continue with what worked in the first game…so expect more passing down the middle (slants, digs, posts) where they can take advantage of a Safety who is back in a different zip code and LBs that either give the Receivers too much space when their backs are to the QBs, just lost in space, or not recognizing pattern combos… What they can’t afford is making the game easier for the Pitt-wanna-bes… Turnovers made their first match-up more competitive than it needed to be. Defensively they need to keep the QB in the pocket but uncomfortable…but I don’t see the ends being instinctive enough to roll back into containment. And Tackle...Tackle...Tackle...

Prediction: Toe Fungi 26-17...

My pick: I think both teams will have success passing in the first half...and running in the second...

Game #4

(12) Reaps (1-2) @ (13) Flat Fish (0-3)

Why?: Upset? Last years game was close...will the Phlat Pisces get their first win of the season?...first ever win against the Reaps?

“We’ve neva loss to da Stingrays”...true...but this is 2021…and that 4-game streak is on the block this week. If last years 8-6 game is any predictor for this year...this should be a close game…and probably low scoring. The Reaps have had that rhythm of bobbing at the .500 line, so last week when they had a chance to climb onto the plus side of the margin...they tripped over their own feet and are again looking up at that goal. This week they should be able to run the ball with that lil’ bowling ball… They’ll need play-action and screens to help slow down the edge rush as their tackles are heavy footed… Defensively they have done a terrible job of tackling...nor do I see that tough physicality they were once known for… Include losing receivers in the secondary and you can see why they had issues last week...

No team had a harder opening three games this season (three of the top five rated teams)...or more specifically...no Defense had it harder...with three high powered offenses… Last week this young team exceeded expectations and held Aud-i-Bulls to a mere two FGs… But on the flip side...their offense couldn’t buy a score… One dimensional on offense, they have the right dimension for this game. Defensively...which team do we get this week? Do we get the team that is staunch at home...or do we the less than stellar version we saw on the other side of alligator alley? This week will be a good test...

Prediction: 12-12...

My pick: My hearts going Reaps...but after last week...I’m waivering… The Reaps Punt game is sketchy...and that may be the difference...

Game #5

(9) Sparkies (2-2) @ (16) Mee-Ah-mee Raid (0-2)

Why?: Can the recently hot Sparkies get their first non-forfeit win against the Southern Raid?...or is this an Upset in the making?

Best way describe their previous match-ups? Not close...all five games that were not forfeits averaged 45.2 pts to 5.2...in the Black Uniforms favor… The Sparkies are going to try to change all that by challenging the edges with options and zone reads. All those runs are to set up the play-action...question is will they have their starting QB. Defensively their non-consistent...against the run or the pass…but I think the run...or more specifically...the QB running...that will be the difference in this game.

My pick for most underrated team?...Mee-Ah-Mee Raid… They have been a solid team but have made a lot of mistakes with the ball… Whether holding on to the ball...or forcing the ball into coverage down field...they have hurt their own scoring chances… Defensively the are solid but have lapses at all the wrong times… This week they get the QB that dashed their Championship Dreams at the end of the game...

Prediction: Raid snap that losing streak 21-20

My pick: I’ll say the same...if they protect the ball...

Game #6

(17) Cow Puppies (0-4) @ (5) Gardens Crew (3-1)

Why?: No expectation for this to be competitive

Can you guess which team is the most disappointing so far this season...yep...the toothless Canines… They can’t run and they are always trying to force the ball on the leftside...eventhough the passes seem to always workout better when they do get around to throwing it on that side of the field… Defensively they are not ready for this passing game…

For the Garden City Crew...they may be glad there name has been shutdown… There could be Marshalls out lookin’ for them on Sunday...

Prediction: The losing streak continues...36-8…

My pick: Bombs away...

Game #7

(11) Sea Ponies (0-3) @ (6) A.R.M.Y. (2-1)

Why?: Yeah...another non-competitve match-up

Arguably the worst team in the Conference...on the road...across the state...against one of the top 4 teams in the conference… Not enough excitement here. Sea Ponies will have some shots down field...if the QB can stand in long enough….and that is a big IF… Defensively they have been a sieve...and that should not change this week…

The Uniformed-ones should be in for a big game this week...run...pass...and Definitely the defense. Blitzing will put all the pressure on the Ponies...but if for some brain fart happens and they leave the QB some time...he might hurt them down field...

Prediction: Losing Streak continues...60-0...

My pick: Maybe not THAT many points but definitely one-sided

Game #8

(10) Pee-Rats (1-2) @ (3) Glads (3-0)

Why?: 54-6 loss...at home...are things going to be that much more interesting in a week now on the road for back-to-back games?

Lifetime match-ups...54-6...48-14...44-6...19-0...60-0...54-0...30-2...35-13… Nothing to see here...move along...

Prediction: ...rewind...51-3

My pick: Glads maybe back at full force at home...but disinterest may keep the game a lil’ closer...but not competitive...

BYE

(14) Duu-vowel Raid (1-3)

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hopeishappinessff · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter 3

Destani and I exited the growing lunch line once we’d received our food and moved toward the now crowded lunch table. I slid into my seat next to Dontay and Destani occupied the seat to my right. “What’s up Sy?” He asked, “You lookin mighty fine today ma.” I nearly blushed as I smiled and stuck a cheesy fry in my mouth “Thank you Dontay. How are you?” "I'm chillin, you know... keepin it pimpin.” He replied proudly with a cheeky grin. "Man shut that shit up Don. You ain't keepin shit pimipin.” Rashad exclaimed from his seat on the other side of the table. "Oh really nigga? How about you ask your mama who pimp slapped that ass last night." He snickered as the table erupted into laughter.

My ears perked abruptly as I tuned in to the pitter-patter of heels against the linoleum floor of the lunch room… there were only a handful of girls who felt it necessary to wear heels to school, so it didn't take long to realize exactly who was approaching. I peered across the table as Gabby quickly made a beeline for Chris in her too high stilettoes. Jabbing an elbow into Chris's arm, Rashad closed the space between them to not so subtly whisper “Damn bro… fucked that ass up last night, huh?” He glanced at Rashad, oblivious to his approaching girlfriend "Nigga what are you..." He was quickly interrupted by Gabby as she weaseled up behind him and leaned in to place a kiss against the side of his ink adorned neck. "These hoes I tell you." Destani mumbled from her seat beside me. Tameka giggled and cleared her throat, bringing the attention to herself “Hey Gabby!" Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Gabby rolled her eyes toward Tameka and presented her with a tight lipped smile “Hi.”

"Bit..." Tameka started only to be shushed by Nalay, "Man, why you always stopping me from checking this hoe?" "Because, it makes no sense to start with that girl if she’s not even bothering you.” Nalay explained in a tone just as hushed. "Nay, she did start with me. I know you saw her roll her damn eyes." She argued. Nalay glared at her firmly and much to my dismay, Tameka scoffed and remained silent. "Baby," Gabby started as she leaned against Chris’s back and draped her arms around his broad shoulders, “Can I talk to you for a minute?" With a sigh, Chris clenched his eyes shut and shook his head "Gabby, I'm eating right now.” "But it'll only be for a minute and it's really important.” She was sure to lace her Latin infused words with mock innocence as she massaged her cat like nails into his chest. With yet another sigh, he parted his eyes into a squint and pushed back against her to maneuver himself away from the table "Aiiight."

She eased her hands away from him with a sneer as he towered over her. Reaching for her hand, he turned and led them away from the lively table toward the exit of the cafeteria. "I swear, one day I will jump that girl and rip all them damn clip-ins right up out her head." Tameka fussed, rolling her eyes at the couple as they veered out into the hall. "Girl yes, then when you get done ripping that shit out Imma put it in a bag then set it on Chris's doorstep and leave a note that says ‘Your girls hair lost in a fight with Meka’s hand... can you get this back to her when you get a chance? Love her number one fan, Dez’.” Erupting into laughter, they reached across the table to eagerly slap hands. Over half an hour later, Chris sauntered back into the lunch room clutching his hat in one hand while he smoothed the other over the front of his shirt. Plopping down casually in his seat, he rand a tired hand over his face. “Where you been nigga?” Rashad asked as Chris perched his hat on his head and angled it forward to his liking. “Outside… talking to Gabby.” He answered. “For half an hour bro? I don’t think so.” Dontay chuckled. “Nigga have you never heard of a deep conversation?” Chris peered at him through squinted eyes with his head tilted slightly.

Before Dontay had a chance to respond, Tameka propped her elbows up onto the table and leaned forward to face Chris “Nigga nah, ain’t nothing deep between you and that brainless hoe except yo dick when she deepthroatin'. Just be real… you know she was slopping on your knob in the parking lot.” Her expression remained somber as the table shared a laugh. “Shut the hell up Meka,” Chris chuckled. Moments later the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch hour. With laughter and chatter filling the atmosphere, everyone departed from the table to dispose of their trash and head off in separate directions for the last few remaining classes of the day.

The remainder of the day crept by at a snail’s pace and after the final bell of the day rang, I stood at my open locker and gathered the books I’d need to complete the evening’s homework. I glanced up at the sound of Destani approaching to my left. Slowing down the closer she got, she leaned against the locker next to mine and sighed “Do we have to stay and wait for Chris?” I stared at her in amusement and couldn't help but laugh… her expression was that of a distraught child. “Unless you’d like to walk home, I think we do.” Closing my locker, I clutched her arm in mine and led her off toward the gym. We marched through the steel doors of the building and were greeted by the shrilling sound of whistles, the strong smell of hard work and sweat, and squeaking shoes racing up and down the court. We walked along the outskirts of the basketball court and once we reached the bleachers, we marched up a few rows and made ourselves comfortable.

“Brown… what are you doing out there boy? That would have been a technical in the actual got damn game! Control your got damn temper or your ass will be taking a nice little joy ride on the got damn bench next game, damnit… you hear be Brown?” Coach Wesler roared in his thick country twang with a reddened face and veins bulging violently through his neck. He was reprimanding Chris who’d just pushed a teammate onto the floor, then proceeded to hover over him and curse him to hell. I looked on as Chris furrowed his brows and gave one obligatory nod of his head in acknowledgement of his coach’s warning. Seconds later, my gaze met the hem of his jersey as he lifted it to wipe a trail of sweat from his forehead. The moment didn't last very long, but time seemed to halt as I gazed at the glistening indentions that was his abdomen. His body was sheathed in a layer of perspiration that accentuated the ink covering his brawny arms, chest, and half his stomach. My eyes traveled in a daze to the deep set v-cut that dipped impeccably into his shorts…

“Earth to Sy’Diyah… hello, are you there?” Destani snapped her fingers in my face, instantly bringing me back to reality. “Huh?” I muttered foolishly. “What the hell were you staring at girl? I swear I been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes.” She exclaimed theatrically. “Oh, um… nothing. What’s wrong?” I asked. “I was trying to tell you that queen bitch and her royal followers just walked in.” Destani explained, pointing not so discreetly toward the entrance of the gym. I followed her pointing finger and noticed Gabby and her two sidekicks, Sharissa and Melanie, strutting into the gym. They approached the bleachers and sat a few rows down from us, jumping right into their unnecessarily loud discussion.

“So Gabby,” Sharissa started as she tossed her shiny synthetic hair back over her shoulder, “I see you got yourself a lil limp today.” “Well, you know bae did stay over last night and girl trust me when I tell you… papa put in work all night.” She giggled. They shared a laugh and Melanie quickly cleared her throat “Okay Gab, please don’t get mad at me but I just have to ask. You know your boy used to get around… I've heard that nigga is crucial in the bedroom. That he’ll have your ass climbing walls and everything… is it true? Is it really that serious?” She asked, entirely too eagerly. Pressing a hand against her chest, Gabby stared out onto the court seductively at Chris as she nibbled on the corner of her bottom lip. “Señoras, listen when I tell you… papi plays no games, okay. I mean have either of you ever had multiple orgasms in one hour alone? Oh Dios mío, I damn near pass out every time… I swear my baby used to be a porn star in his past life!”

“It’s like that girl… damn,” Sharissa smirked and glanced up the court in Chris’s direction with a raised brow, “So I guess that explains why you can’t seem to get enough and fuck all in the parking lot in the middle of lunch, huh?” They laughed aloud, slapping hands with one another as they continued on with their obscene conversation. With a shake of my head, I glanced over at Destani. She rolled her eyes with a revulsion masking her face. “These hoes are dumb as fuck, I swear. I don’t see how Chris fools with that girl… do you hear this shit?” she asked rhetorically. I kept quiet beside her as my mind replayed every word of the conversation we’d just overheard. I wasn't even sure whether I was disturbed by all that we’d heard, or intrigued…

A short while later, the team had completed their practice for the afternoon. We stayed put on the bleachers to wait for Chris to make his way out of the locker room. After majority of his teammates had already exited the building, he finally walked out of the locker room in a stark white tank and a pair of black basketball shorts. He sported a flat brimmed red cap, angled effortlessly forward and raised at the brim. The Jordan’s that graced his feet didn’t go unnoticed as they complemented the hat resting neatly on his head. He quickly spotted us sitting on the bleachers and began to make his way toward us. It didn’t take long for Gabby to notice his presence and she quickly stood from her seat and stomped down the bleachers in her elevated stilettos. “Hey papa, you did so good in practice today!” She exclaimed as she approached his lofty frame and slid her arms around his waist. “Thanks Gabby. What are you doing here?” He mumbled, glancing at Destani and I. “Well other than to see my man practice,” She giggled, “I wanted to see if maybe you could come over. My mom is working late tonight.”

He sighed and began to unravel her arms from his waist “You know I can’t Gab.” “And why not?” Her words were brash as she gripped her hips and balanced her weight on her right leg. “I have to take Dez and Sy home… and I have to pick up my nephew from the youth center.” He explained. Smacking her lips loudly, she rolled her eyes and sighed “I don’t even understand why you have to take them home. Can’t they walk or something? I swear it seems like you spend more time with them than you do with me.” With a noticeable intensity in his eyes, he stared at her with an irate expression masking his reddening face “I drove them to school this morning and I plan to drive them home.”

“What the hell are you driving them around for… don’t they both have a car? You are not their damn chauffeur.” She fussed as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Gabby,” His tone was calm and deadly as he swiftly pushed her hand away from him and took a step away from her, “Listen, apparently you don’t understand the fact that I will do for them the same way I know they would do for me. We look out for each other… that’s just how the fuck this works. If you can't handle that and you wanna sit here and get in your feelings about it, then that’s on you.” “No baby, that’s not what I…” She paused and her face began to morph into a scowl as she realized exactly what he’d said, “Hold on estúpido, no one is getting in their feelings because of them. I’m just trying to give your ass an opportunity to spend some time with your woman and you’re acting crazy.”

“Aiiight Gabby, I don’t have time to stand here and fuckin fight with you. I’ll call you later or some shit.” He muttered as he whipped around to face us. “Let’s go.” His voice was firm, yet hushed as he sauntered past us toward the exit. He slammed a hand against one of the double doors, smacking it into the brick wall behind it. His cheeks were a rosy tint and I knew he needed some soothing words to calm him down, but I chose to remain silent as I began to follow him out the door. Destani was well on her way to turning around to confront Gabby, but I snatched her by her forearm before she had a chance to utter a single word. As we arrived at his truck, I took it upon myself to quickly climb into the passenger seat and leave Destani to the back. I knew that an argument would quickly ensue if she sat near Chris and I was determined to avoid that. The ride from the school to our neighborhood was awkward and quiet, with the exception of the radio. Reaching Destani's house first, he pulled parallel to the curb just outside her driveway and she quickly gathered her belongings and climbed out of the backseat.

“I’ll probably bring Imani over later.” She said. “Alright.” I replied. With significantly less enthusiasm than she had less than a second ago, she glanced at Chris with a raised brow “Thanks for the ride.” “No problem.” He mumbled, not even glancing back in her direction. Destani swiftly turned on her heels and marched toward the front of her house and Chris drove off down the street toward my house. He pulled into my driveway and shifted the truck into park, laying his head against the headrest as he turned to face me “I’m sorry Hope.” I peered at him and my face instantly contorted from utter confusion “What?” “I’m sorry,” He repeated staring at me, “You know, for earlier… for the way I spoke to you and for makin you upset. Like, years ago I promised myself I would never neglect you or hurt you and look at me… doing exactly what I swore I never would, all because of Gabby. I tried to put you at fault for the lack of time we get to hang out, when in reality it’s my fault… so, I’m sorry.” I gazed at him, taking in every genuine word that’d just spewed from his lips. Without thought, I began to giggle nervously and I tore my gaze away from him as I shook my head.

“Are you laughing at me?” He asked, leaning forward from his seat and moving closer to peer directly into my face, “I spend like thirty seconds of my life pouring my feelings out to you in this heartfelt apology… and you laugh at me. Girl, you ain’t right.” He chuckled. Calming my laughter, I turned to face him with a smile “I’m sorry Chris… I wasn't laughing at you. Your apologizes have always been the cutest… ever since we were kids. It’s that sincere look on your face that just gets me every time. You don’t have to apologize to me though.” He smirked with a shake of his head as he leaned comfortably into his seat. His head rested back against the head rest and he bit into his bottom lip as he peered at me, never uttering a single word.

The moment quickly became awkward as he continued to stare relentlessly and my heart soon began to thump wildly in my chest. “Well, I’ll just go now. Thanks for the ride home. Maybe you should bring Desean over later to play with Imani.” I suggested fretfully. I gripped my bag as I opened the passenger door and stepped onto the pavement below. “What about Chris… can he come over and play too?” He asked, never breaking his somber stare. I laughed quietly as I shut the door and glanced at him through the open window “Bye Chris.” With a chuckle, he sat up and swiftly shifted the truck into reverse “Bye love.” I whipped around to face the house without looking back… I was afraid that he would surely notice the heat that I suddenly felt rising in my cheeks.

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