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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 1 year ago

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The Genius Florist (Killshot, Part 1.)

Description: The occupation as a member of SAS came along with many restrictions and rules one had to follow to a dot. It could get even more intense for a soldier carrying a lot of trauma and not enough self-love, if any at all. Thank God, this lonely soldier meets a lonely florist one day, and as they say - animals have the best judge of character.

Part Summary: Johnny MacTavish was about to make the most important step of his life and asked one of his best mates and boss to come along. Unexpectedly, the day brings a new hope at rekindling old relationships and making new ones.

A/N: For some unknown reason, my brain blipped and decided to give the reader glasses. It is for you to decide if she's having them on at work only or if she wears them all the time... Or whether she wears them at all. Also, the cover of Modern Warfare 2: Ghost eludes me to believe that Simon likes a cig or two every now and then. I wouldn't assume he's a regular smoker, but he defo likes to light one up when he drinks or feels like there's too much on his shoulders.

Word count: 6.5K

Tagging: x

Master list: H E R E | Ghost's tapes: P L A Y L I S T

Never in his lifetime would Simon Riley imagine he’d been caught doing this. Frankly, he’d be rather caught dead than doing whatever this was. Deep inside, very deep, he was honoured to be chosen for this opportunity. The main cameraman, Johnny exclaimed jokingly, making Simon roll his eyes. Soap knew he got him hooked right then and there. On the other hand, Simon wouldn't ever imagine Johnny MacTavish getting into a very serious relationship with a Brit; mainly due to Johnny's everlasting ramblings about how the Brits in his unit are the bane of his existence. That changed when Soap met her; a wonderful, smart, and beautiful lass named Cassie. She was, according to her own words, the happiest and luckiest gal in the whole wide world thanks to Johnny.

Sure, Simon couldn’t really comprehend how it was even possible for someone as idiotic as Soap to make such a wonderful woman this content, but he didn’t dig into it much. If anything, it was endearing watching the two slowly fall deeper and deeper into each other. However, in the beginning, Simon had difficult time warming up to Cassie and her presence. By now, he was more or less comfortable around her and accepted her as an extended part of Johnny himself. The lass taught MacTavish how to be more extroverted and slowly let him blossom under her influence. Their happiness couldn't be measured.

He first met Cassie a year back. The night they'd been introduced in a pub was certainly a night to remember. Simon spent most of the time staring into his glass of whiskey, listening to the chatter around him, chuckling under his baklava - the unit members invited were interviewing poor Cassie as if their lives depended on it. Johnny, to make known that he was there for her the entire time, laughed along happily and jumped in whenever the question seemed inappropriate. Johnny's palm ran up and down her upper thigh under the table the whole time. This intimate gesture was saved only for lovers. At first, Simon didn’t overthink it; yet the longer he bore witness to said gesture, the more it itched itself into the back of his head. Needless to say, he was the first to leave that evening, packing his stuff in a rush just so he wouldn’t intrude for much longer.

As he walked home, Simon tried to reflect on what could be the reason behind him suddenly getting so upset over a sign of affection - he witnessed it all the time. Strangers out in public were hugging, holding hands, kissing and always making out. It was easy to dissociate from random strangers. The dissociation became harder the moment it was one of his closest comrades who found his soulmate. The way he talked about her with the boys, the tone of his voice when he called her just to hear how her day was, the newly found glimpse of courage in his eyes each time they were about to enter the battlefield… That was the moment Simon halted and took in a sharp breath.

This, this was the root of the problem, Simon realized. What they had was, to a tee, something Simon longed for in his deepest, darkest fantasies - someone to lean into, someone to laugh about everyday ordinary bollocks with, someone to dance to tacky songs with. Someone to hold, cherish and love for the rest of his life. That one special lass who’d be waiting for him at their apartment after a long deployment. The one who’d love his face no matter how many scars would pile up on it in the coming years. Someone he could cook with, and share his space with without fear or regrets. And maybe even… Simon shook his head. No, imagining a smaller version of himself running around the apartment was a bit too far-fetched, even for him. He could barely imagine dating, so jumping straight to kids was a rather rushed conclusion. This was his little impossible fantasy that was to never come true.

The older Simon got, the louder this longing got - the harder it was to ignore. He wasn’t getting any younger, it felt like he was running out of time. Not ever building himself a proper future was something he thought he was already settled with... But now that MacTavish got himself something Simon would trade his existence for, and it seemed to be working seemingly flawlessly… Why couldn’t Simon do the same? Could he still excuse his loneliness with his work? Hardly, Johnny was making it work even through their occupation. Maybe it was time to pour himself a glass of wine - Simon Riley was unable to start and maintain a meaningful human connection. As soon as he got intimate with anyone outside his unit, all of his alarms started to ring and red flags rose before he and the person got truly intimate. Knowingly, he forbade himself from such a life, mainly due to his duty to the crown. Another fact playing a huge role in all of this was his past and all the demons that refused to stay hidden in the shadows.

Poor Cassie was hot on her heels to bring the boys a pie she baked later in the evening - she approached Simon and apologized for the night before. She didn't know if she'd done something inappropriate to upset him or if she said something wrong... But the pie symbolized a peace offering. The white flag of truce, that's how Cassie phrased it. Poor lass didn't know it was Simon roasting himself mentally. She had nothing to do with his temper or bad mood. If anything, it would've been more appropriate for Simon to bake at least three pies for her. She deserved it more. Each time Ghost thought of this moment, recalling as Cassie watched him with tears in her eyes hoping she'd be forgiven for nothing, he had to smile. He made a new friend that morning. A genuine friend outside the unit - now, Cassie checked on him regularly, always trying to woo super-secret information out of him, something dragging him for a hangout with her and Johnny. Sometimes, Cassie would succeed with extorting the information even out of someone as stoic as Simon was (for example, Cassie was one of the only two people who knew about Simon's soft spot for kittens and puppies), sometimes she'd 'fail miserably', to quote her (she once tried to ask about the type of women Simon was into, possibly leading into setting up a date for him if he wasn't careful enough).

One question still remained - why, for the love of God, was Simon chosen to keep MacTavish company while he picks out the bouquet of flowers for his proposal? Why did Johnny honour him by giving him the position of the cameraman? It was around noon. By this point, Johnny had shoved the diamond ring in Simon's face at least fifteen times. This morning alone. Simon hadn't even bothered counting how many times he saw the small piece of jewellery in the past months during their deployment. Soap kept the ring on him the entire time, telling the lads that Cassie would love the idea of him holding onto the ring during the most intense moments of his life. MacTavish proclaimed this a sign of devotion and love, Riley a sign of idiocy and madness.

“Are you sure we’re heading in the right direction?” - The masked man asked his comrade as he watched him shove the ring back into his jacket. Soap glanced at him mindlessly, looking around for a bit. “Positive, Ghost. My soon-to-be mum-in-law tipped me off to go to this particular shop on this particular day. There’s this genius florist whom she orders bouquets from all the time, said they were the nicest she’d ever seen. Should be riiiiight…” - MacTavish checked his phone again, poking his head around the corner to see if he was right. - “There.”

Both army men stopped in their tracks to look at the flower shop properly. The place looked awfully inviting and sunny even though it was located five minutes away from Soho. This place simply begged for the standbys to look inside and give it a try, it asked to be explored. The shop bore similarity to an intimate greenhouse in the middle of the concrete jungle of London. Ghost immediately noticed that even most people visiting the café on the other side of the street glanced inside the secluded space dreamily. The greenhouse wasn't walled off by concrete, instead, huge portions of said walls were made out of glass, showing the ridiculous amount of flowers, decorations and fairy lights hung all over the interior. Among cut flowers, the shop also offered a fair amount of succulents and exotic flowers delicately placed into either elegant or colourful, almost childish pots. Amid this chaos, there was a desk, a countertop to be precise, with azure colour painted all across it. Name of the flower shop? Rosemary’s. Simply Rosemary’s. Who was Rosemary? No clue.

The two gentlemen entered the shop while chatting, making sure to close the door behind them - the weather was cold and gloomy, and there was this omnipresent darkness even though it was barely 1 p.m. Funnily enough, the mood outside didn’t make it inside in any way, shape of form. The temperature and humidity were taken up to 11 inside the shop, presumably to keep all the exotic plants and succulents in good shape. The cut flowers didn't seem to mind at all, they looked perfectly fresh - as if the florist had just come back from picking them on a meadow.

To be honest, Simon never appreciated places like these. He preferred his shops of choice dark and anonymous, places where no one could recognise him. He preferred to be just a face in the crowd, even though his baklava made him stick out like a sore thumb most of the time. In his eyes, these shops always came across as a tidbit tasteless. On top of that, the mentioned so-called florist genius was playing some tacky 2010s playlist, seemingly grooving to it while walking around the shop, checking on the flowers. - "I'll be right with ya, gentlemen! Just need to find a white ribbon in the back!"

The bouquet on the countertop, of course, Simon assumed. She needed it to finish MacTavish's order - the main skeleton was already being put together with white roses, pure white Transvaal daisies and the brightest lillies Simon ever laid his eyes upon. From the intel he gathered, MacTavish and this mysterious florist spent hours discussing the meaning and design of the bouquet, each flower spelling out different meanings and promises. Promises for Cassie which Johnny meant to keep. What were the meanings and promises? Sadly, Ghost didn't remember a word from Soap's comprehensive speech. Next to the skeleton of the flower, there were also a few decorations laid out as if the florist couldn't precisely decide which to pick. If Simon had to pick, he would go for the small branches spray painted to a subtle silver colour with pears glued on. He'd rather let the florist decide, though.

As Simon wandered off, looking at all the types of succulents, he almost missed a small ball of energy running between his legs. After he looked down and focused on it, he realized it was just a little puppy. A very energetic one... A very happy one, to say the least. "Hey, miss?" - He cried out, catching both her and MacTavish's attention. The moment Johnny set his eyes on the dog, he lowered himself down, letting out a sigh of adoration. The puppy didn't waste a second before running off to Johnny's arms, enjoying all the pets and scratches it got out of him. Simon let out a silent chuckle as he watched one of his best friends mumbling nonsense to the puppy, being enamoured by it. - "Is this puppy yours?" "Oh, yes, I'm so sorry. Does it bother you?" "Not in the slightest!" - Johnny cried out happily, picking the dog into his arms.

Finally, you walked out of the facilities, closing the door behind you, white expansive ribbon in your palm. Seeing that your puppy is in good hands, you knew you didn't have to take it back there just yes. "How can I help you today, gentleman?" - You asked, smiling widely at them. Since this was none of Simon's business, he continued with looking at all the types of succulents Rosemary's had on display, listening to your conversation with Johnny. - "Are we looking for any special flowers? For your mum perhaps? Or something more... Special? For a girlfriend, maybe? I can make it all happen." "Actually, name's MacTavish? The bouquet you're finishing should be the one I ordered a week ago, yeah?" "Is it already 1 p.m.?" - You mumbled back in utter horror, presumably checking your wristwatch. As you gasped and started giggling nervously, it could be heard you were unnerved. - "I'm so sorry Mr. MacTavish. I should've had your order ready, but Bonnie gave me a run for my money earlier this morning. She wasn't feeling too good and I was scared because she's just a puppy... And now I'm just late for everything and looking like a blithering idiot. But yes, this is the bouquet, it should be ready in the next ten to fifteen minutes." "This little rascal gave you that much trouble, eh? Who could be even remotely mad at this little bundle of joy?" - MacTavish continued fluently, lovingly caressing the puppy. - "Also, that works for me, then. Me and the arse over there wanted to go for a cuppa anyway. Now, we have an excuse for it."

"Mhm." - You agreed. - "The café on the other side of the street is a killer. I'd kill for their croissants and chai latté, trust me. You're in for a treat..." - Then, both you and Johnny tailed off the rails, talking about Bonnie and her stomach ache. In the spawn of a minute, MacTavish jumped to your music choice - asking about what were you listening to. With a quiet giggle, you told him it was some mid-2010s band Simon had probably never heard about. "Really?" - John wondered, laughing unbelievably. - "Haven't heard them in ages! Wow, I feel ancient. I used to love them." "Sex on Fire is their biggest hit, in my opinion, but I could name a few..." - That was when Simon turned around to tell MacTavish they should leave you to your work if he wants the fucking bouquet finished today. That was when he first laid his eyes on you. Properly. Without your back turned to him or being hidden away inside the employees' facility.

The was... Something. Something in the way your expression changed as you spoke with Johnny, laughing at his responses. The lights flashing in your eyes revealed all the passion and thoughtfulness that you neatly hid away. Something in the way your body moved on its own as you gestured; Simon liked this part of you. It felt warm, inviting and welcoming, friendly almost... Even though you had never met Johnny in your life, you've chatted about like a pair of old friends. It was the complete opposite of all the feelings Simon's presence evoked. Something so delightful and beautiful about the way you presented yourself, about your hairstyle, the glasses framing your face, the way your working apron sat on your body, showing the white t-shirt tucked under as well as the jeans pants poking from under it. There was a moment when Simon's body forgot how to breathe entirely. The whole entirety of you was absolutely fucking stunning. This was Simon's first impression of you summed up.

That was when you looked back at him, still smiling from ear to ear. The world froze for a second and stopped turning as Simon stared at you intensely, knitting his brows together, puzzled at all the intense emotions tingling and brewing inside his chest. As Simon blinked, he realized you were clearly talking to him. "Are you okay?" - You asked, giggling nervously. This brought MacTavish's attention to Simon as well. John smiled his way, still cradling Bonnie in his arms. "Oh, he does this all the time. Don't worry about it, he's actually a sweetheart." - The other part Johnny whispered to you, making you laugh as you shook your head.

As you watched Simon back, there was something about the intensity in his stare. It was probably caused by his baklava - you couldn't see his expression, therefore you only had to judge his mood based on his warm brown eyes and light eyebrows knitted together. The intensity of said stare was powered by the frame and sheer size of this guy - not that you'd be the smallest bean walking the Earth, but there was something unnerving about the sheer size of his upper body, noticeably his arms. These bad boys seemed like they wouldn't have trouble smashing a pumpkin if he wanted to. And let's not start on his fucking thighs hugged by shabby, comfy pair of jeans. Naturally, MacTavish's 'he's actually a sweetheart' didn't have the intended calming effect.

"I was going to say that we better go fetch that cuppa if you'd like your bouquet done today." - Ghost spoke out finally, praying that his voice wouldn't give up on him now. - "All your bloody fucking blabbering keeps the poor lass away from work." "Oh, you're probably right, yeah." - MacTavish agreed, looking down at Bonnie. Simon heard you chuckle at their friendly banter; the sound made one corner of Simon's mouth twitch upwards. - "Would your mummy let you out for a short walkie with your newest uncle, huh?" - The man mumbled, glancing over at you. Even before Ghost said a word, you could see him performing a well-trained, yet nonetheless impressive eye-roll upon Johnny's words. "I wouldn't entrust this man with an animal. He'll refuse to give it back, he always does." - Simon butted in and gave Bonnie a scratch because she, indeed, was too adorable. You didn't answer Johnny's request, you simply fetched the leash from your backpack. "Bonnie has a great judge of character... Well, better than her mum anyway. I'll let my girly out with you under one condition - you'll stay right in my field of sight so I know she's safe, yeah? Don't forget I have your number, Mr MacTavish." - The last part was said in the sweetest tone imaginable, but your expression was warning Johnny, promising him many consequences in case anything happened to the dog. As expected from a soldier, Johnny saluted you, adding a: "Ma'am, yes, ma'am" before departing by Simon's side.

Around fifteen minutes had passed since the two left you to work - now, both of them were standing outside, at the edge of your vision field hidden away from the other customers. They each bought themselves a hot drink to sip on as they watched over Bonnie being the most adorable and curious little bean. The feelings tightening around Simon's chest were too much to simply breathe through. Even though he wasn't the happiest about this bad habit of his, he was now smoking a cig with his baklava slightly lifted up. Johnny knew better than to look at him, even though there wasn't much to see other than Ghost's lips and his chin glazed by light stubble.

"Did we get it right?" - Johnny wondered quietly, checking the receipt stapled onto a small paper bag he was holding in his palm. Simon glanced over at his comrade, too preoccupied with watching you at work. There was a furrow on your face as you tied the ribbon around the base masterfully, finishing your last touches; to Simon's pleasure, you went for the elegant silver branched, masterfully sliding in one after one, entwining in an enchanting way. Your lips were moving - either you talked to yourself while you worked or you sang along to yet another tacky song on your playlist. "Croissants and chai latté, that's what she said." - Simon let out almost thoughtlessly, being positive this was the go-to order you told Johnny about. Even though he met you ten minutes ago, this piece of information immediately carved itself into the back of Simon's mind.

As the two army men walked inside the warm, fuzzing café, their eyes fell on the menu immediately. There were so many forms of coffee to choose from, and the variety of coffee beans made the choice even more difficult. While Johnny loved coffee, especially the smell of it in the morning, Simon preferred tea. Not that he wouldn't go for coffee every once in a while, but... That was why he stuck to your recommendation. "How may I help you?" - The barista asked, not even bothering to hide that the sight of Simon unnerved her. Nothing to wonder about, Simon gave strong robber vibes to most of the people he met. "Hello. I'd like to order a chai latté, heard a lot of praises 'bout it." - He mumbled loud enough for the lady to head it through the baklava. - "... Actually, make it two. Two large chai lattés and... Are you out of croissants? Can't see them anywhere." "You're lucky, sir. We just finished baking a fresh batch, right from the oven. How many would you like?" "Four, thank you." - Simon ended the exchange, putting the payment on the countertop without waiting for the change back. The barista's behaviour towards Johnny switched a complete 180° - even more so thanks to the cute puppy in his arms. Soon enough, MacTavish joined Simon in the order queue, both men holding a small pink paper with their order summary on it.

"I've never seen you eat croissants." - Johnny remarked matter-of-factly. Simon didn't respond straight away, shrugging his shoulders at first. "It's not for me." - He explained simply. "... Never seen you drink chai latté either. Were you even aware of its existence?" "The florist talked highly of it and I wasn't in the mood for coffee. Also, she let you borrow her dog, figured would be a nice gesture to repay her somehow." - Again, enough of a simple explanation... Except for all the ulterior motives brewing right under the surface. "I see, you're right, as usual. Should've thought of that, mate. Let's hope we got her order right." - Johnny wondered. Simon hummed, not giving MacTavish any sort of an answer. Simon was positive the order was right - the entire conversation you and Johnny had was itched into the back of his brain.

"We got it right, I'm assuring you for the thousandth and last time." "Right, right." - Johnny waved him off, picking Bonnie off the ground - the puppy was now super-dirty and wet since it devoted its energy to running through every puddle in their radius. - "Hadn't seen you smoking in a long time. Something on your mind, beautiful?" "Not much just stressed about my performance." - Simon replied, his tone of voice not giving MacTavish much room for thought. "Hm?" - Johnny wondered. - "As in the tests or..." "I'm a shit cameraman." - Ghost admitted quietly. For a bit, there was comfortable silence between the two old pals before Johnny started snickering to himself. "For all I care, film your devilishly handsome face for the sake of it, I'll be equally happy with simply having the audio. Even just the part where Cassie says yes." "Oh, now you have an idea for what you're gonna get as your wedding gift." "Now I'm scared, Ghost." "Three whole seconds of my face in its full glory, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, won't ever show it to you again." "Well, that's honouring. Cassie will be so jealous, I'll tell you that much." "Awh, no, the bride gets to see my devilishly handsome face anytime she asks me to." "Cheeky little bastard." - Johnny laughed, watching as your palm skillfully wrapped the bouquet into a protective foil. In a few minutes, you were to be done and the delivery would be completed. After this, there wasn't a singular reason Simon could bump into you 'accidentally'. He wasn't much of a flower guy, mainly due to being deployed for long periods of time. If he were to buy flowers, he wouldn't have anyone to ask to take care of them. By all means, these plants would be better off with anyone else than Simon.

"This thing that the bonnie wee lass said stuck in my head." - Johnny admitted suddenly, capturing Simon's attention. Again, he didn't look his way but hummed so MacTavish would know he was listening. - "The puppy is a good judge of character... Better than her mum anyway." "She could mean anything by that." "Do you think someone's troubling her?" - MacTavish wondered out loud. When the florist said this, Simon simply assumed she was making a subtle joke. The connotations Johnny gave to the statement... Was someone troubling you? Was it a personal dispute? Was it a guy that's been bothering you? Or was just MacTavish whisking some drama that wasn't real to begin with? "I'd assume that's not exactly our business, mate. We might be SAS, but that doesn't mean we have to mingle with every personal dispute we come across." - Simon answered after taking a moment to think it through. Johnny nodded in agreement - what Simon said was reasonable. "All and all, the florist was right. The puppy has a great judge of character, isn't that right?" - The last part was meant for the puppy as MacTavish lowered his head, nuzzling its wet fur with his nose. "Now that's narcissistic." - Ghost remarked, amusement clear in his voice. "I'm talking about how it nearly peed your pants with excitement. This little bundle of joy instantly adored you." - Johnny concluded, watching as Simon flicked the cig. - "We should go. The florist seems to be done."

The result was otherworldly. Any woman would be lucky to receive this bouquet - it was done with a lot of care, attention and balance, and even the smallest details bore signs of being masterfully crafted. "How did you manage to craft this?" - MacTavish breathed out in awe, letting Bonnie off the leash - the pup immediately ran to greet you, wettening your jeans in the process. Simon, even though he wouldn't assume himself to be appreciative of any sort of art, couldn't but stare at it. While he let Johnny do the talking, Simon drowned his sight in you and your masterpiece; the way your eyes lit up upon seeing Johnny's reaction, the wave of giddiness taking over you when he started wowing and swing made him smile under the baklava. "A lot of patience, studies, practice..." - You named out, laughing. - "... To be frank, it's just that I know that my art will make someone very happy. I tend to pour a lot of energy into each bouquet that I sell. Maybe a bit too much at times, but the results are always worth the time and effort." "What's the total?" - Johnny asked impatiently, pulling out his wallet. Cassie would be through the roof as soon as she laid her eyes on the flower, Johnny was sure of it. "Well, I did my best to cut on some costs, but it's still an eternal romance bouquet, so... 180 pounds." "Make it 210. Ms Y/L/N... This is incredible. I can see why my mum-in-law talked about you this highly. She's a regular and she insisted that you, and only you, could make a bouquet for this occasion. As per usual, she was right."

"Mums-in-law love to hear they're right, you're on the right track here. Also, that's very kind of her. Might I ask... I don't want to pry, but who's the bouquet for? I might know the lucky gal since you've mentioned her mum is a regular?" - You wondered, counting the cash Johnny handed you. 30 pounds in tips sure was nice... Nothing you'd personally agree with, though. It was sweet that Mr MacTavish was this happy about the result, but this amount was too high for your liking. Yet, when you tried to give the money back to him, Johnny just stubbornly slipped the tip right back to you.

"My fiancé-to-be is Cassie Neil. She's a Londoner through and through, but goddamnit, she reeled my arse right in." "You're joking! No way..." - The shock in your voice was immeasurable as you opened your mouth in disbelief. - "Me and Cass were high school classmates! Until she left to study in France, we'd been best friends. We're still in touch, not as much as we used to be, though. Sometimes, she stops by to say hi, bringing me some of her famous gingerbread. The last time she stopped by, she blabbered about a Scot who stole her heart away. You must be the mysterious man." As you've said, Cass stopped by recently, maybe around a month ago, going off about this Johnny guy whom she'd been seeing for the past ten months. She mentioned that he was military, a part of the SAS - she explained that their speciality is close combat and hostage rescue. Presumably, Mr MacTavish and his buddy were both a part of it... That explained the baklava covering the man's face. "Oh, so you're the mysterious Y/N! My name's Johnny, love, hi. Wondered to whom she brings the best pieces in the batch." "What a coincidence..." - You giggled, your face getting flushed. - "If I'd knew you'd been sent by good old Mrs Neil, I'd give you a discount. I feel so stupid now."

"Nonsense." - Simon suddenly chimed in, making both of you look up to him. It was highly uncommon for Simon to speak out of terms, the self-control coming with a lieutenant position often held him back. If anything, Johnny believed that Simon is more of an 'I'll say my peace after the rest is said and done' kind of guy. - "Your work's valued exactly how it should be. I don't know much about flower arranging, but this is a masterpiece by all means. There is no reason for a discount. We've, ugh... By the way, we've got you something over at the bakery." - The man added, handing you the paper bag. "Um, thank you for the compliment, sir. Wait... Is this what I think it is?" - Excitedly, you accepted the paper bag right out of Simon's hand; when your skin brushed his, he felt a spark of electricity running right through. It left behind a trace of enjoyable tingling lingering on his skin.

You, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice, being over the moon thanks to their generosity. - "Get outta here, you guys are the best. Hadn't even time to order a takeout, so these will come in handy. Thank you so much." "Ghost here said it's for entrusting us with your sweet little puppy." - Johnny explained, carefully accepting the bouquet you handed over to him. Both of you concentrated on the task at hand while still chatting. "If lending you my pup makes you guys buy me lunch each time, you might as well walk her every day." - You chuckled. Bonnie, as if she sensed she was the topic of conversion, stumbled onto the scene and started to nuzzle Simon's boots once more. This time, however, her look of adoration was too much - the man kneeled and started to pet her. You'd both taken note of the action, smiling without commenting on it. - "But no, you might not keep her, Mr MacTavish." "Oh, jobby. I'll try another time then." - Johnny laughed. - "Also, my lass's friends are friends of mine. Call me Johnny." - The man said, offering you his palm. Without too much thought, you shook it.

"Name's Y/N, hi." - You said, still smiling from ear to ear. Then, you turned your attention to Simon since it would be rather inappropriate to just leave him out. - "And you might be?" As Simon looked at your palm, he tried to figure out which name should he give you - Lieutenant Riley? No, that would make him an egotistical jerk. Simon? No, that would be too personal. Ghost was all that remained as an acceptable option. - "Ghost, a pleasure to meet you." "Pleasure's on my side, Ghost. The two of you gotta let me know how it all went. Every last bit of detail, deal? Also, tell Cassie I'm happy for her and send my best regards. This is huge news." "I'll entrust Ghost with showing you the footage. Or stop by myself. He's my cameraman." - MacTavish explained simply, having Simon grunt in agreement. With a quiet 'awwww', you nodded - suddenly, Ghost's presence made a whole lot more sense. The man didn't appear to be comfortable inside Rosemary's, he seemed like he didn't want to be there. The two must've been great friends, then; usually, the cameramen went on to be the best men. "That's nice of you, Ghost. Also, it's assuring to know both Johnny and Cass have the best people looking out for them."

"We should be on our merry way now. You better make sure you're free this time around next year." - Johnny exclaimed, half-jokingly. - "In one year's time to the day, I'm making this lass my wife." "Is this an invitation or a job offer?" "Could we make it both, Y/N?" "That would be great. Can't wait to hear from you! Bye!"

The entire proposal went wonderfully - Cassie's sister came along, and Kyle and Price also took part in it since Cassie wholeheartedly believed that Johnny's unit was like his family and believed this would be simply a "dinner". Simon was smiling under his baklava the entire time, watching both of his best friends slowly becoming a mumbling, sniffling, crying happy mess. Simon filmed the entirety of it, he also made sure he'd have the best angle possible. Of course, Cassie immediately let out a shaky 'Of course, you dimwit' before hugging Soap passionately. Now, all of them were sitting around the table while waiting for their dinner to arrive. Johnny invited everyone for a glass and some food in one of the more expansive spots in London, making sure this would be a night to remember. Cassie and Nelly were all over the bouquet, gushing over how perfect it was.

Ghost was talking to Price, ensuring he wouldn't have time to talk to Nelly. While he adored Cass from the bottom of his heart, Simon was well aware of the reasoning for Nelly joining them - Cassie had been trying to hook the two up for a fair share of time by that point. As soon as Johnny started talking about the florist and her masterpiece, Simon's ears sharpened, and the conversation between him and Price was long forgotten. "Who made it?" - Cassie gushed with adoration, carefully caressing one of the silver-coated branches woven into between the flowers. "A friend of yours worked on it." - Johnny teased, winking in her direction. - "Your mum referenced Rosemary's and once I saw it, I had to give the props. Y/N is a fuckin' genius." - He explained, smiling happily upon seeing Cassie's mouth open wide.

"That explains everything." "Hell yeah." - Nelly chimed in, nodding. - "I remember when she started to fiddle around with flowers back when she and sis went to high school together. Even back then, her bouquets were just... Different. Always hoped the guy I dated would buy me on hers. Hadn't been that lucky so far." - She mumbled, shooting a quick glance over to Simon. As previously, he did his best to ignore Nelly's advances; it almost felt like Nelly was trying to give Simon a tip about how to impress her. As if. "Never got an answer to why that was, though. Y/N can barely keep up a serious face and hates accepting praises and compliments. The only explanation she ever meant was 'It's because I talk to the flowers, and they carry out my best wishes to whoever they are given to', I think." - Cassie sighed dreamily, playing with the engagement ring on her finger. Oh. The way your lips moved gently as you were finishing the bouquet, Simon recalled - you did talk to your flowers. - "Ugh, I awfully miss her at times. Petty she's so reluctant to go out with me lately, we used to be best friends. I'll have to give her a call."

Upon hearing this, Johnny glanced over to Simon quickly, he didn't even need to add anything. ... better than her mum is, anyway. Reluctance to go out with someone you used to be extremely close to even though you and Cass still felt good about your friendship. Do you think someone's troubling her? Knowing Y/N's best friend was safe made her genuinely relieved. Perhaps, there was something about the sentence after all. "We can invite her to our next hangout?" - Johnny offered immediately, having Cassie's face lit up. "You wouldn't mind?" "No!" - Johnny exclaimed. - "The lass seems fun, I already told her that the friends of my friends are my friends too... And I promised that I'd do my damnest to steal her dog away from her, have you seen that bonnie little she-devil?"

As the dinner carried on, the conversation was lively, flowing very nicely. After getting his hands on his glass of whiskey, Simon tuned out the surroundings, to be honest. His brain registered their laughter and chatter, but it felt as if his head was stuck under the water - he was going over Y/N, and he couldn't get her out of his head. Everything about her was freaking Simon out - the sound of her voice, her laughter and giggles, the curve and apparently plushness of her lips. The joy radiating out of her upon watching Johnny in awe. A hint of softness upon realizing why Ghost was accompanying his comrade - a glimpse of interest, he realized as he finished the glass, putting it back on the table. It could be the slight kick of the alcohol or his imagination making it up, but he'd swear he saw a glimpse of interest in your eyes. Pushing forward and drinking some more, Simon's brain kept trying to decipher the throwaway line that could be meant as a joke - ... better than her mum, anyway. It was decided right there and then.

Simon would try his best to create a situation in which you'd accidentally bump into each other just so he could see you again.

#simon riley x fem!reader #simon riley #simon riley cod #john mactavish cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost and soap are the official chaotic duo of cod: mw #i live for these two hoes #we live for a king thriving #go get the girl johnny ask for her hand marriage #also idk why do we have a doggo #we just have and that's how we roll #i would die for bonnie even though she ain't real

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eldritchsurveys · 2 months ago

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1257.

1. Where would you like to be in 5 years? >> I would like to be alive. If I’m not, then I guess I’ll be in no position to protest anyway. 2. What was the experience that impacted you the most in your life? >> I have no way of determining that. I don't think that's a logical way to judge my life, anyway -- everything I've experienced has contributed to how I am, and trying to "rank" those things in this manner is missing the point. 3. What type of relationship did you have with your parents? >> One I'm still recovering from. 4. Would you be with someone who doesn’t have the same beliefs as you? >> If I'm actually wanting to be close to someone, they definitely have similar core beliefs as me. Otherwise, I wouldn't even be feeling that way.

5. How would your best friends describe you? .

6. Do you usually follow your heart or your head? >> My emotions and my cognition are intertwined. 7. Would you put your family or your friends first if you had to choose one? .

8. What did your last relationship teach you? .

9. What do you think of online dating? >> I don’t have any thoughts about online dating. It doesn’t seem any more interesting to me than offline dating. You'll note that I just don't like dating, I think the whole concept is absurd.

10. Do you prefer dating just one person and see where it goes or dating multiple people until you make a decision? >> I prefer not dating. I don't go out seeking romantic partners like that, I'd rather just make people's acquaintance the regular way and get to know them and see what kind of bond we form over time.

11. What are the qualities you’re looking for in someone you want to grow old with? .

12. What are you most grateful for in your life? >> Well, my life. And being strange and unusual and having such a complex inner world. Also, baklava. Very grateful for baklava.

13. If you could change anything about your past, what would it be? .

14. What’s the one thing you would like to change about yourself today and why? .

15. If a psychic could tell you what will happen in the future, what would you want to know? >> I'd really rather not. I do engage with astrology's divinatory properties, but only to a certain extent. I have an 8th house stellium and considering you can predict death-related matters through the 8th house, I think it's best I don't know too much about what's going on in there.

16. If you knew that you only had one year to live, what would you change in your life? >> I don’t know. I can’t comprehend what it would be like to know when I’m going to die, so I can’t imagine myself in that situation.

17. If money and career were no object, what would you really be doing? >> The thing is, money and career are not a factor in my life at all, so... here it is, here is what I'd really be doing. What I'm doing right now.

18. What do you do when you don’t get something you worked really hard for? >> Cry about it.

19. Do you hold grudges or do you forgive easily? >> I don't think I do either one.

20. What are some of your favorite quotes and why do you relate to them? >> I can never think of quotes off the top of my head. 21. Where do you go when you need some inspiration? >> I don’t have a specific place to go for this. I find inspiration in random places at random times. 22. Who is the first person you call when you’re in trouble? >> I don’t know, seeing as I’m almost never in trouble.

23. Which fictional character do you believe is the most like yourself? >> The fictional characters that are also me.

24. What is the craziest thing that you’ve done with someone? >> Hanging out with Sigma put me in some crazy situations back in the day.

25. Do you like someone you’re interested in to pursue you or do you prefer to do the chasing? >> I can play either role, I'm sure. What matters is the reciprocation, whether they do so in a shyer, receptive way or a more assertive way.

26. What is the best advice you’ve ever been given? .

27. If you could marry anyone in the world, who would it be and why? . 28. Do you think confessions make a relationship stronger? >> I think that depends on a lot of factors.

29. Did you ever judge someone for the dark secrets they told you? >> I actually think I'm the perfect person to tell dark secrets to. I am not inclined towards judgement -- or gossip. I'm even better than a priest. 30. What is your dream vacation and who would you take with you? >> I don’t dream of vacations.

31. What is one thing you’ve always wanted to cross off your bucket list, but haven’t yet? .

32. Would you ever just quit everything and start over in a new country? >> Emigrating to a different country does interest me, but I know that's just not possible for me so I don't think about it much.

33. Would you relocate for love? >> I would relocate for one corn chip. But, yeah, also love.

34. How do you feel about staying friends with exes? >> It vexes me to think that I could be so entangled with someone and then have such a rancorous parting that we couldn't be friends afterwards. That makes no sense to me. Why must that happen? I think I'd like to live and love in a way that makes it far less likely to happen.

35. What’s your love language? >> I don't participate in this shit.

36. If you could choose one superpower, what would it be and why? .

37. What is your biggest regret in life so far? .

38. Who is your role model? >> Skeletor.

39. What was your favorite romantic moment and why? >> Skygazing with the Grim Reaper in The Sims 4. I knew I could win him over. It's me, of course he'd fall in love with me. >:3 40. What is your favorite childhood memory? .

41. Are you still in touch with your childhood friends? >> I didn’t have any friends in childhood. In general, I’m not in touch with anyone I knew ("knew") in school. 42. What do you do when you’re angry? >> I don’t know. I’m so rarely angry that I don’t know what my pattern is.

43. What are your beliefs on God? >> Which one? The Christian one? I like some interpretations of him but not the more common ones. I think Christian mysticism and other smaller sects are onto something for sure. But ultimately, we're just not compatible relationship-wise.

44. Do you believe in soul mates? >> Sure, why not.

45. How long does it take you to really trust someone? >> I don't know, I still don't know what it's like to really trust someone.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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nikodimopoulos · 1 year ago

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"Don't worry about it." he replied, his tone carrying a no-nonsense vibe. The last thing he needed was for her to become overly familiar or start seeing him as anything other than a means to get her where Rio and Alejandra needed her. Mikayla was an asset, nothing more, and nothing less. "Sounds more or less like a hassle to me, but sure." He couldn't help but find these galas to be rather indulgent, filled with glitz and glamour, but to him, it all seemed like an exercise in self-indulgence. "Surprises?" he scoffed, and a plume of smoke escaped his lips as he spoke. "I wouldn't call it surprising that I don't share the details of my personal life with everyone who gets in my car." Nikolaos pointed out.

Her compliments had him furrowing his brow, feeling a sense of paranoia creeping in, even though he understood the innocence behind her words. "What is this whole thing you're doing?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion. "Asking me questions, complimenting my restaurant -- the second you stepped out of that damn party and saw me, there should've been alarm bells going off in your head to go the fuck back inside." Mikayla knew he was part of the cartel's leadership, a capo. Any other asset would have made a hasty retreat upon seeing him outside of official business. So, why did she feel the need to stick around? "So, what, one second you're thinkin' I'm going to drive you out to the desert to kill you, and the next you're telling me how much you like my cousin's baklava? Makes no god damn sense."

Hearing what would constitute as a laugh coming from the otherwise stoic man, a swell of pride filled her chest and made her own red-painted lips curl into a pleased smile. She wasn't expecting him to loosen up entirely around her -- after all, they hardly knew one another -- but to know that he at least seemed to be receptive to her attempts at conversation now compared to before felt like progress. She opened her mouth to respond when he held out his jacket, catching her by surprise and stopping her in her tracks.

She looked at him for a moment before reaching out to take it, slipping the still warm jacket over her bare shoulders. "Thank you," she replied, voice soft. The dark fabric still held the traces of his cologne, almost comforting in its own way. "Sometimes getting dressed up is just fun. Why have a dress like this if I don't look for an opportunity to wear it? Can't exactly use it for a date night around here." Not that those were common for her outside of her work. "Besides, I want my mom to enjoy herself, and if having me here for moral support helps that happen, then I'll gladly give up sitting at home reading for a few hours." She looked at him again, a smile coming to her face at the revelation. "You're full of surprises, huh? Well, my compliments to your family and the chefs. Everything was delicious. Probably the best part of the night for me."

#convo #mikayla 002.#c. mikayla beaumont #fire & ice gala.

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firstfullmoon · 5 years ago

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Do you have favorite quotes related about the importance of small details?

“The precious intimacy of little things.”

— Daphné du Maurier, I Will Never Be Young Again

“On my windowsill when I got home, there was a tumbler with pink jelly in it, and embedded in the jelly, sliced strawberries and bananas… [my neighbour] cooks at odd hours. She must have made the strawberry jelly this morning. When I buy baklava, which is not often because I eat too many, I leave a few for her on her windowsill, with a headscarf over them so the wasps don’t come. For these little gifts we don’t thank each other with words. They are commas of care.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

“I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that’s really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what’s too high, or what’s been dropped. Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it’s always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.”

“One of the woman was gently arranging an older woman’s collar beneath her sweater, freeing it from the cardigan’s neck, using both of her hands to jostle it free but also seeming to spend a little more time than necessary, creasing the fold of the collar, the other hand kind of resting on her shoulder, the two of them chatting the whole time, sitting there holding each other, nodding, my head twisting toward them like a sunflower as I finished the stairs and walked by, so in love was I with this common flourish of love, this everyday human light.”

“but her need to share the photo with me [...] smiling and looking at it, smiling and looking at me looking at it, me smiling and looking at her looking at it, which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”

— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

“He’s got a fever. He’s all alone. So I’m gonna buy him something to eat.” “The congee downstairs is quite good.” “He doesn’t want congee.” “What does he want?” “Can’t taste anything so he wants sesame syrup.” [...] “What are you cooking?” “I had a sudden craving for sesame syrup.”

“Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

— In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

— Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses”

“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”

— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise

“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world…You move out of your isolation and become universal.”

— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”

“It’s true that, in Vietnamese, we rarely say I love you, and when we do, it is almost always in English. Care and love, for us, are pronounced clearest through service: plucking white hairs, pressing yourself on your son to absorb a plane’s turbulence and, therefore, his fear. Or now—as Lan called to me, “Little Dog, get over here and help me help your mother.” And we knelt on each side of you, rolling out the hardened cords in your upper arms, then down to your wrists, your fingers. For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

— Ada Limón, from “The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road”

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled WIth Shrieks”

“One of the primary ways we connect with each other is by eating together. Some of the connection happens simply by being in the same place at the same time and sharing the same food, but we also connect through specific actions, such as serving food to one another or making toasts: ‘May I offer you some potatoes?’ ‘Here’s to your health and happiness.’ Much of our fundamental well-being comes from the basic reassurance that there is a place for us at the table. We belong here. Here we are served and we serve others. Here we give and receive sustenance.”

— Edward Espe Brown, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teaching

“Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

“Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

— Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays / from “Invitation”

— Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Gate A4″

“Then there are the things, if you are particularly lucky, that this person has done for you while you’re away: how in the pantry, in the freezer, in the refrigerator will be all the food you like to eat, the scotch you like to drink. There will be the sweater you thought you lost the previous year at the theater, clean and folded and back on its shelf. There will be the shirt with its dangling buttons, but the buttons will be sewn back in place. There will be your mail stacked on one side of his desk; there will be a contract for an advertising campaign you’re going to do in Germany for an Austrian beer, with his notes in the margin to discuss with your lawyer. And there will be no mention of it, and you will know that it was done with genuine pleasure, and you will know that part of the reason—a small part, but a part—you love being in this apartment and in this relationship is because this other person is always making a home for you, and that when you tell him this, he won’t be offended but pleased, and you’ll be glad, because you meant it with gratitude.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

#this is a mim supremacy account #w #compilation #the precious intimacy of little things #john berger #hanya yanagihara #naomi shihab nye #wendy cope #mary oliver #ada limón #ocean vuong #danusha laméris #ross gay

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elisela · 4 years ago

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in a language you can understand buck x eddie, g, 2k, for anon who asked for Eddie buying little gifts for Buck and hiding them in his work bag

He blames it on hour twenty-three of a twenty-four hour shift when what comes out of his mouth after Chim tosses a bag of Skittles at his face is “I bet I could fit all these in my mouth at once.”

Hen shakes her head, Chim snorts, but Buck narrows his eyes and leans his elbows on the table, pulling himself as close to Eddie as he can get without climbing over the thing. “Coward,” he says, his mouth quirking into a grin, “I bet I could fit two.”

“Not at the station,” Bobby says, sounding bored. “There’s too much paperwork involved if one of you becomes injured on the job, even if it’s your own fault.”

“No, definitely at the station,” Hen says. “There’s more work involved if we have to break in a new probie because one of you idiots chokes to death.”

The conversation drifts, and Eddie forgets about it until he’s at the grocery store later, ignoring the way his son sticks out his lower lip as he begs for a candy bar. When Chris picks up a bag of Skittles, Eddie sighs and says yes, then throws two more bags on the conveyor belt when Chris isn’t looking.

He hides them in Buck’s work bag the next day.

---

“Skip-It,” Hen says, looking wistful. “My neighbor had one when I was a kid and I swear, I used to stare at her for hours when she’d play in the courtyard. I wanted one so badly.”

“Couldn’t you just … skip?” Buck asks, looking confused. “You needed a toy for that?”

Hen rolls her eyes. “It went around your ankle,” she says. “Here, I’ll google it for you.”

“What about you, Cap?” Chim asks, as Buck leans his head in towards Hen to peer at her phone. “Which childhood toy did you miss out on?”

Bobby tilts his head for a moment. “Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots,” he says, refocusing on the pan in front of him. “My Mom thought they were too violent. She’d have a lot to say about what kids are playing with now.”

“Oh, don’t start us on the ‘kids these days’ speech,” Buck groans. “Quick, Eddie, distract him.”

“Uhh,” Eddie says, thinking—he’s sure there are there plenty of toys he’d begged for but never received, but clearly his parents had been right when they said he’d forget about them because he can’t recall a single one, except—“moon shoes,” he says, and at Buck and Hen’s blank look, he appeals to Chim. “You know, they were about four inches tall, like mini-trampolines? My parents said I’d break my ankle.”

“They were probably right,” Buck says. “You know how many calls we get because of trampoline accidents.”

“Alright, Bambi,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Most of us have control over our own limbs. What’s yours, then?”

Buck shrugs. “It’s kinda stupid, but there weren’t any kids in our neighborhood and Maddie wasn’t really into stuff like this, but you remember that game where you had like—a velco glove? And you’d catch a tennis ball?”

“Magic Mitt,” Chim says, snapping his fingers. “I wanted one of those, too. I should buy one for the baby.”

“I’d pay to see a three month old who could catch,” Hen says at the same time as Buck snorts and says, “I bet Maddie will love you throwing a tennis ball at Joy’s head.”

Three weeks later, Eddie’s gently pushing Chris out of the dollar section at Target when he spots a round velcro disc with a tennis ball attached in a bin full of summer games. He grabs two; one gets tossed on the back porch with the rest of Christopher’s outdoor toys, and the other goes in his work bag until it can be transferred to Buck’s locker.

----

The thing is, Eddie’s been in love with Buck for … well. He’d felt something for him right away, the type of attraction that goes beyond surface level, the pull towards another person’s soul, all of Buck’s goodness a lit beacon that illuminated Eddie’s way back to being whole. It was just never the right time, not with all his insecurities, Buck’s insecurities—every time Eddie thought maybe, the universe said not yet. His common sense gave way to guilt when Shannon reappeared, all of Buck’s near-death experiences, the way he so easily lost control of himself when what anchored him was suddenly gone.

It’s not that he thinks they don’t have what it takes to go the distance, but after Shannon—he’s more cautious now. He knows relationships take work and he’s willing to put that in, but he also knows how easily things break, and he’s not about to lose the one shot he has with Buck, so he’s just … waiting for the right time.

It’s probably been the right time for awhile now, but somehow, despite Hen and Chim’s ongoing conversation about who will ask out who first that regularly takes place in front of him (Buck, they unanimously decided), he hasn’t been able to go through with it.

----

After that, it’s little rubber toys that grow in water (shaped like a fireman and a fire truck), a candle that smells like lemon (because Buck had peeled one and eaten it like an orange the week before), a pack of two half-gallon, brown glass jars with “coffee” written on the side after a week that Buck worked three 36 hour shifts, a mini-waffle maker, a jar of Nutella (which Eddie had then been forced to watch Buck lick—so very slowly—off a spoon, an image which had not left his mind for several very long, lonely weeks), a packet of stickers that was surely meant for teachers but Buck immediately started giving out to everyone at the station (Eddie had laughed himself silly at the look on Chim’s face when Buck slapped one of a unicorn that said “great job!” on his uniform shirt and said “great job dating my sister!”), notebooks and silly pens—for months, every time he saw something small and cheap that made him think of Buck, he’d buy it and find a way to hide it in Buck’s bag or locker.

Buck never says anything, but Eddie watches the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he finds something, the way his smile softens into something more private and tender, sees how Buck makes sure he shows whatever it is off in front of Eddie—chugging cold brew straight out of the coffee bottle before he makes a face at the bitter taste, spends hours on the couch playing hangman with Hen in the notebooks, handing her the blue pen with the googly-eyed flamingo on top and keeping the one shaped like a shark for himself, trying to keep a straight face while his shoulders shake with laughter as Bobby reprimands both of them for shooting their coworkers with squirt guns while they run around the fire station. He doesn’t need Buck to say anything—he likes that he doesn’t, that it’s just something between the two of them that Buck doesn’t make into a big deal.

It goes on for so long that it’s almost second nature to pick something up for Buck whenever he goes shopping, and gradually, the gifts get a little more—intentional. A tie-dye hoodie after he sees a picture of an eight year old Buck wearing one (and a matching one for Chris), a “world’s best uncle” mug after Buck worries that Albert sees Joy more than he does and she might start to prefer him, a Greek cookbook after the fifth time they go out to the new restaurant in his neighborhood (Eddie might get more out of that than Buck does considering the sheer amount of baklava that starts appearing at the station—Eddie’s favorite treat).

As it turns out, he thinks about Buck a lot.

-----

“Sasha says you have to get your best friend an extra special Halloween treat,” Chris says, looking over the row of candy carefully.

“Sound like Sasha wants better candy,” Eddie says, grabbing a bag of caramel apple suckers for the station.

And maybe for himself.

Chris gives him a look. “Sasha’s not my best friend,” he says, turning back to the candy. “Buck is.”

“Well, can’t stand in the way of that,” he says. “Go ahead and pick something out.”

Chris finally hands him a bag of fancy marshmallows shaped like mummies, and peers into the cart. “What’d you get him this time?”

Eddie stares at him.

“You always get him something,” Chris says. “He’s your best friend, too, you need to get him something extra special. Hey, maybe you should tell him to get me something special, too.”

“Like he needs any more encouragement,” Eddie says.

On their way through the bakery aisle, he spots frosted cookies with phrases piped onto them; he grabs a witch that says “you’re bewitching” on it, and puts it in Buck’s locker just before the end of their shift.

Buck smiles all the way out to his Jeep.

-----

The week after, it’s a travel coffee mug that says “I think you’re spooktacular” that Buck carries with him on every call for three shifts before Chim puts it in the top rack of the dishwasher and it melts the side.

The pout on Buck’s lips pleases Eddie a little too much. So when he’s browsing the shelves at Target, waiting for Chris to find a costume he finds suitable that is also school appropriate and finds another Halloween themed cup—this time, with “Will you be my boo?” written on it, he only hesitates for a moment before putting it in the cart.

He doesn’t build up the courage to put it in Buck’s bag for two weeks—it’s not until Eddie notices the way that his face falls after six shifts with nothing new appearing in his locker that he shoves it in Buck’s bag after a shift, when Buck runs upstairs to give something to Chim.

They’re saying goodbye to Hen when Buck turns towards him suddenly. “I have something for Chris,” he says, and Eddie’s anxiety spikes when Buck sets his bag down and opens it up. He stares at the cup for a long time, then looks up at Eddie, glances at Hen, and smiles. “Hey, Eddie,” he says, “you wanna go out to dinner with me tomorrow? Like—a date?”

Hen’s bag hits the floor.

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head as Buck’s mouth twitches. “No, you don’t get to take credit for this, I practically—that counts as me asking,” he says, waving towards the bag. “I asked you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buck says, tossing a paper bag at him before standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. “Pick you up at six?”

“I’ll pick you up because I asked you,” he says, looking over at Hen. “I did. Show her the cup, Buck.”

“Dress warm, we’re going to a corn maze,” Buck says, skipping backwards with a wink. “And grab some blankets for your truck!”

-----

The week after their first date, there’s a small framed picture sitting in his locker—Buck with his arm around Eddie’s shoulders at the corn maze, their smiling faces lit by the bonfire, a bottle of beer dangling from Buck’s fingers. The lettering on the frame says “thankful for you” with a tiny leaf etched next to it.

Eddie sets it out on their reception table two years later.

#buddie #buddie fic #911fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #i told you guys i'd make up for the touch-starved one #here is 2k of endless fluff that will rot your teeth out #and bonus halloween because it's spooky season #it's crying over eddie diaz hours #eli writes

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vitusxaydin · 2 years ago

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Vitus eyed her carefully at the bit about families being complicated, not because he didn't believe her—god, could he relate—but because he suspected there was something more to it, something Marlow had crumpled up and shoved in a back corner of her self somewhere. He tucked the detail away, saved it for another time when they had full stomachs and warm heads and she'd become properly settled into his space.

The thought of eating a blueberry pie from the Newman farm twisted his gut. Those blueberries, the same ones he'd promised Deacon he would someday try, all those years ago. Vitus tiptoed around the pie, saying, "See, that plan would only be fair if baklava wasn't way more labor intensive than pie. You should come be my baking assistant for the afternoon, and save the pie for another day. I'll have an extra apron for you and everything." And then, a playful grin on his face again, "You'll have to be comfortable taking orders from me the whole time, though, because the recipe is my grandmother's. I take nene's baklava very seriously."

Everything in Marlow's body language and voice screamed she didn't think she was worth the trouble of cracking open an expensive bottle of wine. Of course, this only strengthened Vitus's resolve to continue cracking them open, to offer even the littlest demonstration that Marlow deserved nice things without having to ask or earn them first. "Hm. Maybe, maybe not. But your job isn't to worry about the price. Your job is to try it, and see if you like it, remember?" Vitus gestured to the three remaining bottles, still seated on the countertop with their aerators in place. "Go on and pick another."

Why did she feel bad? Why were the edges of her excitement curled up with guilt? "It's... I dunno," she said around a smile, a shrug. "It's always complicated with family, I guess." Vitus's vision for her sounded about right, sounded close to what she had imagined herself, when she thought about it.

"You can make baklava?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. From what she knew, it was a bit of a tedious, fiddly process. But clearly one that Vitus took pride in. "Only if I can contribute, next time. You can make the baklava and I'll bring the blueberry pie." A little of his family history and a little of hers. "And, hey, by then I'll be a wine expert, so we can get a perfect pairing, too."

Marlow fussed with the wine glass, rolling her fingers along the stem with a wry smile. "Of course there are wrong answers. Everything has wrong answers." And Marlow always wanted to have the right answers. She nodded along as Vitus spoke until he got to the price of the bottle. Her head rocketed up then, eyes wide. She nearly knocked the glass over but didn't -- thankfully, now that she knew how expensive it was. "A hundred and forty dollars?" she repeated, incredulous. She cast her eyes down into the glass, as if trying to divine where exactly the value lay. "I mean, it's good don't get me wrong, but... A hundred and forty dollars." Well, in that case. She shouldn't waste the pour right? Marlow took another swallow of wine. It was good, though.

Eyeing the other bottles lined up, she set Vitus with a stern look. "Are all those that expensive too?" Because he really shouldn't be wasting his good, expensive wine on this, on her.

#marlow

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schnitzelbutterfingers · 4 years ago

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Baklava

Book/Pairing(s): The Royal Romance || Liam Rhys x F!MC (Jasmine Wilson) LAW STUDENT AU

Category/Warning(s): Teen || none

Word count: 2.7K

Premise: A different take on how Liam and Jasmine could have met. Liam and the gang search for baklava, and Jasmine is a law student and a talented baker, working in her mother’s bakery.

Author’s note: This is for the 200 FOLLOWER GIVEAWAY WINNER #2: @texaskitten30 . Congratulations! Hope you enjoy :)

New York City is known for its culture, fashion, Broadway musicals. Its approximately 8 million people.

Maxwell sighs. “C’mon, Liam. There are so many other desserts. Pie, cake, cupcakes, those drizzled thingies...”

He is right. The deserts here are magnificent. Every one of them is fireworks on someone’s tongue, the rich flavor evading the mouth.

Drake surprises him. “For once in my life, I’m going with Beaumont.”

But there is one thing New York City seems to not have.

“No,” Liam responds.

Baklava.

Maxwell open his mouth, but then closes it, flabbergasted.

“Who are you, and what have you done to Prince Liam?”

The prince chuckles wryly, a sarcastic leer taking place. In a few months, he won’t be able to do this again. In a few months, he will marry a noble with no love in between.

In a few months, his freedom will be over.

He has to make those few months worth it.

And he will.

By finding baklava.

However, Liam almost gives up. Every bakery they went to in New York City had everything, including Indian sweets, such as laddu, gulab jamun, jalebi.

But they weren’t selling anything from the Ottoman Empire. They weren’t selling baklava.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees a small building. A bakery. It has a small cupcake on the top of the name.

The prince clears his throat.

“We’ll stop in this bakery. If they don’t have baklava either, then we can go buy cupcakes and go to a bar.”

Maxwell fist bumping the air and Drake sighing of relief, tells him they are both comfortable with his plan.

One more bakery.

That’s it.

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

Slow Dough.

That’s the name of the bakery. Immensely creative.

The three men step out of their rented car, the sun’s rays showing off its magnificent light, creating shadows as they take each step towards the bakery.

They open the door, the jingling bells on it acknowledging their presence.

It looks beautiful. The inside of the store takes on a more pastel theme, the baby pink with white stripes adorning the walls. There are sky blue tables and chairs, adorned with a vase of pink roses on each table.

The front of the bakery has a glass counter-shelf, filled with delicacies. Cupcakes, cookies, chocolate, ice cream. You name it.

Maxwell seems to have that same idea because he says, “Maybe we can steal some cronuts and-”

“Maxwell!” Drake admonishes.

“Hello? What is the commotion here?”

A woman, probably in her fifties, with natural tanned skin, paces into the room from the silver doors ahead of the counter, which Liam assumes is the kitchen. Rather than taking a chiding tone, her voice is laced with concern.

Liam glares at his two friends, Maxwell sporting a nervous smile. Drake shakes his head at Maxwell’s antics.

What good friends he has.

“Apologies for the loud... conversation ma’am. We were searching for a dessert named baklava in New York City. We searched almost every bakery we could find, but left empty-handed. We were hoping we would find some here?”

The woman grimaces. “I’m so sorry, son, but we don’t sell baklava here.”

The prince sighs.

He knew it. Of course he did.

After mentally calming himself, he sports a tender smile.

“No worries, ma’am. In that case, would you mind giving us three cupcakes? One vanilla and the other two chocolate, please?”

“Now that, I can give you.”

She smiles as she opens the counter, probably finding the best cupcakes she could find.

The woman is probably the most solicitous person she ever met during his bachelor party.

The men sit down on of the chairs, surprisingly more comfortable than Liam imagined. They fall into an agreeable silence, with Maxwell playing with one of the pink rose petals, and Drake glued to his phone.

And they are interrupted. By a soft voice.

A beautiful voice.

“Excuse me, sir, but... did you say baklava?”

He stands up immediately to turn towards the voice, addicted to the melody.

And hazel eyes meets blue.

The lady looks like an exact copy of the older woman, only more younger. More irresistible.

Striking.

Even with glasses on.

For some reason, his heart starts beating faster.

Silently scolding himself, he straightens up and nods his head affirmative.

“Yes, is there a reason why you ask?”

“I happen to know how to make baklava. Do you want me to make some for you?”

Shock rolls over him as he mulls over her words. An American tries to help him?

He glances back at Drake and Maxwell. In return, they give him an exact sense of a whammy blown on them. They are probably thinking the same thing, too.

Liam discerns the older woman slapping her hand on her forehead in an almost idiotic sense, walking to stand next to the younger woman.

Twins.

They are practically twins, if people count out the wrinkles.

“Apologies, son. She is my daughter. She knows how to make almost everything.”

Liam softly grins at the mother and turns to look at her daughter.

A beauty.

As if she came from a painting.

Majestic.

As if reading his thoughts, she takes a glimpse of his face and smiles. He catches a glimpse of a faint blush creeping on her neck, even with the tanned skin.

Liam allows himself a quick smirk and hurriedly straightens his face to a more gentle expression.

“What’s your name?”

She clears her throat and looks at him straight in the eye. “Jasmine.”

Maxwell gives her a wide smile. “Nice name!”

Liam and Drake nod their heads in agreement, looking back at Jasmine. She grins from ear to ear.

Her smile is infectious.

And Liam just met this girl.

“I’ll get started. I can set up a mini cooking show for you guys. This might take over an hour though. So, are you sure?”

Before Liam can respond, Drake interrupts.

“We can wait. This dude, here, was acting like he was waiting for baklava his whole life. If he doesn’t get his hands on one, he’ll probably punch something.”

“Drake!”

Before he can give him a new one, he hears Jasmine’s laughter, music to his ears. He only knew her for about 10 minutes, and something makes him want to get closer to her.

He can see scars sprinkled on her chest.

She’s an air of mystery.

Mystery.

“I can most definitely understand that feeling. I’ll go gather the ingredients!”

She flees like a small human Sonic, and he infers for a second that she did track in school.

Maybe she did.

Jasmine comes back with nuts, cinnamon, dough, butter, sugar, water, honey, vanilla extract, and a lemon. After buttering up a thick pan, she sprinkles in a bunch of nuts and cinnamon.

Just like those chefs gave him a show and made baklava for him back in Greece.

Maxwell starts speaking, most likely attempting to make small talk during the awkward silence.

“So... where are you originally from?”

She softly smiles.

“Queens, New York. We moved to the city when I was 10.”

“What made you move to the city?”

“Oh, well...”

Jasmine slightly hesitates.

“My father had passed away, and we had to do something for a living. So we started this bakery...”

A tense silence invades the bakery, Jasmine quickly swiping her eyes. Maxwell grimaces, and Drake takes over.

“We’re so sorry. We didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable...”

She shoots him a weak grin. “It’s okay. It still hurts, but we’re trying our best to move on.”

At this point, she places two sheets of dough into the pan, and butters it up. She then layers it with nuts and repeats the process. The prince makes a mental note to remember these steps the next time he attempts in making baklava.

He tried to make baklava once, but failed, even after searching the internet to find the recipe.

It had been proved to his friends how much of a bad cook he is.

Liam attempts successfully in changing the topic, in a way to console her.

“Are you a student or...”

“I am! Final year law student at Yale.”

His eyes widen. “Yale? That’s impressive.”

Her mother comes back from the kitchen. “Wait till you hear how she skipped five grades and will be graduating as a lawyer at the age of 21.”

The gang’s eyes widen.

Wow.

They’re speaking to mini Albert Einstein.

“Mom!” The law student covers her cheeks in an attempt to stop the light rose pink that’s flooding her face.

Maxwell smiles wickedly. “That's so COOL! Liam, here, is the same! He managed to even excel better than his tutors. One time, he was making fun of them because they got a calculus problem wrong, and he managed to solve it in less than five minutes! He skipped three grades, but always managed to make tutors mad and made them speak to his parents because of his smart mouth-”

“Maxwell!”

Drake chuckles.

“What? It’s the truth!”

She chortles again. That melodic laugh.

“It’s alright. I did that every time, too.”

Jasmine cuts the baklava into diamond shapes and puts them into the oven. She stretches her arms out, unsubtly displaying off her muscles.

Damn.

“Alright. This’ll take about 50 minutes.”

Comfortable silence flows through all of them, Liam enjoying the clock ticking surrounding the small building.

Drake cuts it off. “We forgot to tell you where we’re from. We live in-”

“Cordonia, I know.”

Liam's breath catches.

A part of him wants to berate himself for being so idiotic. For believing that maybe one person won’t know who he is. But he should have known.

He should have known.

Drake closes his mouth and opens it again, unable to say anything.

“Wait, so you know Liam is a prince?”

“Crown Prince, yeah.”

“Then, why didn’t you let us know and treat us like normal people?”

“Because I know.”

Turning to him, she says, “Liam, all you’ve ever wanted was freedom.”

His eyes widen. He feels like he’s being mind-read by a fortune teller. At that moment he should’ve felt uneasy, but all he wants to do is open more of himself to her.

And that petrifies him.

“How... how do you know?”

Jasmine’s expression turns stoic, indecipherable.

“Your eyes. They express everything. You feel like you’re being locked in a jail cell. I was once like you, you know so I know that look anywhere...”

Her eyes turn misty, but she quickly shakes her head.

“You do want to lead your people, but you want to be free in choosing someone at the same time. You want someone you’ll fall in love with.”

Her educated guess is mind-boggling. Straying his eyes back to his friends, they appear as if they’re seeing Liam in a new light. Shocked.

That they didn’t know anything about this, and they’ve known him for years.

Maxwell shakes his head. “Wait, but... if you knew who we were, why didn’t you address Liam as ‘your highness’? Don’t get me wrong, we liked how you didn’t...”

Jasmine snorts. “Because even through he has royalty flowing through his blood, he is a human, just like us. I don’t mean it to be offensive, I swear. While titles also show respect, they put more benefit for someone than for another ‘commoner’. And I don’t like that.”

Liam becomes curious. Jasmine is not one of those average girls who shrieks over a celebrity. She is one of a kind.

And that makes him want to know everything about her.

“Say if... you became a queen one day. How will you rule?”

The law student takes a deep breath before responding. She unconsciously touches her dark brown hair, and twirls a curl over her finger.

“I... I would never go by the rule book. While rules are good and all, sometimes... it would lead to injustice. As Princess Diana said in her interview with Martin Bashir, I would want to become a queen of people’s hearts, not just for a country. I would be there to do good, not cause harm or difficulty over another citizen’s life. I’m not a violent person. Quite the opposite, actually. I would want to be treated as a typical person with a typical life. I would want to be treated as an everyday person. And... I would want everyone to reminisce me as a woman who did good works, not as a woman with a prestigious title.”

Everything is confirmed. Drake’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to respond to what Jasmine just said. Maxwell has a goofy grin on his face.

Liam, however, has a cheeky smile that one would actually say is of respect and admiration. He admires her.

Even as she now bites her lip, he wants nothing more press his lips to hers.

And they’ve only known each other for about an hour.

The oven alarm lowers the mounting tension in the bakery. Jasmine jogs over to the oven and takes it. The delicious smell of baklava invades Liam’s nostrils, and he immediately wants to taste it. Looking at the pastry, the gorgeous crispy brown of the dough stands out, with green nuts garnished.

“Take caution! It’s really hot.”

Maxwell smirks slightly, already reaching for a baklava. “Oh, I don’t think it’s that- HOLY SQUIDS!”

The once smirking Maxwell now has a face of pain etched on his face, holding his right hand after it burned a little. Jasmine, seeing this, snorts.

“Told you so.”

Shaking his head, Liam -carefully- takes a piece of baklava, blowing it slightly to soothe the heat. Once it is lowered to a considerable heat, he takes a bite out of it and-

My.

God.

It is scrumptious.

And it appears that Drake and Maxwell are thinking the same thing, their friends’ eyes filled with astonishment.

Jasmine bites her lip, most likely unaware of the action. God, if he could just-

“So, did you like it?”

Shaking off his dirty thoughts, he responds, “Like it? This is the best baklava I’ve ever tasted.”

Her wide eyes contain jouissance, Liam can tell.

“Thank you! Glad I didn’t mess it up!”

Jasmine blushes again, something Liam just knows is a rare sight for anyone.

Just then, her mother comes in, sauntering hurriedly up to them. Her eyes are tense and full of worry.

“So... how is the baklava?”

Liam smiles, hopefully soothing her mother with the action.

“I can reassure you, even the most famous chefs in Greece hadn’t made me this tasty baklava before in my life. It tastes like heaven, ma’am. Your daughter has talent.”

She sighs in relief. “Thank you, sons!”

Without hesitance, the mother kisses Jasmine on her cheek, and in return the daughter kisses her on her forehead. The act reminds him of his own mother, before she died.

“How much does this cost?” Drake interrupts.

“This? This is free.”

What?

Liam refuses. “Oh, that’s not possible, we have to give you something-”

Jasmine laughs. “I insist. First of all, this wasn’t even part of the menu, although we do need to add it to ours. Second, you deserve this. For the first time, other than my mother, I felt like someone else got me.”

The words make the prince look at her deeply into her eyes. Jasmine stares back, not one of them blinking. Finally, the law student breaks the contact.

Just then, Drake clears his throat. “I hate to interrupt but we have to leave. Is it alright if we take more of these?”

The mother smiles. “Sure, sweetie! Take as much as you need.”

As Maxwell and Drake grab more of the baklava, Liam goes up to Jasmine.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he says, his tone with a hint of heartache.

She smiles wistfully. “Yeah.”

And they hesitate before hugging one another tightly. Liam closes his eyes, in what could be his last moments of freedom. He makes this time worth it. Jasmine reluctantly pulls back and clears her throat.

“But hey, something tells me we’ll see each other again soon,” she adds, with a hint of a smirk.

And just like that, Liam starts to have second thoughts.

Maybe New York City is not that awful.

Narrator: Jasmine was right in what she said. They will see each other again. And they marry, and they make babies-

Author’s note: First Liam x MC fic lol. I hope I did this some justice HAHA. Anyways, if you’ve made it this far, thank you! ♥️

Lmk if you want to be added or removed from the taglist! 🥰

Perma: @potionsprefect @gryffindordaughterofathena @maurine07 @missmiimiie @mom2000aggie @nezuzoned

Liam x MC: @kingliam2019 @jared2612

@choicesficwriterscreations

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #the royal romance #trr #the royal romance choices #trr choices #pixelberry #pixelberry the royal romance #pixelberry trr #pixelberry choices the royal romance #pixelberry choices trr #playchoices #liam rhys #king liam rhys #liam x mc #liam rhys x mc #king liam rhys x mc

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wickedpact · 4 years ago

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Hi! If we get a sequel one day, what little thing would you like to see in it, you know just like a detail on each character that tell us more about them? Am I clear ?? Because it is in my head but...

hmmmmmmm

andy: tbh id love to see her relationship w achilles acknowledged beyond the portrait nile spots in the cave. i feel like the addition of that relationship rlly kind of exemplifies how much andy has loved & lost over the years and how lonely she was before she found the other immortals, as well as drive home the point that... while seeking relationships w mortals is an option for the squad.... its really setting yourself up for heartbreak and is mayhaps a bad idea. it really intensifies their relationships with each other in that this is the only way they can really permanently interact with other people

additionally, with the romance nile’s prolly going to get in the sequel, id loooooooove to see andy telling nile about achilles in the context of romance, as a little mentor/student thing, maybe warning her off a little

nile: id love to see more of nile’s relationship w christianity and how that may change w/ immortality. thats kind of more of a broad thing but i find the whole religion + immortality thing fascinating. and along that vein,

joe: god i want to know what his necklace is

joenicky: tbh id really love to know if joe and nicky are married, and this is kind of a greg question more than something to be rlly addressed in the sequel, but personally i dont really see nicky and joe as viewing their relationship as anything like a marriage and i dont really see them having an desire to get married in the modern context of marriage. even if i do think ‘marriage’ is p much the closest concept we have to what joe and nicky are and its accurate for us to call it marriage, i dont think they view themselves as married. as much as I, Too, Gayly Yearn For Marriage, i just really like the idea of marriage, The Greatest Form Of Romantic Commitment Humanity Has, being this frivolous little pointless thing to them. like a couple thats been together for 60 years getting promise rings- maybe charming in its own right, but also kind of silly and pointless. im basically just talking about headcanons now, moving on.

nicky: idk man i just wanna see this bitch in a SWEATER

booker: im honestly rlly curious what his relationship with his wife was. when he talks about his Immortal Man Angst he brings up his Dead Sons rather than his Dead Wife (which i actually love) but im curious what his relationship with her was like.

(also ive said this before but id also like to see what booker and nicky’s relationship is like, bc the only stuff we really see from them is the baklava bet, which doesnt actually tell us much abt their relationship)

(additionally, ive also said this before but id also like to see what joe’s relationship w nile would look like)

the squad as a whole: mostly when we see the lads theyre either in Mission Mode or A Mission Just Went To Shit mode. id love to see what their usual day-to-day is like. how much time do they spend with eachother? how much time do they spend in abandoned safehouses? how much time do they spend on downtime? how do they spend their downtime? (besides going to college that is)

quynh: literally everything

#ik you said little things..... and these are mostly big things...#but what can i say i dream big #Anonymous

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pizza-soup · 3 years ago

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Hope everyone had a nice holiday. I had a very good one with relatives I hadn't seen in awhile, especially my dad's parents. As we normally do, we go out to the mountains to work up a bit of an appetite as well honor those who came before us on this land. Offer our thanks for existing so we can exist. My grandmother gave me a braid of sweetgrass during this time, for a reminder of Spring, a reminder to pray, and have hope. Winter often gets to her because it can be harsh but also because it was my dad's season, he loved Winter, he could predict exactly when it would snow and greet it like a child no matter his age. The Winter brought out a playful side to him I didn't always see the rest of the year. But since his passing Winter is a little less happy for my family and his parents. It's not the same and it does sometimes get to me, stinging my eyes and feeling this void when it snows. She pressed the grass braid into my hands. Use it then, she said. When the dark days feel suffocating and my heart is hurting with loss, light it, pray.

Walking back to the truck, the sober mood did change to a happier one. I remembered how much he'd love the crisp chill of the air, the sun turning the mountains gold, the sound of the wind and a coming storm. For just a moment, he was there with me. I could picture that grin. Winter's on the way. Time to have fun. Heh. I miss him so much.

When we got back home I could smell the mesquite from the fireplace, the meat cooking in the firepit out back, and inside was a mix of sweet rice and pine nuts, fish, corn stuffing, and breads. Voices of my cousins laughing, chatting, moving about getting ready to set the table. My mom's dad making a bunch of baklava and halva. My great aunt making fry bread. It's informal, we dont do the whole 'round the table thing, everyone just grabs a plate and serves themselves, sitting outside or on the couch, mingling, throwing more wood on the fire. Eventually we did have to take it inside as the rain finally fell. By then we settled in the living room watching movies. Some decided to retire early and drive to Carolines home, where we set up places to sleep, either to nap before heading out on the road or overnight for the longer traveled of us. Some were coming all the way from Arizona and had other family to visit along the way.

Oh and my family got gifts early. Since we don't always get to see that side of the family often, and who knows what the future brings, it was no better time than to exchange things. We don't know what they are yet, we plan on opening them during the holidays. But I did some unwrapped gifts, one was from my grandfather, he knows I like unusual things and this certainly was. A pair of freshwater rock crabs from his catfish tanks. I have not seen these in a long time, at least not up north, they're more common near Radium Springs or Hatch. My grandmother almost didn't let him give me them, thinking they're too unconventional for a gift. I think they're adorable. He knows me too well. My dad's older sister gave us a ton of pecans from her trees, and dried red chile powder. Not a fan of the latter but certainly of the former. My mom made a bunch of soft crochet headbands, beanies, and scarves, everyone got their pick. I gave seashells from my hometown to my younger cousin, she loves mermaid stuff and she loved the big scallops and sand dollars I picked out from my collection. She kept the mussel shells from the seafood hotpot too. My bro traded some gaming stuff that they apparently agreed on online, my bro got himself some vintage N64 controllers for an extra copy of Kirby 64 he didn't want.

All in all, we had a good time, the rain was on and off all night, but it's a sign of the inevitable colder days to come. This won't be the last time I see some of my relatives, we are planning to go to the bonfires in two weeks, as well as to a hot spring before New Year's. Hopefully!

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alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years ago

Note

Yea there’s a lot of so called “greeks” and/or classics phd claimants in the LO fandom to excuse everything in it despite giving no proof otherwise. I’m not saying there aren’t Greek fans or people with higher education who read it, but it seems the ones who claim to be either (or even both!) seem to love to come to its defense and just make up whatever with fake credentials to justify it as the most perfect thing ever and actually it’s better than the actual Greek poems and hymns. You see this a lot in fandoms where the product just isn’t very good or is full of “toxic positive” fans (see: reylo fandom, marvel fandoms, Sherlock fandom, etc). LO fandom, as opposed to say the Hades Game fandom or Hadestown fandom who don’t cause any drama it seems, can’t and will not accept it’s not an accurate retelling and thus has to make up scholarly sources and scholars to justify it. It’s rather sad in a way. No one cares if you like a trashy romance comic loosely about Greek gods, but the fandom seems to have this insistent need for it to be deeper and more grand than it actually is and attacking others (including Wikipedia! A bunch of fans got banned from there for trying to edit the actual gods’ pages with stuff from LO as fact!) which has created a rather mainstream hatred of the comic itself, mostly created the fans being /that/way and people rightfully getting annoyed with it.

Ooooh yes I have a lot to discuss here so prepare yourselves xD

The Disclaimer

For starters, let me repeat, I and anon don’t have a problem with people who enjoy LO in general. We have a problem with those who claim it’s “the most perfect thing ever and actually it’s better than the actual Greek poems and hymns”, as anon said. And a big chunk of the audience is twenty-somethings and the creator herself is forty years old, so they had more knowledge and time for research.

The Doctors

I usually believe what people tell me and show me but I have seen people saying inexcusably stupid shit while supposedly having a “Classics PhD” so many times I am starting to think “this person is full of bs”. First of all, in my opinion, if you are closed to arguments and theories all the time, you are not an academic. If you have such a high degree and you can’t see why LO isn’t accurate, then you are not an academic. OR you are a very bad academic who only learned how to parrot stuff and has lost touch with what context means.

OR you are an academic who ignores interrelatedness between different fields. Perhaps you are a sociologist thinking “wow! see that Persephone isn’t abducted now? This is definitely a good work for our modern society” while closing your ears to the archeologists and classics professors (and to Greeks and Italians outside the field, when they can recognize some errors). And this leads us to the next section:

The Greeks

I can’t speak for the Italians and since most of the claimants say they are Greeks, let’s focus on them. As I mentioned before, I can’t scream “bullshit” that easily and I am inclined to believe many are indeed Greek. However, just being Greek or having a Greek heritage doesn’t mean that you know everything or that you can make a good analysis.

I’ve heard adult Greeks say “Zeus is a dick” because their exposure to the god was very superficial. I’ve heard adult Greeks parrot the “Persephone went down on the Underworld on her own” version. For a long time, I thought the Aethiopia of our ancients was the modern country of Ethiopia.

And if you enjoy LO and you are Greek, that doesn't mean it’s accurate. (And ofc you can recognize it’s not accurate and has its faults and still read it). Most Greeks enjoyed the Percy Jackson movies very much when they came out. I enjoyed the books when I read them. Does that mean they are accurate and have any Greek elements there? Nope.

In fact, Greeks are so used to being excluded when it comes to the Greek pantheon, they don't even notice it. If you think I or anyone else Greek in Greece was looking for representation when they consumed PJ media, you’ll be wrong. Perhaps there were some, but I never heard any Greek in the country say it.

You have to actively try and get out of a certain mindset in order to connect your heritage to those gods in the blockbusters. And many people don't do it because they don't have the time or because it hurts to discover how inaccurate everything is and how nobody gives a shit as long as everything looks aesthetically pleasing to the West.

And last, but not least, having a Greek heritage doesn't mean you know a lot about it. As Greeks in Greece don’t know a lot of things, so many Greeks of diaspora don’t know a lot. Sometimes they know even less, because of their special circumstances (assimilation, cut from one part of the family, Greek family members dying etc).

This isn't to shame people who happen to have little information about their heritage but those who don't have information and still want to play the heritage card. Heck, I can’t even play the heritage card. The heritage card rarely works alone because there are always academics who know more. But you can use your “experience in a culture” card and if this happens to overlap with your heritage, that’s great. For example, a Norse person having eaten baklava full of syrup can tell you NOT TO PLACE IT ON A NAPKIN, SMYTHE

The toxic part of LO Fandom

Some of you may have seen how I didn't like part of the design of the gods in the Hades game. Since many people liked the game and I didn't like that specific thing, I expected lots of hate in my asks or, at least, some arguments. Strangely enough, I got nothing.

There was one person who suggested I played the game despite this flaw and I though “I can’t believe it! Nuance! A Tumblr user accepted you can not like one thing and like another! And they approached me KINDLY!!” But it wasn't just that person, it was the whole fandom it seems. As you said, it's more level-headed and they know it’s a game (which is still a work of art, but not, like, Homeric Epic worthy).

While a part of the LO fandom is like: “A bunch of fans got banned from there for trying to edit the actual gods’ pages with stuff from LO as fact!” Which I hadn't heard and I want to unlearn immediately.

This was posted by a fan of LO in the Lore Olympus Reddit, and the overwhelming majority agreed. I think those who changed the wiki did it just for fun, I refuse to believe they actually thought LO is “canon” 😩

And we also have those people who mean well but they don't understand how culture works.

I am sorry but an Australian woman who doesn't even worship the Hellenic gods and just writes a webtoon with 2 Greek elements in it, is not the continuation of our traditions.

(tell me if I need to blur the names. I don’t know if it’s a bad practice or not. In any case, don't send hate to those people)

Others use the phrase “nothing is canon in Greek mythology” as an excuse to fuck shit up. “Well, we haven't seen anywhere that Apollo DIDN’T rape Persephone, so we can very well believe he did”.

And others who, because they see the gods in a modern setting, try to apply modern and human morality to their ancient myths, deeming them “problematic”.

As the Hellenic phrase goes “from where to catch it and from where to leave it?!?!” 😂😂😂 Meaning in whatever place you touch something - aka the toxic part of the fandom - you will find different bad things, and even when you leave those bad things off your hands, it’s as bad as touching the bad things. Think of it like moving sand where you are doomed while touching it and not touching it.

All my brain juices went to writing this “sheet” of text (here we go, back to Greek xD) and I don’t have any for the epilogue. Imagine one yourselves.

#anti lo #answered #lore olympus critical

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love101imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Just good friends

(sinan | imagine)

request: hey, could you write a picture with Sinan and y/n have been best friends for years, and he's been in love with her, but he never counted, with the group getting closer, he feels jealous of her with Kerem, so he takes the courage to declare. please

tags: @sinanfalls @girl-looking-out-window @imtoolazytothinkofacoolname

You two met when you were thirteen.

His parents were still together and he wasn't as self-deprecating as he was when the rest met him. You were friends, talking every now and then and spending some time together because you were new and didn't really know anyone.

Then his parents abandoned him and he shut himself off, becoming a mess with dark bags under his eyes and his hair sticking out in every direction. But, you were the only one who still stayed at his side, even more than the flask he always carried.

You were a breath of fresh air in the middle of the people who either pitied him or were simply annoyed by his remarks. You thought they were funny, even if you got upset whenever he got into trouble or he turned up late to school, dismissing his teacher quickly before slumping on his seat next to you and falling asleep. There wasn't much you could do, only take notes for him and empty his flask when he wasn't looking.

It didn't take long for you two to be attached to the hip, your entire day was spent on his house or yours were you two would watch TV, force him to do his homework or eat, and simply strengthening your friendship.

It was the day he almost burned down the whole auditorium everything changed.

You were leaning against a wall in the hall, waiting patiently even if everyone had already left for their houses. The last time you had seen Sinan he had been standing in the middle of the stage with a fire behind him before being taken by a teacher to an empty classroom before deciding whether he would be expelled or not.

You saw Işik, another one of your classmates, leave the teachers' room with a frown on her face. However, you didn't have time to ask her what had happened when Sinan left the room shortly after.

"How did it go?" You asked walking alongside him, ignoring the three other kids who also walked out of the room.

He only shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes. "I'm not expelled. Yet." He stated like it was obvious.

You sighed in relief, your eyes softening while you two walked out of school towards the pier. Still, your calmness didn't last for long.

"Why would you do that? I know there was a fight but you can't just burn down the whole fucking auditorium, you idiot." You scolded him, each sentence punctuated with a slap on his arm.

He grabbed your wrist to stop you from continuing to hit him, a scowl on your face for how reckless he had acted while he only took a sip of his flask.

"I can't say I'm sorry for something I didn't do." He said emotionless, waiting for you to take a seat next to him on the ferry.

He glanced at you after a few seconds while you remained silent. "Why does it affect you so much? I don't care about being expelled."

"Well, I do." You admitted still frustrated. "I don't want them to expel my best friend, what would I do without you? God."

His cheeks heated up, looking down at the ground so you wouldn't notice. Even if you had said that he was only your friend, your best friend, it still felt nice that someone cared for him.

You could only stay angry at him for a few minutes, the ferry slowing down as it reached its stop. You turned to him with a smile. "Can we buy some baklava? I waited for you and I couldn't have lunch."

He nodded, the faintest of smiles on his face as you stood up from your seat and grabbed his hand to hurry and arrive at his house on time to feed his grandpa and dog.

It all started to go downhill the next day, when you two found out Miss Burcu would be transferring schools and he would end up being expelled. Even if he didn't care, you wouldn't allow that, so you went to his house to find some kind of solution. It turned out that your other classmates, Eda, Osman, and Kerem, also wanted to avoid their expulsion, so you all started working together to set up Miss Burcu with another teacher so she would marry and stay in Istanbul.

You got closer to the group, and even if you weren't sure why, Sinan didn't seem fond of the idea. He seemed to always be bickering with Kerem, only stopping once you elbowed him so he wouldn't get into a fight, already knowing that he didn’t care but you did.

Still, it puzzled you why he acted like that only with Kerem. He didn't seem to care if you became friends with Eda and Işik, who were quick to point that out.

"So?" Eda asked the day of the rock concert, Sinan nowhere to be seen and the other boys in the line.

You handed your ticket to the guard. "So what?" You asked confused.

She rolled her eyes. "What's up with you and Sinan?"

You shrugged, Isik approaching both of you while you waited for Miss Burcu. "He's my best friend. We've been for years, he's like a brother to me." You quickly brushed it off.

"You seem more than friends, (Y/N)" Işik pointed out. "You're always together, he never snaps at you and you care about him."

You groaned, dealing with those kinds of questions almost every day at school and even from your parents. “Uf, Işik, not you too.”

"One day I literally saw you two passed out on his couch with your head on his lap and his arm around your waist, that's not something just friends do. Spare us the bullshit." Eda carried on.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to show how concerned you were starting to get when he didn't seem to show up. "I'm just really comfortable around him."

And that was the truth. Or at least, part of it. Sinan mattered too much to you to ever try to pursue anything. You didn't want to lose him and you knew he wasn't the best with his feelings, so you simply brushed it off and tried to act as normal as possible. You knew something happened to you when you were close to him, and it was a different feeling from when you were close with Kerem or other boys. A better feeling.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late, Kerem passed by my house and I already waited for you for like ten minutes.” You said, a smile on your face as you sat on a desk in front of Sinan.

It was recess, but most days he didn’t go out in the courtyard and stayed on an empty classroom to sleep or read a book in silence. You usually did the same, even if sometimes you both talked until class started.

He didn’t answer you, his eyes fixated on a page you were sure he wasn’t reading or was taking too long to turn.

“Why didn’t you pick me up today? Did something happen?” You asked taking the book out of his hands.

“No.” He answered shortly before grabbing back his book.

His answer kind of relieved you, but you still felt unsure about why he hadn’t picked you up by your house as he had done for the last three years. The only times he hadn’t was when you were sick, you got up earlier than him or he was passed out on a bench on a random park.

“Anyway.” You started trying not to focus on the tension between both of you, the only ones who were in the room. “Are we going to have lunch at my house? I don’t mind skipping gym today. God, I’m so tired, the other day Kerem was playing basketball because he was kicked out from the team which sucks and...”

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” He interrupted you.

You frowned your brows, feeling your heart drop at his words. “What’s up with you today? You’ve been weird the last few days.”

“Weren’t you too busy with the caveman to notice?” He asked sarcastically, a scowl on his face as he finally looked at you.

“Why are you such a jerk to him? He didn’t do anything to you.” You insisted hoping to get an honest answer.

When he didn’t reply, you continued. “Are you jealous?”

As you stared at him trying to decipher his expression, he shallowed before turning his gaze back to his book. “No, why would I? Don’t be stupid.”

You sighed exasperated, fed up with his snarky comments. “You always do this when I talk to you about a boy.”

He shut his book, “Why? You want us to talk about boys and braid our hair?” He asked with a dry tone glaring at you.

“I don’t want you to act like an asshole whenever I want to have a conversation with you about someone I like.” You shot back, arms crossed.

When you realized his face softened at what you had said, you thought he would apologize for behaving like a brat in the last days. Instead, he avoided your gaze and continued speaking. “You like Kerem?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sinan?” You asked incredulously. “God, you’re so...”

You meant to say oblivious, not believing how the boy couldn’t realize that you could only have feelings for him, being by his side every time he needed it.

He scoffed. “Go with your other friends if you want to talk about your crushes so badly.”

“Fine.”

His jaw clenched as you stood up from the desk, grabbing your bag next to his in anger before leaving it next to one of your friend’s and leaving the room.

Truth be told, your anger lowered during class, feeling a bit bad once you realized that he spent the entire lesson alone.

“What happened? Why’s he looking at you like a lost puppy?” Eda whispered to you.

You resisted the urge to turn around and see if Eda was telling the truth, so you only continued taking notes. “He’s acting like an asshole.”

She was silent for a moment before nodding, continuing with her drawing while you felt a pit in the bottom of your stomach.

Of course, you had a few fights with Sinan, but most of the time you two didn’t say anything and started talking back again after a while. The longest you had spent without talking was only one hour, but now you ignored him for the whole day.

Still, you couldn’t help a small smile on your face when you opened your door on your house to find him standing in front of you with a bag of food, possibly baklava.

“Everything’s fine now?” You asked.

He nodded, embracing you in a hug that caught you off guard, but you only stood on your tiptoes and hugged him back.

“Bit unexpected. And they say you aren’t affectionate.” You chuckled before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

You took the bag out of his hands before going towards your kitchen, not noticing how his cheeks heated up.

A few days passed and he tried his best not to snap at Kerem. The rest had already noticed the way he seemed to look at you, and even if they urged him to confess his feelings, he still felt unsure about it, feeling like he was going to fuck it up.

With the plan, you had managed to convince Burcu and Kemal to work together for the May 19 celebration, and after spinning around under the boiling sun, you left your umbrella on the ground before heading to your bag to drink water.

On the other side of the courtyard, Sinan took a gulp of his flask. It had to be now before he regretted it. After almost finishing his drink, he made his way towards you, grabbing your arm and taking you away while the rest of the students glanced at both of you curiously.

“What the fuck?” You asked confused once he stopped.

You were in the back of the school, the place were you had reunited with the rest for the last days, but now you were alone.

“I’m sorry for dragging you here.” He started, feeling his hands shaking before leaving them in his pockets. “But I needed to tell you something.”

You nodded, waiting expectantly for him to continue while you leaned against the wall.

“You’re making me nervous, come on. You can tell me anything.” You added, your hand going to his to try to calm him a bit.

He took a deep breath before staring at the ground. “I love you.”

You smiled. “Aw, I love you too, Sinan. You already know that.” You said like it was obvious, your voice trailing off once he sighed and looked at you in your eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked confused, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand.

“Because I am in love with you, (Y/N).”

You dropped his hand in shock by how serious he seemed to be, finally understanding his words. Before he could regret it, in one swift motion he placed his hands on your cheeks and smashed his lips against yours.

Your head felt dizzy with all the emotions you were going through. You wanted to continue like that for hours, but after a few seconds, he pulled away to allow for both of you to catch your breaths.

You leaned your forehead against him, your lips forming into a smile. “I love you too. More than a friend.”

#love 101 #love101 #burcu #eda #kerem #osman #sinan #ask 101 #aşk 101 imagine #aşk101imagine #aşk 101 #aşk101 #love101imagine #love 101 imagine #sinanimagine #sinanxreader

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imaginetonyandbucky · 4 years ago

Text

The Buy In

Chapter 5: Keeping Up Appearances

by @dracusfyre

Bucky stared sightlessly at New York traffic as he quietly panicked. He tried and failed to think of any way to get out of this, now that he was already in the car; if he could have, he would have given himself nausea and diarrhea immediately and suffered the indignity instead of escorting Tony Stark, the Mechanic, the single most powerful crime boss in Manhattan, to the Policeman’s Ball. What in the hell was he going to say to his handler? For three blocks he debated whether to give them any advance warning at all; it would be so much easier to deal with the fallout later by claiming that Stark had taken his phone before telling him where he was going. For three more blocks, he tried and failed to type something, each sentence he came up with sounding dumber than the last, so with only the barest bit of guilt he stashed his phone in the car’s glove compartment as Happy pulled into the drop off line for the ball.

Cameras started flashing almost as soon as he got out of the car to open Stark’s door, and while Stark climbed out, smiling and waving, he tried to look as boring as possible, mouth a flat line as he ignored the press and kept an eye out for anyone looking suspicious. Just what exactly was he supposed to be guarding Stark from, anyway? Other mob bosses in attendance? A mugger? The police?

“Want a drink?” Stark said once they got inside, and Bucky forced himself to shake his head even though he desperately wanted to say yes. He trailed behind Stark as he glad-handed the crowd, making jokes and asking after people’s kids, and miserably tallied the various important people in the room: the mayor, who gave Stark a handshake and a clap on the back for his donation to the Food Bank For NYC; a representative to the state house, who managed to solicit campaign donations in the guise of complimenting him on his philanthropic efforts; a US Senator that thanked him for his investment advice. And those were just the people that Bucky recognized; there was no telling how many government officials and CEOs that numbered among the people that subtly held court around Stark. He wondered how many knew about Stark’s criminal ties, and how many would care if they did know.

Finally, for Bucky’s sanity, they made the announcement for dinner and everyone filed dutifully into the main hall where they set up tables for the event.

“I was wondering if you were coming, Tony,” an amused voice said from behind them. Stark turned, and the smile he had been wearing all night widened and finally reached his eyes as a tall, slim redhead let him pull her down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Pepper, so glad to see you,” he said, taking one of her hands and putting it in his elbow. “Are you sitting next to me?”

“Of course.” Bucky recognized the woman from Stark’s case file; she was Virginia Potts, his personal lawyer. Though ‘lawyer’ didn’t really capture her, really; from a police perspective, she was Cerberus, the dragon guarding the tower, Gandalf on the bridge: in short, “You Shall Not Pass” in human form. She was largely the reason why Bucky was on this undercover assignment; faced with the potential of meeting her in court, no judge in the city would grant them a warrant without a literal smoking gun of Stark’s guilt. She was just as well connected as Stark was, to boot; one of the other senior partners at her firm was on the short list of the Democrats’ Supreme Court Justice picks and the other worked for the state as the deputy Attorney General. “How are you? Who’s this?” she asked, finally noticing Bucky following them to the dinner table.

“I’m fine, and this is a new guy,” Stark said as he pulled the seat out for Potts to sit. “I call him Blue Eyes.”

Potts rolled her eyes and offered Bucky a surprisingly kind smile. “Don’t worry, he can’t remember my real name either,” she said. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t, ma’am,” Bucky said, returning her smile despite himself.

“Oh, Bill, it’s good to see you,” Stark said, and Bucky glanced away from Potts to see that sitting right across from Stark was the NY police commissioner.

Tony hid a smile as he heard the strangled noise Blue Eyes made when he recognized the police commissioner. But after an evening of watching the man sweat as Tony rubbed elbows with the most powerful men in the state, he took pity on him. “I’ll be good for a while, if you need to take a break,” he said, and watched with amusement as the man all but fled from the table.

“What was that about?” Pepper asked with a small frown, thanking the wait staff as they filled up her glass with water and set a glass of white wine in front of her.

“I think his eyes aren’t the only thing about that guy that’s blue,” Tony said, looking significantly towards the police commissioner. Pepper’s eyebrows shot up and she took a drink of wine as she realized what he was saying, then she barely swallowed it in time before she laughed.

“And you brought him here? You are a terrible person,” she scolded him, clearly trying to suppress a smile.

“Yeah. It’s been fun watching him trying to avoid the cameramen all night. Especially because he’s been so worried about being photographed that he probably didn’t notice the fact that half of the conversations I’ve had tonight involved breaking the law in some way or another.” For example, what had probably sounded like a request for a campaign contribution was actually a solicitation for a bribe, which Tony was going to pay because politicians were just good investments, really, and honestly the Senator Walker should really talk less about how much money he made off of insider trading, particularly when he is using his committee positions to do it.

This time, Pepper’s eyes held a flash of warning instead of amusement, and Tony held up his hands in surrender, turning the conversation to safer waters as they ate.

***

To Bucky’s surprise, Stark was ready to go not long after dinner; for some reason Bucky had the idea that he would want to stay all night, shaking hands and taking turns around the dance floor. He was all smiles as he left, but as soon as the car door closed behind him, he collapsed against the car seat with a sigh.

“You know,” Stark said, eyes closed as he rested his head on the back of the seat, “the funny thing about going to these events, is that I probably shook hands with more criminals tonight than I have in the past six months put together. But no one cares about that because the people who are supposed to care are criminals too.”

“That sucks, Boss,” Happy said, clearly having heard this complaint before. Now that they were far from the crowds and bright lights, Stark’s good mood seemed to be curdling; he sounded almost depressed.

“It’s exhausting, is what it is. Blue Eyes, have you ever had to shake hands with and smile at someone that you hated all the way down to your bones?” Stark’s voice was muffled and Bucky looked back to see that his hands were over his face as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah, of course. There’s always that one guy at every job, right? The asshole that no one likes?”

Stark barked out a laugh. “Having only one would be nice, actually.” He sat up suddenly and scooted forward until he was all but in the front seat. “Let’s get dessert. Is there a late night ice cream place? Or pie? Or donuts? Back there they only had some sort of fancy baklava on the menu and I don't like honey.”

Happy and Bucky shared a look and Bucky patted his pockets for his phone before remembering that he’d put it in the glove compartment. Then he remembered why he’d left it in the car, and winced as he saw the notifications on his phone. But it was after midnight so that was going to be a Future Bucky problem. He pulled up the search bar and found a late night cookie company that was on their way home.

When they got there, there was no place to park, so Bucky got out with Stark to go inside while Happy stayed with the car. Unsurprisingly, they were the oldest people inside; the cashier and the two other customers looked like they were still in high school or college, because realistically who would be looking for a sugar fix this late at night except students. And one mob boss with a sweet tooth, apparently. Stark made a beeline for the display case and all but pressed his nose to the glass.

“What’s your favorite kind of cookie?”

“Something with fruit and nuts in it,” Bucky said. “You?” Bucky came up next to him to read all the labels. “Mexican chili cookie? Who wants a spicy cookie?”

“Can’t do better than chocolate chip,” Stark said. “But that salted caramel is speaking to me.” He glanced up at the menu and said, “Ooh, ice cream sandwiches,” sounding so excited that Bucky had to smother a smile. It was hard to keep a straight face as Stark deliberated; the man was being so stupidly cute as he debated the merits of the different options that Bucky had the dumbest fucking desire to kiss him. Stark ended up buying a whole box of cookies and an ice cream sandwich because he couldn’t decide on which cookies he wanted, and because he kept thinking of people to give them to: “Happy will say he’s on a diet but I think he’ll want one of these M&M cookies. I don’t think I’ve ever seen mint in a cookie, I’ll get that one for Rhodey, but also this sprinkle one because it will be funny.”

Maybe it was the sugar or the impulsive shopping trip, but Stark seemed in lighter spirits as they drove the rest of the way back to his garage, telling funny stories about the people that had been at the event. It even made Happy unbend a little, as much as he ever did when he was working, and at one point Bucky was laughing so hard he was in tears.

“Here’s good, Happy,” Stark said before they could pull into the secured parking lot behind the garage.

“Are you sure, Boss?” Happy said dubiously. “It’s not safe-”

“I got Blue Eyes to protect my virtue, right Blue Eyes?” Stark said. Bucky almost bobbled the box of cookies as climbed out of the car at the mention of Stark’s virtue, and when Stark met his eyes Bucky knew he’d done it on purpose. “Come on inside with me,” Stark continued. “We need to talk about the event tonight.” He leaned over to look at Happy through the window. “You go on home, I’ll make sure he gets home ok.” When Happy nodded, Stark tapped on the top of the car and stepped back from the curb as the car pulled away

Bucky’s hands tightened on the box of cookies as his heart gave a heavy thump and his mouth went dry. He swallowed against a spike of nerves. We need to talk was never a good sign, but also, he was about to be alone with Stark. Trying not to think about what had happened earlier, he trailed awkwardly behind Stark as he put in the security code for the door and stepped inside, turning on a few of the big banks of fluorescent lights as he went.

“You can change, if you want,” Stark said, gesturing towards the bathroom where Bucky’s clothes were still folded neatly on the sink. He shrugged out of his suit coat and unbuttoned the sleeves, rolling them up so the cuffs didn’t dangle. Bucky’s eyes lingered for a moment on the lean muscles of his forearm, the strong, slender wrist bracketed by the narrow-banded watch, and decided that a moment alone in the bathroom was a good idea.

He changed quickly and splashed cold water on his face, giving himself a stern lecture about professionalism in the mirror, reminding himself why he was really here. His boss would be telling him that this was a great opportunity, that he seemed to have Stark’s trust. That now would be the perfect time to dig a little deeper. Bucky told himself that even though Stark was handsome and funny and apparently the kind of guy that would stuff a hundred dollar bill in a tip jar didn’t mean that…

“Wait, start over,” he muttered, shaking his head. Even though Stark seemed like a good person he was, at the very least, the target of a massive criminal investigation, even if it did seem like maybe there were worse criminals out there they could be investigating. They weren’t friends, he reminded himself. Stark didn’t know anything about him, and would probably drop him into the Hudson if he did. With that sobering thought, Bucky sighed, gathered up the fancy suit and shoes Stark had lent him, and went back out to the main room.

Then that whole pep talk promptly went out the window as he came out to see Stark sitting on a metal table, swinging his legs like a kid as he ate a cookie. As Bucky came closer, he saw that Stark had kicked off his shoes and had also taken a signle bite out of half the cookies in the box. When he looked up at Bucky with a smile of welcome, Bucky knew that he was in trouble.

“So what did we need to talk about?” he asked, taking a seat on the table next to Sta- Tony. He might as well stop calling him Stark; it’s not as if thinking of him by his last name was helping him maintain any sort of objectivity.

“Just getting your impression about tonight. Did you notice anything I should know about?” Tony held out the cookie box and Bucky took one of the oatmeal craisin ones, one of the few that Tony hadn't taste tested.

He took a bite to buy himself some time to think; Bucky had a lot of observations from tonight, ranging from the completely inappropriate (the curve of Tony's ass when Ms. Potts dropped something and Tony bent over to pick it up) to the irrelevant (not impressed with the music selection) to the potentially explosive (the Commandant had a drinking problem and was probably cheating on his wife). Assessing which were relevant to Tony took a moment. “There were a couple of people that were giving you the evil eye all night,” he said finally. “Right after you shook hands with them they looked like they wanted to shank you.”

Tony threw his head back and laughed at that. “I’m sure. Was one of them a skinny tool with glasses? Justin Hammer?”

“Yeah, that was one. Another one was the Special Agent in Charge of an FBI satellite office-”

“Not surprising,” Tony commented. “She’s new. The new ones are always hungry, she’ll come around.”

“-And the other was a big guy, bald but had a beard. I didn’t catch his name, sounded like you called him Toby.”

“You mean Obie? Obediah Stane?” Tony said with surprise. He dug out his phone and pulled up a picture. “This guy?”

Bucky leaned over to look at the phone. “Yeah. I always saw him watching you when you were talking to other people. Guy had eyes like a shark. People like him can kill someone and pass a lie detector test while his hands were still bloody. Who is he?”

“A family friend.” Tony frowned down at his phone and tapped it against his palm thoughtfully. “At least, I thought he was.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” Bucky said. “Maybe I’m wrong, you know, I’m not-” an expert, is what he was going to say, but he stopped because no matter how you sliced it, cop or criminal, he was. He was an expert in assessing threats, and that guy was definitely bad news.

Tony waved his words away and tossed his phone on the table with a clatter. “It’s fine. Better to know. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

Bucky shook his head and took another bite of cookie. “Why do you go to these things if they are full of people you don’t like and apparently people who don’t like you?”

“Networking, mostly. Obligation. Gotta show my face every now and then. Spite,” he added with a smirk. “But it’s also a good reminder.” When Bucky made a questioning sound, he took another cookie from the box and nibbled the edge. “Look, I was a rich asshole for a long time,” Tony said after a moment. “Too long. Then one day, I met a guy at a party. Don’t even know how he got invited because he wasn’t rich, wasn’t famous, he was just some doctor. And I don’t remember what I was saying, but at one point he looked at me with such pity,” Tony said, eyebrows drawing together. He studied his cookie like it was helping him remember. “I still remember his face. No one had looked at me with pity before, and he said, ‘Look at you. All this money and still you have nothing.’ And I was like, ‘excuse me? Do you know who I am?’ As you do, right, because I could have anything I wanted, I’m fucking Tony Stark. And he said, ‘Yeah, I know who you are. I’ve seen dozens of men like you. And despite all their money, all their fame, death came for all of them in the end, and they had nothing to show for it but a tacky tombstone.’” Tony bit his lip, frowning a little. “I’m sure I said something, but he just finished his drink and walked away, like I wasn’t worth his time. I wish I could say that I had this like, huge change of heart and changed my ways after that night, but it ended up being this gradual thing.”

Bucky realized he was staring. “What do you mean?” he asked, taking a bite out of the cookie he just remembered he was holding.

“Well, I looked him up later and found out he ran a free clinic downtown and on a whim I donated some money. Like, 'see what a good person I am, have some money.' Like I was proving him wrong somehow by doing that." Tony snorted and shook his head at the memory. "Anyway, doing that puts you on some kind of list somewhere, apparently, and one day I got an email about a runaway shelter. Then a food bank, then a refugee thing, and it kind of snowballed from there.”

“Wait, wait.” Bucky shook his head. “How did you go from ‘donating to a clinic’ to ‘mob boss over half of Manhattan’? That’s one hell of a snowball.”

“Well, after donating to a bunch of causes, I saw that a housing complex near all these nonprofits went up for sale, so I bought it,” he said with a shrug, fiddling with a napkin as he talked. He was already done with his cookie somehow, despite having done most of the talking. He reached for another from the box and took a tiny bite. “I was kinda feeling like, I don’t know, tied to this area as I kept an eye on my pet projects. Then I started getting a bunch of complaints about the conditions and I was pretty fucking appalled at what I was seeing. Like, no one should live like that. It was a shame for rats to even be living there. So I fixed it up, and then I set up a trust for the building and gave it back to the tenants. All their rent goes in a fund, and they spend money on that fund to pay for what the complex needed.”

“Like a condo association?”

“More like a cooperative. They decide how much to charge everyone for rent, they decide if they want to spend money on painting the place or upgrading the light fixtures, you know, whatever. I think last time I checked they had put in a community garden. So when another came up for sale, I bought it, and then another, then I realized I might as well invest in some of the businesses here. After the fiasco of that first apartment building, I started looking at what I was spending my money on so I would know what to expect. Then when I was looking at a commercial building, people came in to shake down the owner of one of the businesses while I was there. Like, I was standing right there and those people didn’t give a shit who saw them. I was so surprised that I didn’t say anything until it was over, and then I asked the guy if that happened a lot. Can’t let that go on, you know, because...well, I mean, the owner looked so scared, and that made me mad because he's just trying to make a living, you know? Also, it cuts into the bottom line, so.” Tony shrugged again. “I put a stop to it. And then, well,” he gestured expressively around him with his cookie. “Like I said. Snowball.”

Bucky could only stare, bemused. If he had heard the same story on his first day of work, he might have been unable to keep from laughing in Stark’s face. But now…well, it was increasingly hard to square what the police knew – or thought they knew – about Tony Stark and what Bucky was seeing. “I guess no kid wants to be a criminal when they grow up,” Bucky said. “We all just kind of wander into it.”

“Yeah? Is that how you went from Bagram to Brighton Beach?”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to shrug, uncomfortable. After hearing Tony's story, he didn’t want to feed him some bullshit line from his cover story. “There’s only a few career opportunities for a grunt back home,” he said vaguely. “Even fewer that pay well.”

He glanced up to see Tony studying him thoughtfully. “Do you miss it?”

“The Army? Hell no.” That part was true enough.

“How about here? Are you happy here?”

Bucky’s mouth quirked. “Are you asking me about my job satisfaction? One means not at all satisfied, ten means highly satisfied?” He had the pleasure of watching Tony almost spit out a bite of cookie as he surprised a laugh out of him.

“Sure,” Tony said after a moment when he finished chewing. "One out of ten."

“Ten,” Bucky said truthfully. “I like helping people.” He had the traitorous thought that the past few months working with KT had been closer to what he'd thought it would be like to be a cop than what it had actually turned out to be like, and felt vaguely guilty.

“Yeah, me too.”

They sat there in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few moments before Bucky heard the ding of a notification on his phone. He silenced it without looking – his handlers were still yelling about the Policeman’s Ball – but sighed when he saw the time. “It’s getting late,” Bucky said reluctantly, more because it seemed appropriate rather than any desire to actually leave. He opened his mouth to say, I had a great time tonight and immediately felt like an idiot because, bare feet and half-eaten box of cookies aside, this wasn't, in fact, a date.

But apparently he wasn’t the only one who had lost the plot, because Tony said, “Would you like to come up for a dr-” before he cut himself off with a look of horror that would have been funny if Bucky hadn’t, deep down, wanted so badly to say yes. “I’ll call you a cab,” he said instead, looking away to grab his phone.

“I’ll wait outside,” Bucky said, and fled.

***

Tony watched from a window as Blue Eyes' taxi drove away, then as Tony went up the elevator to his penthouse condo he texted a sad face to Rhodey.

Told you it was a bad idea, Rhodey wrote back.

Don’t say I told you so. I’m sad, Tony responded.

You’re making yourself sad pining after an undercover cop. I don’t feel bad for you.

“That’s fair,” Tony said out loud. You should. I got you cookies and you’re being mean to me. Tony texted Rhodey a picture of the half-empty box of cookies and made himself sad all over again, remembering the intensity with which Blue Eyes had stared at the display of cookies when told to pick one, like it was a pop quiz that he was determined to pass.

Go to bed, Tones.

With a sigh, Tony tossed his phone on the bed and started peeling himself out of the monkey suit, setting the cufflinks he’d been wearing on his dresser as he threw the suit and shirt on the back of a chair to be dry cleaned. The problem was that tonight, like every night for the past few years, Tony was going to bed by himself. There had been a certain point where he’d realized that he’d tipped over from bending the rules, to breaking the rules, then to breaking the rules in a way that would get him put on lists written by people with badges, and at that point he’d realized that to bring anyone into his life was to put a target on them. The only way to avoid it was to not get close to anyone, but he’d done the one-and-done lifestyle and wasn’t interested in that anymore. It had been Pepper for a while, because she was more than capable of protecting herself, but after a year she had gently but firmly told him that it wasn’t working for her, and that had been the end of it. Since then, there had been a few people that he thought maybe, maybe this one but in the end, they didn’t feel right.

Blue Eyes felt right. He knew it was dumb and he knew what Rhodey would say – star crossed lovers only exist in fiction, Tones - but as he slid between the sheets that night, he let himself daydream about it until he fell asleep.

#tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron #no powers au

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scythian-andromache · 4 years ago

Text

is it really a road-trip if you don't stop at a 7-Eleven?

A ‘The Old Guard’ gen fic that is a companion piece to this fic, but can be read solo

Also available on [AO3]

Summary: In the middle of a road-trip, the Old Guard Immortals make a stop at a 7-Eleven. A lot of bickering ensues, but that's what happens when you take road-trips with your family.

***

It’s been two hours since they got into the shootout, which brings their Days Without An Incident count (previously at four) back to zero.

That was on them, a stupid mistake that’s put something of a damper on their road-trip (end goal: Grand Canyon, but who knows if they’ll actually make it there before something goes horribly wrong). Since then, they’ve been driving steadily westward. It’s nearly two in the morning, but Andy is (still) driving, and the rest of them are in various states of dozing—or as much as one can doze when Andy’s driving.

“Fuck, we’re getting low on gas.” Andy says this out loud like it’s a surprise, like there isn’t a gauge on the dash with the sole purpose of keeping the driver apprised of the gas levels.

“This is the last exit for thirty miles,” Joe says absently, eyes closed and feet propped up. They’re also, by all rights, past the acceptable merge point.

In response, Andy swerves across two full traffic lanes and cuts off the only other driver on the road to pull off the exit ramp, not bothering to stop at the stop sign and careening across the road and into the 7-Eleven’s parking lot.

Booker lets out several extremely creative swears in a mix of French and English. “Jesus, Andy, there are traffic laws; please follow at least one of them,” he groans.

“My headlights are on,” says Andy, like that settles it, and Booker swears again.

“If not for us, then for you! You’re not invulnerable anymore!”

Andy rolls her eyes. “My driving has never gotten a single one of us killed.”

Booker makes a face that clearly indicates he’s skeptical of that answer, but whatever he’s working up to is interrupted by a new voice in the conversation.

“Nile could take over for a little bit,” suggests Nicky, blearily clearing sleep from his eyes.

“Nile doesn’t even have a license right now,” Booker shoots back, exasperated.

“Nile doesn’t even have a birth certificate right now,” grumbles Nile from where she’s squished between them. “The only thing I’m legally classified as is a problem.” Quỳnh laughs from where she’s laying—apparently not asleep—in the very back, among their duffle bags. No seatbelt, but far more room than Nicky, Nile, and Booker have, all crammed in together on the bench seat not really meant for three.

Nicky, meanwhile, ignores Nile’s comment, looking directly at Booker as he asks combatively, “And whose fault is that?”

“Oh, come on,” says Booker. “I haven’t had time to forge a new identity for her!”

Nicky says something under his breath in Italian and Booker flings open the car door and stalks toward the bright beacon of the convenience store.

“I’m getting snacks, Joe,” says Nicky, and follows. Joe gets out and opens the hatch to check their supply of baklava—not that the 7-Eleven off I-40 is the spot to replenish it—and Andy exchanges a few words with Quỳnh, while Nile sighs and starts pumping gas. After a few moments, Andy and Joe head inside too.

“You don’t want anything?” asks Nile, peering into the car to check on Quỳnh.

“Joe will buy more snacks than he needs in case Nicky wants them, and then I will steal them from them both,” says Quỳnh, a mischievous smile on her face, and Nile can’t help but laugh. They had a rough start, her and Quỳnh, but they get along pretty well now.

“Fair enough,” Nile says, as she returns the pump to its hook.

“Maybe a pair of earplugs,” Quỳnh muses, as an afterthought. “To drown out their relentless bickering. The only thing I miss about the ocean is the peace and quiet,” she deadpans, and Nile almost chokes on her gallows humor.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nile says, and pulls the car around before heading inside herself.

They’re all still bickering when she gets inside—of course they are. Immortals, with more years between them than the populations of whole towns, and they’re still children. She heaves a long-suffering sigh—it’s self-care, okay?—and says, “We’re all gassed up and ready. Everyone got their snacks?”

“Not quite,” says Joe, and then tells Booker—in English, this time—to let him drive. Damn, they’re still on that?

Nile lets them be, looking around a little for some earplugs for Quỳnh, until she hears their voices raise, and Booker practically yells, “—and we got stuck behind Soviet borders for a MONTH.”

Shit. She glances over at the cashier, who looks entirely too interested in this particular conversation. For all their talk of laying low, they can be pretty bad at it, sometimes. Sighing again, she sashays over to the counter, throws on her most charming smile and says, in an effort to disrupt whatever train of thought is mentally calculating how they could possibly have been detained behind Soviet borders, “Hi! I was wondering if you had any earplugs?”

They do not have earplugs, and she tries to keep him distracted, but it backfires a little, because she’s forgotten she’s still wearing the same clothes from the shoot up—they all are—and the cashier (Andrew, his name-tag says) has noticed.

“Costume party,” she says, a lame excuse, but the best she’s got, and she’s about to talk about how their theater friend does really extravagant murder-mystery parties when the rest of them decide they’re done bickering, and drop all their shit on the counter.

Andy gives the cashier the iciest look Nile’s seen from her in at least three days, and the poor kid hops to, ringing in enough candy to send their bodies pre-diabetes until they reboot again.

Joe, Nicky, and Andy all head out, leaving her and Booker to finish up the transaction, and then Booker—that absolute dipshit—drops a hundred euro note on the counter instead of USD.

“Idiot,” Nile hisses in French, elbowing him and fishing money out of her out wallet. She pockets the euro note (serves him right) and grabs their bags.

“Keep the change,” she says to the cashier, and uses her free hand to pinch Booker’s arm hard (“Ow!”) and steer him out of the shop. They slide into the back seat of the waiting car (Andy, unfortunately, is still driving), and it skids off before the door is even fully closed.

“Y’all need to work on your subtlety,” says Nile, glancing back at the gas station, where the cashier is standing in the door, staring after them. “Or at least have your arguments in French. That kid was listening to everything.”

Andy waves a hand dismissively—unfortunately, it also happens to be the hand that was holding the wheel and the car swerves—and says, “We’ll send a text to Copley. He can wipe the footage. What’s one more convenience store after a bloodbath?”

“Yeah? You also gonna wipe that kid’s brain?”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, and he’s a nobody,” says Booker.

“I was a nobody,” hisses Nile. “You can’t just…discount people like that. That kid could become the next Kozak or the next Copley, or someone just like them could see him as collateral damage when they try to find us.”

“You are right, Nile.” It’s Nicky who says it. “It is easy to let people blur together, to believe them inconsequential, but it’s a poor mentality to have. We will be more careful.”

“That’s all I ask,” says Nile, softly. The car lapses into silence for a few moments until Joe asks for his Twizzlers, and all of a sudden there’s bickering over who bought what snacks.

Quỳnh somehow ends up with a pair of Twinkies and the Flaming Hot Cheetos, and just gives Nile a little wink over the back of the seat when Nicky says, “Booker, did you steal some of my Twinkies?”

Booker makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat, flashes his bar of chocolate, and says, “You couldn’t pay me to eat that garbage!”

Nile laughs into her iced tea, and then looks up and accidentally makes eye contact with Andy in the rear-view mirror. She’s got an amused smile playing around her mouth, everything in her expression telegraphing her fondness, and also her exhaustion.

“Let me drive for a while,” Nile says, over the argument happening between Booker and Nicky (“Don’t call them garbage, a Twinkie is just a petite madelaine with a little cream in it.” / “How dare you even utter Twinkie and petite madelaine in the same breath!”)

“You don’t have a license,” says Andy, although it’s a weaker protest than it had been before they stopped at the gas station.

“Oh, come on. Like that’s gonna make a difference. Like you’re really gonna show a license to the police if they pull you over for a traffic violation.”

“I—”

“You need sleep, Andy. Pull the fuck over.”

To the astonishment of the whole car, Andy does. Well, except for—

“Ha!” whoops Nicky gleefully, leaning around Nile to get a better look at Booker. “Pay up!”

“Nile stole my euros,” says Booker grumpily.

“No. Uh-uh. Don’t make this about me,” says Nile, as everyone shifts around to accommodate the change in drivers. “I know you have more. And besides, I spent $100 at the store.”

“You were the one that told him to keep the change, and besides, a hundred euros is ten dollars more than a hundred dollars.”

“It was $87 and I was just trying to get us the fuck out of there. And consider it a dumbass tax, for trying to give him euros in the first place,” says Nile, and the car erupts in cackles.

“Everyone good?” She checks the rear-view mirror as she pulls back onto the highway: Andy has climbed into the very back to stretch out (snuggle) with Quỳnh; Joe and Nicky are shifting around in the back seat; and Booker is sitting shotgun next to her.

“I’m not,” complains Nicky. “Booker still hasn’t paid me.”

Booker says something under his breath, but digs his wallet out of his pocket and fishes a fifty euro note out, passing it back to Nicky.

“Grazie,” he says, waving the note to Joe like it’s a trophy.

Booker huffs. “Prego, è stato un piacere, va’ all’inferno!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Nicky pleasantly. “I have a papal indulgence.”

That draws raucous laughter from both Joe and Quỳnh, and for all that he puts on the air of being grumpy, Nile sees Booker’s smirk from the corner of her eye.

They all settle down pretty quickly after that; it has been a long day, after all. They’re the only car on the road, and the miles disappear into the inky black night quickly as they fly down I-40. The next time Nile glances into her rear-view mirror, she sees that Andy and Quỳnh have tucked themselves into each other, and Joe is leaning into Nicky, arms half around him as they doze together.

Only Booker, slouched in the seat next to her, remains awake. “You can go to sleep, Book,” she says, easy.

“Nah,” he says, “someone must stay awake with the driver.”

She doesn’t take his statement at face value, but she doesn’t challenge him on it either. “Well,” she says lightly, “then you’re the DJ. Find us something good.”

Booker leans forward and turns the radio on low. The opening strains of a Depeche Mode song drift from the speakers, and Booker hisses. “English bastards with a French name,” he says, but tellingly doesn’t change the channel. He must secretly like this song.

As the song fades out and the opening chords of another song thrum, Nile looks over to find that Booker, too, has drifted off, but Nile finds she doesn’t mind. She’s surrounded by her ridiculous family, finally taking a break, and she’s got this. She turns her attention back to the highway, focusing on the thrum of the engine and the soft strains of the music and the peacefulness of an empty road, as they move ever closer to their next adventure.

***

fin.

***

~Twizzlers are halal! ~grazie = thanks ~Prego, è stato un piacere, va’ all’inferno! = (roughly; I am not a native speaker) “yeah, you’re welcome, my pleasure, now go to hell” (PS: Italian has all kinds of fun, creative, extremely dirty swears. Soooo even though Booker technically says "go to hell", it's fairly mild. Nicky's still salty at Booker but not salty enough to take it seriously.) ~There really was a papal edict offering indulgences to those partaking in the crusades. Nicky 100% exploits this.

***

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #nile freeman #andromache the scythian #sébastien le livre #nicolò di genova #yusuf al-kaysani #quỳnh #lenci writes #gen fic #road trip fic

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years ago

Text

Volomag and Vodka Part 6 Facetime

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, mensions of xenophobia, COVID-19, quarantine

For Jay the worst part about quarantine wasn’t being locked up with Will, it was being away from Hailey. Intelligence had heard from her just as it was starting to get bad, that because New York was a hot spot, Hailey wasn’t going to be returning to Chicago for a while. This spiralled him into a mood, he was pouting all the time, looking at Hailey’s desk longingly, glaring at the temp. Jay had been staring out of the window, looking like a kicked puppy, and Kim was done. ��Okay, that’s it!” Everyone in the bullpen turned to her, confused as she whipped out her phone and started facetime someone.

“Hi Kim, how’s-”

“Jay’s moping. Fix him.” Was all she said before tossing her phone to Jay. “Jay?”

He straightened his shoulders and his expression softened out the creases made by his constant frowning. “Don’t listen to Kim, I haven’t been-”

“Yes he has.” No one in Intelligence even had to look up, each and every one of them completely over his kicked puppy routine.

Hailey quirked her eyebrow at him in the teasing manner he loved so much. “Okay, so maybe I miss you a bit.”

He was met with a chorus of scoffs and eye rolls. “... Or a lot. It’s just not the same without you here, and you were supposed to come home a week ago. I know that it because of the pandemic and all...”

“Don’t worry, Jay I miss you a lot too.”

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

“Do you know a guy who goes by ‘OA’ from your Ranger days?”

“Yeah, we weren’t in the same regiment but we were in specialized training together. Why?”

“He’s the guy I’m partnered with. He’s nice, but he’s not you, so I didn’t really want to talk about him. But today we were talking at lunch, and I guess I’ve been pretty standoffish with him, so he thought that talking about himself first would help, and I guess it did. He told me that he was a Ranger and I asked if he knew you and he remembered you vaguely too.”

“What regiment was he in?”

“27th.”

“Zidan?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, yeah, I remember him, he was skilled, focused, but he got a lot of shit because his family’s middle eastern, I can’t remember the region or country, but I don’t know if I was ever told. I didn’t ask. He was there for the same reason we all were, and I had respect for him we just didn’t work together much. So he’s your new partner?”

“Temporary partner.” Jay took a relaxing breath. Knowing that she meant it, she was going to come back.

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

“So you talked to OA.” Jay felt a little guilty, but not much. He’d called some people, who called some people, who were able to give him OA’s contact info, and then he gave OA a call. It was nice to catch up but Jay was honest with the reason he called. OA had chuckled, “don’t worry Halstead, I’ve got your girl’s back.” Jay hadn’t corrected him, he was just relieved to put a face and name to who was working with Hailey. OA had teased him a bit, but overall just nodded at the worry in his voice and said “don’t worry, man. She’ll make it back to you safe and sound. She’s a great cop. She was a little rough around the edges when she got here, weighed down by something, but she’s evolved in such a short period of time. I’d vouch for her. I even heard my boss wanted to offer her a spot,” Jay sucked in a breath as his body went numb and started to sweat, “doubt she’ll take it though. She misses Chicago, her friends, and her family. She misses you.”

“Yeah, well, I needed to make sure that he knew what would happen if he didn’t keep you safe.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I did have to do that, just not for you. For me. The world has gotten a heck of a lot more dangerous pretty damn fast, I needed him to know that you have to come home to me- us. That you’re needed here.”

“Okay.”

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

“Tell him to stop yelling at officer River.” Is the only greeting she gets from a visibly cross Voight before the phone is straight-up thrown at her partner. “Hey there troublemaker.”

“He’s exaggerating, Hails.”

“I’m sure he is.” The sarcasm dripping off her lips was practically visible. It took Jay a moment to realize that he’d been staring at them and wondering how they’d feel against his or if he brushed his thumb across them, he shook his head before looking into her concerned, soulful eyes.

“How are you doing?”

“Pretty good actually, I mean I still miss you and everyone else like crazy, but because of the pandemic we were able to get a lot more intel on some of the perps we were after and less resistance because so many people in their circles are getting sick. We’ve even been able to make a bunch of high-profile arrests.”

“That’s great, but, uh, you’re not having too much fun in NYC are you?”

“Not even remotely. I can’t wait to get home to you.” His heart skipped a beat and then began to ache for her more. “Seriously, as proud as I am with my accomplishments at the FBI while I’ve been here, I’m really starting to resent this city. I just want to be home. With you.”

“I feel exactly the same way, I promise.”

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

“Upton, something’s wrong with Jay.”

“What do you mean?” Hailey looked terrified, the last time something was wrong with him he ended up getting kidnapped and shot. “Someone facetimed him earlier, and at first we all thought it was you... But then his face just changed, it became cold, unreadable. He answered the call in the break room, but he shut the door and the blinds. Ever since he’s been walking around like a zombie.”

“Pass him the phone.”

“Hey Upton.”

*Okay, he called me Upton, not a good start.* “What’s up, Jay?”

“Did you know that Erin was working in the same building as you?”

“I haven’t seen her at all, but I’d have to imagine that she at least works in the vicinity of the headquarters.”

“Well, she’s seen you. And, uh, apparently, she was going to talk to you but then your phone rang, it was last week when Adam-”

“Bought the wrong kind of chocolate for Kim, yeah, that was actually pretty funny. Sorry, continue.”

“Well, she uh, she stuck around and just eavesdropped on the whole call. It didn’t sit well with her apparently, because she called me this morning. She was I don’t know- unhappy? Pissed? But it was all just really weird, because of how she and I left things, and she said that she’s going to be keeping an eye on you. And not in a ‘hey your friend is visiting my city? Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on ‘em, don’t worry’ way. It was in a ‘I don’t trust this girl around my boyfriend’ kinda way. And I know that she’s fluent in Voight, so she’ll figure out pretty damn quick why you’re there, if she hasn’t already, and I’m just really worried for you.”

“That’s not all you’re worried about. I can tell. Spill it, Jay. You know you can talk to me.”

“She was acting like I cheated on her. And she said she still loves me, and I’m just upset she thought it was okay to talk to me like that, about that. I know I made some pretty big mistakes in our relationship, and I know that at least half of the fault falls on me, but it just made me feel dirty, and angry.”

Hailey’s face had softened, and honestly, it just made Jay’s day a thousand times better. “I don’t know if this will make you feel any better, but my time at the FBI has come to an end, and I’ll be getting on a plane to Chicago tomorrow afternoon. I mean, I’ll still have to self-quarantine when I get back for fourteen days, but at least I’ll be home.”

“... So what you’re saying is I won’t be able to see you in person for another two weeks?”

“Sorry, Jay.”

“Damn, just when I think my luck has changed.”

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

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t. Vanessa is fine, she’s been a good buffer between Atwater and Jordan, and Vinessa likes having another girl around. Plus there’s the whole Vinessa, Vanessa thing. They’ve been having fun.”

“I still feel bad.”

“Do we need to call her and ask her if she’s mad at you?”

“... No, she’d just yell at me for feeling guilty over nothing.”

“See? Nothing to feel bad about. How are you holding up?”

“I am bored out of my miiiiiiiinnnnnnd.” She groaned and fell back against her couch, pouting at Jay. He smiled softly, giving her a sympathetic and sad look. He knew how bad she felt, he wanted to see her too. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and just hold her.

“I’ve been taking the time to learn how to cook. Mostly with my grandmother’s cookbook, but I found some recipes online, maybe I could drop off some food for you.”

“What does Will say about your cooking?” She was smiling, knowing Will’s opinion on Jay’s cooking.

“Hey, hey, hey now, this conversation isn’t about him.” Jay was laughing, Will’s rants about his previously shitty cooking were widely known among their social circle. “I have gotten much better, I promise. I, uh, I’ve been learning some recipes that I really think you’ll like.”

“I look forward to it Jay, I really do.”

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

Hailey’s quarantine was almost over, and Jay was buzzing on the edge of his seat. Before work he’d dropped by with a bag filled with numerous containers of food. Most of it was old traditional Irish food, but he’d tried his hand at a few Greek recipes, hoping to impress Hailey. So when her bubbly face popped up on his screen, he jumped up and took the video call to the breakroom. “Hi Hails-”

“I love you,” his heart actually skipped a beat and his nerve endings heated up “so much right now. This food is AMAZING. And you made Greek food. Keftethes, Souvlaki, Spanikopita, and Baklava. This was so sweet, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It, uh, it wasn’t anything special. Really.”

“Thank you Jay. And, I meant it. I love you, Jay.”

“I love you too, Hailey. More than you know.”

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BONUS

“Guys, guys-”

“What is it, Ruzek. I know that we’re all starved for something to do since the commissioner put us all on grunt work after our suspension, but you need to stop just running into the room like you have news, man.”

“Yeah, what is it this time, the vending machines got refilled?”

“Upstead has sailed, they’re a thing! I just heard them talking! Oh, come on, guys. Atwater, you believe me right? Rojas? Voight?” They shook their heads, wondering if Ruzek had finally snapped after all the pressure they’d been under because of their suspension and involvement in the Black Lives Matter movement.

“Hey, hey, everyone, I just heard Hailey and Jay talking about how they love each other over the phone!”

“Finally!”

“Hallelujah!”

“I’ll get their HR forms started.”

“Oh come on, you believe Kim and not me?”

#One Chicago #Chicago PD #fbi #OA Zidan #hailey upton #jay halstead #hailey x jay #jay halstead x hailey upton #upstead #upstead fic #Adam Ruzek #kevin atwater #trudy platt #hank voight #vanessa rojas #kevin atwater x vanessa rojas #kim burgess

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