#but anyway i love night race celebrations and firework shots
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MAX VERSTAPPEN
wins the Bahrain Grand Prix 2023
#max verstappen#bahrain gp 2023#f1#formula 1#f1edit#mine*#such an easy race for him lmao#i need to see some battles#but anyway i love night race celebrations and firework shots
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He’s A Yankee Doodle Sweetheart, But She’s His Yankee Doodle Girl
A Following Team Orders One Shot
Song: Best Day of My Life by American Authors
Word Count: 2.2K
Summary: It's Steve's birthday and he doesn't want to celebrate. He just wants a day with his girls. But he should know, always expect the unexpected, especially on your birthday!
Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff; SMUT; mentions of traumatic delivery
Mood boards by me but dividers by @firefly-graphics
AN: A surprise one shot to celebrate Steve's birthday. To the people in the States, Happy Independence Day! To everyone else, Happy Tuesday :)
Taglist - I'm including everyone on the current taglist from Sliding Into Home but if you would like me not to do that, please let me know.
@patzammit @texmexdarling @slutforchrisjamalevans @firephotogrl74 @before-we-get-started @jennmurawski13-writes @tinkerbelle67 @bunnyforhim
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated
Steve Rogers doesn’t like his birthday.
Never has.
Never will.
Sure, it lands on the 4th of July and there are fireworks and food, but it’s always about the holiday and not his birthday. So why bother?
He hasn’t been home on his birthday for a few years now anyway, a race is always scheduled during that time. His mother makes an effort to make it out for said race and Olivia has tried to make it special in the seven years they have been together. But he hates that its always overshadowed. So, this year, he asked if they could just not. His mother is staying the states this year and he, Olivia and his girls take a couple of days in Austria.
The night before, his wife lays next to him and they cuddle, exhausted after running after their three-year-old twins. God, he loves his girls, but Davina and Matilda are mini Olivias and well, the world is not ready for them.
As he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the day when his girls are older and ready to be put into race cars. Liv had retired when they were born, wanting to raise them and allow him to pursue his third championship. They traveled with him now, at least until school starts. Then they would be based in California. They never talked about having another, Liv saying that what they had was perfect. Steve always dreamt of having a son to carry on the Rogers/Williams legacy. But he wouldn’t voice that to Liv. Her pregnancy with Davy and Mattie was difficult at the best of time and at the worst, he almost lost all three. No, he wouldn’t let that dream out. His girls were enough.
His dream morph in the middle of the night into something more pleasurable. Dreaming of his sexy baby momma, riding him hard, soaking him to the bone. He moans in his sleep, fuck it felt so real. She slipped off of him and slide down, taking him in her mouth. She sucked her arousal off of him. Fuck, Livie, baby, such a dirty girl, he moaned. My good girl. He reached for his cock to pump it in his sleep when he felt a tangle of hair bobbing on his rock hard dick. He opened his eyes to see his beautiful wife staring at him as she swallowed him whole.
She popped off as she continues to pump the base of his cock. “Happy birthday Stevie.” She went right back on him as he tangled his fingers in her hair.
“Fuck, Livie, that mouth is so warm, so good,” he praised her like he knew she would like and she moaned, the vibration radiating down over his cock. “Shit, baby, c’mere.” He pulled her off of him and pulled her on top, kissing her hard. He flipped them so he was on top. “You are a naughty one, Bug.”
“Only for you,” she replied with a smirk.
“Fucking love you, Livie.” He kissed her as he spread her legs and slid right into her soaked heat. “Favorite place in the world,” he moaned as he thrusted gently.
Liv sank her nails into his bacl. “More, Stevie, fuck me more,” she moaned.
Steve smiled as he pinned her hands by her head and thrusted harder and deeper into her. “I love you baby so much.”
“I love you. Stevie, shit, gonna come.”
“I’ve got you Liv. Go on, baby. Give it to me.”
Liv arched her back as her legs shook and her release washed over her. Watching Olivia cum was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen and always caused him to follow right behind her. He grabbed under her ass to lift her slightly as he chased his end and cummed harder than he imagined.
Their bedroom was silent, bar the heavy breathing as they came down from their highs.
“So, good start to your birthday?”
Steve laughed hard as he held his wife and kissed her head. “The best.”
As Steve stirred his coffee, he smiled as he heard the soft sounds of his girls waking up with Liv. He loved his girls, truly, but they were sassy as fuck. Luckily, he did have his nephew, Simon, Bucky and Natasha’s boy, to get his “son” energy out. A pitter of feet hit the staircase at their vacation home and the girls bounced into the room.
“Happy Birthday Papa!”
“Thank you, my Angels.” He kneeled down to receive their hugs. He pulled back to study his girls. Davy took after him, blonde curls, and his nose. Mattie took after her mother with her dark curls but both girls had his ocean blues.
“Papa, we go for a swim?” Davy asked.
“Gonna make me a picnic?”
“Momma says we will,” Mattie offers. “Pwease papa?”
“Its sounds like a perfect day Angels. But let’s have some breakfast before we get ready, ok?”
The girls scramble to their safety steps to help make breakfast with Steve. He put their bowls out and the fruit they would use. He loved teaching his girls healthy habits in the guise of helping papa with meals. Once he had them settled in their booster with their breakfast, he scrambled some eggs and bacon for himself and Liv.
“Baby, it’s your birthday. I wouldn’t have done it,” Liv says as she comes in, typing her hair up.
“It’s just another day, Bug.” Steve smiled. “Buck, Nat, Frank, Sam and Tony are stopping by later for a drink but otherwise is, this is all I ever wanted for a normal, non-celebration day.”
After jumping and splashing all day with his daughters, Steve relaxed into the daybed chair, his daughters asleep for their nap. Liv came over, beer in her hands for him, a soda for her. “Hey baby.”
“Hi love.” He took one of the beers and clinked with her glass. “It’s so calm here.”
“It is.” She took a slip and laid her head on his chest. She sighed, the sound coming out a little despondent.
Steve frowned as he lowered his sunglasses. “Livie, baby, what’s wrong?”
“Been thinking about stuff.”
“What stuff, honey?”
“Just future stuff. Wondering what you would think.”
“About what?”
“Just,” she sighed again. “Maybe I just miss the girls being babies is all. They are going to be four this year and we have to start thinking about school and stuff…”
Steve smiled softly. “And you miss your babies.”
“And I miss my babies.” She went quiet for a moment. “We never talked about whether we wanted another after…”
“After you and the girls almost died,” he said softly. “Baby, I didn’t want to bring it up because you were so scared after. The post-partum was so bad, and I was just scared that you would spiral again if I brought it up.” He pulled her all the way onto his lap. “Do you?” He swallowed. “Do you want another?”
She looked up at him and gave a small nod. “I mean, if you want.”
“Honey, it’s your body.”
Liv looked at him pensively. “I think I do.”
“I loved seeing you pregnant, and experiencing all the changes, feeling the girls kick,” Steve said with a smile. “So, let’s try for one more.”
She snorted. “One more. You and your super sperm gave me two.”
He smirked. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.” They laughed and Steve hugged Olivia closer to him.
Maybe this was his chance.
As Liv went to get the girls ready for their guests, Steve was picking up from the art project the girls decided they wanted to make for their aunt and uncles. He loved that his girls got his art skills. The doorbell rang and he went to let his friends in.
“Hey punk, happy birthday!” Bucky reach for his best friend to give him a one arm hug as Simon was in his arms.
“Thanks, jerk. Hey, my little man, how are you?” He took the 18-month-old from his father’s arms and tossed him in the air. It made him excited that he would get to do that with his own little one again in the near future.
“Hey guys,” he greeted as Nat, Sam, Tony and Frank came in. “Liv and the girls will be down in just a few minutes. We had an incident with some finger paints.” He pointed to the art on the table. “There is one for each of you.”
“I’ll take the pink one,” Nat said. “I know they thought of me when they made it.”
“How do you know they weren’t thinking of me?” Frank asked.
As the friends began to bicker, Tony handed a bag to Steve. “Here you go.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Steve looked at the bag with a sigh.
“It’s your birthday, you get a gift. Them the rules, Rogers.”
“Thanks Tony. No Pepper?”
“She had to head back to the London office early. Something about an Ultron program going haywire,” Tony waived his arm like it wasn’t important. “Anyway, open it.”
Steve opened the bag to see a 25-year-old scotch. “Tony, wow.”
“Figured you might need it with the mini Olivias around.”
“I heard that Shell-head,” Liv said, holding her daughters’ hands as they walked down the stairs. All the girls squealed as their company was scattered around the room. They greeted everyone as they sat to chat and have a couple of drinks.
Mattie grew restless with her sweater. “Momma, can I take this off now?”
Liv bit her lip. “I guess so, baby. Have papa help you.”
“C’mere, munchkin one,” he said as he picked up his daughter and sat her on his knee. “Let’s get this off.” He pulled it off and saw a pink shirt with writing. He pulled it taut and read, ’Rogers #1’
“This is cute,” Steve said. “C’mere Davy, let me get yours off too.” He pulled the sweater off and straightened her own ‘Rogers #2’ shirt. “Very cute Bug.”
“I thought you might like them.” Liv blushed. “I know you said no presents, but I got you something.”
“Bug,” he sighed, “you promised.”
“I know but I think you’re gonna like this one.” She handed him a small blue bag. He took it warily and gave a tight smile. His friends all looked, well kinda smug. He shook it off and opened the bag. Inside was a bracelet box and a blue shirt. He opened the box and froze.
“Livie,” he swallowed, “baby…”
“So, remember in Montreal I wasn’t feeling great,” she started. “Turns out, I’m pregnant.” She chewed on her lip as she waited for Steve’s mind to catch up with his eyes. Eyes that are fixated on the positive pregnancy test in his hands.
“We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby.”
Steve pulled his wife into his arms. “We’re having a baby!” He kissed her hard as the group wolf whistled and yelled out their congratulations.
“You didn’t see the other thing in the bag,” Liv said.
“Don’t much care,” as Steve continues to hold his wife. “A baby. I can’t believe it.”
“But Stevie, you gotta look,” she insisted. Steve rolled his eyes and pulled the blue cloth from the bag. Its smaller than he expected but he shakes it open.
Rogers #3, Like Father, Like Son
“A b- a boy?”
“They did genetic testing, everything is fine,” she reassured him, “but they were able to tell me the gender. Now we have our boy. I know it’s what you wanted.”
“How did you know?”
“I see the way you are with Simon. You’re a brilliant girl dad, Stevie but I know you wanted a boy as well. And now we have both,” she said with a loving smile.
“How far along are you?”
“Eleven weeks. Been dying to tell you but with our schedule and flying and the girls I just didn’t have the chance. Are you mad?”
“Mad? No Bug, I’m not mad.” He kissed her softly. He looked back at his friends who were standing to start hugging. “They all knew?”
“Well, someone, Tony, heard me talking to Mom and your Ma and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. So we set this up because it’s your birthday and…”
He stopped her with a hug. “This has been the best birthday ever.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thank you Livie.”
“Happy birthday daddy.” She pat her stomach as his girls came to hug him around his legs. “We love you.”
Everyone here at the FIA are sending their heartfelt congratulations to Red Bull Racing and their driver Steve Rogers. The team announced that Steve’s wife, former champion Olivia Rogers, has given birth to a healthy baby boy, Christopher James. Team principle, Andy Barber confirmed that mother and son are doing well, and that older siblings Davina and Matilda are excited to have their brother join the family. Rogers is set to return to defend his third world championship in March in Bahrain. We wish the Rogers family all the best!
#andy's shenanigans#andy's hea#chris evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans smut#following team orders#following team orders one shot#chris evans au#steve rogers#steve rogers au#steve rogers smut#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x ofc Olivia Williams-Rogers#formula one au#happy birthday Steve#Happy Birthday Cap
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Summer
Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?
As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.
Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!
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The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.
"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.
And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).
Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.
"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.
"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-
"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.
"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.
Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.
"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.
Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.
However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.
"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.
The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.
"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.
However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.
They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.
The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.
"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.
"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.
"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"
Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.
"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.
She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.
"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"
Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.
"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.
"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.
"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.
"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.
"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.
"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.
"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.
They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.
"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.
"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.
"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.
"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.
"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.
"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.
"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.
"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.
The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.
But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.
Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.
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TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //
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Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.
As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!
Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx
#hinny#alternate universe#harry potter#headcanon#harry x ginny#ginny weasley#romance#au#fiction#beach#summer#party#okay out of tags#writing#ao3 writer#taglist
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Fundywastaken week, Day 5 - Fireworks
Yet another day of participating in @fundyfiles' fwt week! This chapter has a big time skip basically in the middle because I love stories that show how everything changes with time. So now you "have" to read that too, and you can also do so on my Ao3!
Characters: Fundy, Dream
Words: ~1.4k
Dream silently watched the walls of L’Manburg, sticking to the treeline to make sure no one would see him. There were people patrolling around, he could see their torches from miles away, and he was starting to lose faith that Fundy would come to meet him that night. It wouldn’t be the first time either, but they both knew that it was out of the fox hybrid’s control. Being Wilbur’s son, there were days his father or his father’s people would keep an eye on him for a bit too long, making it impossible to sneak out for a secret meeting. Being his own ruler, in a way, Dream didn’t face the same issue, but he could understand it whenever his boyfriend had to deal with that.
Just as he was contemplating turning back and going home, he heard something go off inside the walls. It didn’t sound like TNT, but must’ve been an explosion of sorts… oh no. Did his people attack without his orders? Oh, this was terrible- The citizens previously patrolling the walls all disappeared on the other side of them, presumably to help with whatever was happening, when some more explosions sounded out.
While listening to the people inside call for each other and deal with whatever was causing the sounds, Dream seriously contemplated running in there, too. If he covered his face with something else than his mask and found a cape or something, maybe they wouldn’t recognize him? So he could check if Fundy was okay? Oh, but if they did-
“Hey!” came a greeting in a hushed tone. The man turned and saw his boyfriend sneaking over, quickly using the trees as a cover for himself.
“...You’re okay,” Dream breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, I got so worried! Do you know what caused the explosions?” he asked.
“Hm… Do I…” Fundy hummed, and the man noticed a little mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What did you blow up?”
“Nothing! Nothing blew up!” the fox hybrid assured quickly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.
“Okay. Then what happened?” Dream asked. Fundy glanced between the man and the walls of L’Manburg before finally turning his gaze to the forest.
“Can we walk?” he asked, and Dream nodded a short confirmation before the two got on their way. “So… You know how sometimes I miss meeting with you because it’s too quiet and I can’t sneak away?” he started.
“Yeah, that happens,” Dream confirmed.
“Yeah! And it’s annoying! So I thought about it, and I came up with a good solution! Just a few little fireworks here and there, and… boom! Enough commotion for me to get away! And when I’m back, I can say I got scared and hid somewhere!” he explained his idea. Oh.
“So those were fireworks?” Dream asked, and his boyfriend confirmed with a nod. Well, that made a lot of sense. Not quite TNT, but still loud. “Smart,” he complimented finally.
“Thanks! And, uh, sorry for worrying you with them. I probably should’ve told you about this before, but I wasn’t sure if it’d work,” Fundy explained, but Dream wasn't upset even before the apology.
“It’s alright. I’m glad you could join me tonight,” he answered, and Fundy smiled at that. “Should I get some gunpowder for you when we meet again?” he offered.
“Oh, please do! I promise not to weaponize it as TNT,” the fox hybrid smiled sweetly, and Dream sighed.
“Should I get some rockets for you when we meet again?” he made another offer, and Fundy snickered.
“If it makes you feel better,” he shrugged.
Dream still started to give him some gunpowder every opportunity he got.
***
Walking down the prime path was always a good feeling, but doing so this evening was truly delightful. With the anniversary of the war officially ending just around the corner, the decorations finally started to pop up all around the road, serving as a reminder of peace. There were flags hanging from almost every building, invitations to celebration parties, and some people even put out food they made just to cheer everyone else up.
All those little things were enough of a change to catch Fundy’s eye even if he was in the middle of excitedly running down the path and dragging Dream right behind him. Unluckily, he was too much in a rush to comment on them anyway. Well, ‘rush’ might’ve been the wrong term to describe him, there was no deadline he was racing with, no danger he was running from… But there was a destination he wanted to reach soon. Just earlier that day, he finally finished his little project and he wanted Dream to see it so badly. And it was dark already!
“So, where are we going again?” the man asked when the fox hybrid took a turn and left the prime path behind. Fundy looked at him and grinned.
“We’re almost there,” he assured. Initially, Dream nodded and even tried to speed up.
“Wait, that doesn’t really answer the question,” he pointed out after a moment, and Fundy laughed quietly before slowing down.
“Fine, fine… Just a bit further into this field,” he answered, pointing forward. And sure enough, there was a big, open plain in front of them. “The rest is a surprise.”
“Alright,” the man nodded again, and the two continued running. Yet just a couple of minutes later, Fundy finally came to a full stop.
“You can wait here,” he said, allowing his own hand to slip off of Dream’s. “Take a seat, get comfortable, and give me a second.”
“Sure?” the masked man said before sitting down. With curiosity, he watched Fundy walk further for a moment before kneeling down in the grass and doing something.
Fundy’s hand lingered above the lever hidden by the plants growing around it. Pulling those like this one usually filled him with guilt and was something he dreaded. It would always make him wonder, was this considered sabotage? Would others consider him a traitor if they knew? Tonight, however, putting his hand over the lever made his heart feel lighter and pushed a smile onto his face. Ah, how fast the times changed.
He pulled on it and immediately got to his feet, running over to where Dream was waiting and almost falling at the final stretch. Still, he managed to keep his balance and ‘gracefully’ sit down by his boyfriend’s side. The man snickered briefly, but stopped himself from commenting on Fundy’s slip.
“So?” he asked finally, and Fundy pointed at the spot he just returned from.
“Look over there,” he answered, and the man did what he was told to. Nothing happened. “...Come on, it’s not broken, is it?” he muttered to himself.
Just then, a single firework shot up into the sky with a long whoosh before finally exploding brightly with colours. Instantly, Fundy’s grin returned to his face and he let out a quiet “Yes!”, it worked! Then, another firework appeared, once again lighting up the night sky and assuring him that the redstone circuit wasn’t flawed either. Dream stared at where the last explosion happened in total awe.
“...Fireworks?” he muttered finally, and Fundy nodded.
“Yeah! Oh, this took ages to set up!” he exclaimed as more and more colorful explosions appeared in the sky. Despite still looking up, Dream had no trouble finding the fox hybrid’s hand and squeezing it gently.
“You did amazing,” he complimented, causing a sheepish grin to appear on Fundy’s face.
“Thanks!” he answered. After that, there came over a minute of watching the fireworks in comfortable silence.
“...Where’d you even get enough gunpowder for all these?” Dream asked finally, and Fundy turned to look at him.
“That’s a funny story, actually,” he answered. “I’m pretty sure you supplied most of it? Like, a year ago. I wasn’t sure what to do with the stacks I didn’t use, and, well… I figured this could be fun?” he explained.
“Oh? Well- I’m glad it’s still useful!” Dream nodded, still admiring his boyfriend’s work.
It was… strangely poetic. The fireworks they once used as a distraction, the gunpowder meant to grant them just enough cover to meet, now lighting up the sky with colorful explosions, making their presence obvious for miles and miles. And just a year later, they didn’t have to worry about that. Everyone knew they were dating anyway, they didn’t have to sneak around anymore. And if they ever dared to doubt that, those beautiful explosions were there to remind them - it was okay. Times were better.
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what are you doing new year’s eve?
So this final fic of 2020 is dedicated to @odd-birds-and-booksellers for multiple reasons. Firstly she’s been my first friend in the Jolex fandom and one of the reasons the group chat exists. Despite how much we make fun of each other she’s truly become one of my favorite people (she knew I was pregnant approximately 15 seconds after I peed on a stick and hours before anyone else) and I wouldn’t have stuck around here without her.
Secondly it’s dedicated to her because my final fic for the year is an ode to the reason I’m in this fandom in the first place and the series she keeps begging me to write for. That’s right y’all, I’m posting a piece for my “It’s Nothing Funny Just to Talk/Little Pieces of You” universe! (she thought I was gonna kill someone... hehehe)
I hope y’all enjoy this cute and fluffy one shot! Thank you all for reading, commenting, and encouraging me to write this year!
also one million anons asked me for a birth fic... well here it kinda is
xoxo Nina
Maybe it's much too early in the game
Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same
What are you doing New Year's, New Year's Eve?
Jo was fine, really she was. She blamed being two weeks from her due date for the state of discomfort she found herself in. She’d been experiencing Braxton Hicks for almost a month already (something Alex loved to point out that he could always see as it happened, much to Jo’s annoyance) so the tightening of her abdomen wasn’t a new feeling. What was new was the aching in her back and hips that had prompted her to take a long steamy shower in an attempt to ease a bit of the pain and discomfort she felt.
The water had helped a bit, but all Jo really wanted was for Alex to rub her back and hold her while she napped. He had asked before he left for work if she was alright, but Jo had assured him she was fine. New Year’s Eve was always a long night for him at work with an influx of teenagers hurt by firework accidents or drunken mishaps. She has reminded him that she wasn’t due for two weeks and she would make it through one night without him there. Now though, Jo was regretting her decision as she struggled to get comfortable on their couch, her back aching as she shifted back and forth.
“Hoooooly shit,” Jo gripped the armrest of the couch tightly as she attempted to sit up, a roaring pain ripping through her stomach as she desperately tried to get air into her lungs. The feeling passed after a moment, letting her take a deep breath as she settled one hand onto her stomach. “I need you to calm down in there, please and thank you.”
Her phone chose that moment to ding loudly, a text from Alex popping up as she reached for her phone.
Thursday 4:39 PM
How are my girls doing?
Thursday 4:41 PM
all good over here :)
Deciding not to mention her pain, Jo set her phone aside and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Whenever her Braxton Hicks got bad Alex would always tell her it was because she was dehydrated. He was usually right, though she’d never admit it, but the water usually calmed down the sensations flowing through her body.
Slowly making her way to the kitchen, Jo grabbed a glass and sipped on the water as she tried to even her breathing. Her mind was already racing, heart pounding as she tried to keep her composure. She’d only had one bad spout of pain, it could be a fluke or a pulled muscle for all she knew.
The searing pain she’d felt only minutes before returned again, the glass in her hands slipping from her fingers as a pained groan left her. Watching the water and glass splatter across the counter top, Jo realized how serious her pain was. Her eyes flitted to the clock, noting it was just hitting 5 PM. Alex would be home at 11, she would hold out as long as she could until then.
-
Thursday 6:32 PM
Want me to grab a late dinner for us? Figure you’ll still be up anyways.
Alex stared down at the text he’d sent almost 20 minutes earlier as if his staring would prompt a response from his wife. Logically he knew she was probably sleeping, but he’d been worried about her all day. She’d barely slept the night before and her back had been hurting for almost two days now. He wasn’t stupid he’d done enough rounds on OB to know that Jo was probably getting close to going into labor, a thought that both excited and terrified him. Erring on the side of caution, he dialed Jo’s number and waited for her to answer.
“Hi you’ve reached Josephine Karev! I’m probably teaching right now so leave a message after the beep!”
“Hey babe, call me back whenever you can. Love you.”
Hanging up the phone and grumbling to himself, Alex begrudgingly turned back to his patient files. He had a lot of work to do, but his mind was currently occupied worrying about his wife and their unborn daughter.
-
“Oh shit… oh shit no no no,” Jo’s panicked cries echoed across the empty loft as another contraction made its way through her stomach, her body curling in on itself as she struggled to lean against the couch. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told her it was only 7:19 meaning Alex wouldn’t be home for a few more hours.
She knew she couldn’t last that long, her contractions were steadily growing closer together and more painful. Reaching for her phone, Jo sent off a quick text before focusing her attention on breathing through the steady flow of contractions now racking her body.
Thursday 7:21 PM
in labor, moving fast. need drugs and husband.
-
It was nearing 8 PM and Alex still hadn’t heard from Jo for the last three hours. He’d called twice to no answer and his texts were sent but not read. He was ready to jump in the car and rush home to check on her when someone called out his name.
“Alex!”
Jackson Avery was jogging towards him, dressed in a button up and slacks with a six month old Harriet on his hip. He’d been talking about his mom’s New Year’s Eve party all week, so Alex was shocked to see him there.
“Hey man, you skipping out on the party,” Alex searched Jackson’s serious expression for a moment, reading his best friend's face easily and letting a sigh out. “Where is she?”
“April took her up to L&D while I came to find you. She was screaming at me the whole drive here,” Jackson smirked at Alex as they walked down the halls. “I’m sure you’re in for a fun night.”
Thanking Jackson, Alex headed towards the maternity ward with a sense of urgency. He knew if Jo had been worried enough to call April that she was probably pretty far along in her labor. Spotting the red head down the hall, he picked up his pace and stopped in front of her.
“They’re just checking her out now, her contractions have been coming every three and half minutes but I think they’re speeding up,” April gave Alex a small smile as she made to leave. “She’s been asking for you the whole time.”
“Thanks April.”
“It’s the least I could do. When I was in labor she sat with me while Jackson was in surgery despite the fact that she was throwing up every twenty minutes from her morning sickness,” April shrugged. “Besides if I didn’t go she probably would’ve given birth on your couch.”
Alex chuckled, his hand rubbing his neck nervously, “I’ll text you guys when she’s here, thanks again.”
April left then, Alex taking a breath before entering the room that April had just left. Jo was laid in bed, eyes closed and curled in on herself as she struggled through a contraction. Surging forward Alex placed one hand on Jo’s back as the other moved to run through her hair. She instantly relaxed at his touch, eyes popping open to meet his.
“I was wondering why you weren’t answering my texts,” Alex leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. “You need anything? Water, ice chips, hard drugs?”
Jo shook her head, breathing through the end of her contraction before speaking again, “No they said I’m too far along for an epidural. I just have to suffer until she gets here. My water broke as soon as I walked into the hospital, I think she knew you were waiting.”
Eyeing the monitor tracking her contractions, Alex realized that she was nearing the end of her labor, “You should’ve called me, I could’ve come to get you.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’m here now,” Jo leaned against Alex’s hand as she struggled to pull a breath in. “Ow ow ow ow, holy shit mother-”
Jo’s next words were silenced as she pressed her face against Alex’s chest, fists clenched against the bed rail as her body tensed once more. Keeping his eyes on her monitor, Alex kept his fingers running through Jo’s hair in an attempt to comfort her, “Breathe baby, it’s okay just breathe.”
Once she finally took a deep breath Jo relaxed in Alex’s hold, her voice alarmingly calm as she spoke, “I really need to push. Like right now.”
“Let me get the doctor, just hold on a minute babe,” Alex couldn’t help the wide grin he sported as he left Jo’s side to call down the hallway for her doctor. In just a little while they were going to be parents…
-
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1… Happy New Year!”
The TV played softly in the background as fireworks lit up the dim hospital room but Alex and Jo weren’t paying attention to the celebration of the new year. Both had their eyes firmly locked on the sleeping bundle in Jo’s arms, light curls peeking out of the pink hat on her head as her lips pursed in her sleep.
“You do that when you’re sleeping,” Alex pointed out as he ran his finger down his daughter’s cheek. “You look like a fish, it’s kinda funny that she’s already doing it.”
“She’s not even three hours old and you’re comparing her to a fish,” Jo chuckled as she looked from her daughter to her husband. “She needs a name still.”
“How about Goldie,” Alex’s suggestion earned him a slap on the arm from Jo, a laugh escaping him as she did so. “I was kidding! What about the one you really liked?”
Eyeing her daughter as if testing out the name she’d brought up so many months ago, a grin settled on Jo’s face, “I like it. Annabeth Brooke Karev.”
“Glad we finally decided on that, I thought you were never going to choose,” Alex pressed a kiss to Jo’s lips, then another to the top of Annie’s head. “Happy New Year Annie.”
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it's exactly 12 o'clock, midnight
Welcoming in the New Year, New Year's Eve
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fireworks (that went off too soon)
Hey there! This is a CS one shot. An AU in which Killian is the lead singer and songwriter in a band that sounds suspiciously like Fall Out Boy...
Summary: Emma and Killian were friends in college, but haven’t spoken in 9 years. Killian’s band’s new single changes everything.
Words: 4400ish
Rating: Teen? (Swearing, References to Sex)
Also on AO3
Big thanks to @awkwardnessandbaseball for reading this over, correcting all my dumbass mistakes, and helping me polish this up pretty :)
(The title comes from my favorite Fall Out Boy song, Fourth of July. It’s heavily featured in the story sung by Killian’s band.)
---
It was 3pm on Friday the 13th – also a Full Moon – when Emma Swan finally had the meltdown she’d pressed “pause” on about nine years earlier.
(Nine years, three months, more accurately, but who was counting?)
The work week was winding down. The get this done today or be fired tasks had been completed and all the emails had been answered and it was about time to start doing the bare minimum to run down the clock to 5:01 when she could, without regret, run screaming from the building and put her god forsaken job out of her mind for two days of rest, relaxation, and rum.
(Definitely the rum. Or maybe it had been upgraded to a tequila weekend.)
It was Pandora’s fault, really. (A fitting name for opening up an emotional box inside her soul that had been sealed for quite a long time and with very good fucking reason.)
Usually Emma listened to wordless music – movie scores, Vitamin String Quartet and the like – so as to keep the creative juices flowing without breaking her train of concentration. But having reached the procrastination part of the afternoon, she thought, what harm could there be in listening to a little regular music?
Emma had always had a soft spot for pop/punk/emo music. It brought her joy even when it wasn’t joyful, which is either a sentiment only shared by lonely foster girls or perhaps all emo kids, but did it matter? It was her kind of music. Long before she met Killian Jones.
But then she met him. He was an insufferable ass at least 2/3 of the time, but for the other third of his life, he was sweet, funny, and musically a goddamn genius. His voice was smooth and warm, he could play guitar like it was in his DNA, and his lyrics were both relatable and completely original. She was half in love from the start, so of course she pushed him as far away as possible.
(Love is patient; love is kind. Love is slowly losing my mind)
He was aloof. At best. They were college kids who shared a dorm building and not much else, not until their roommates fell in love with each other. That’s around the time they started spending an inordinate amount of time together. He was fucking anything with brown eyes and tits and she absolutely did not care and everything was fine. They were friends, kind of. She was a fan of his band, but not in the groupie way. She had no intention of being just a notch in his bedpost or a line in his song.
(As it turned out, she ended up becoming both. Eventually.)
When he wasn’t playing shows in dive bars (or fucking freshmen girls in a shower stall of their dorm hall’s shared bathroom), he spent a lot of time in Emma’s room. Mostly to avoid Mary Margaret and David in his room who were, as he called it, “the most sickly sweet love story this side of the Atlantic” and “a complete buzzkill to complex song-writing.” And she was OK with it. She loved when he would compose while she read. And they had the best conversations. They challenged each other on everything from politics to pie flavors and she’d never been so stimulated by someone of the opposite sex in her life.
Intellectually stimulated. In the brain.
By junior year, the two pairs of roommates had moved off-campus, opting to share a three bedroom house while they finished up school. Killian’s band was starting to actually make something of themselves, but he vowed to get his degree (this pretty face won’t last forever), and Emma played tutor for him when he skipped class for weeks on end so he could play some gigs on the west coast.
They were friends. They were equals. They meant so much more to each other than “just” friends or study buddies or housemates or anything, because the past three years had been the most stable years in either of their lives and it was all because of the support they received from each other in the darkest nights and the brightest days and seriously.
Fuck Pandora.
It had distracted her when she was in the middle of perfectly pleasant procrastinating. Now she was getting off track. Frazzled. Fucking pissed.
With her work mostly finished, she had decided to listen to Panic! At the Disco’s station. It was a safe zone – the best of two different genres: emo and pop. She bopped along to Blink 182 and “the Ballad of Mona Lisa.” She swayed and swooned a little when “Secrets” by One Republic played. And she got a good laugh at “I’m Not OK (I Promise),” remembering the days she’d scream “I’m not o-fucking kay! [trust me]” every time she got into a fight with the foster mother she now loved so very much.
But then there was a dramatic twist and a cinematic sweep and that voice and before she could switch the station, some warning popped up at her, removing all the buttons and controls and displaying the error message of SOMETHING WENT WRONG and all she could think was no shit, Sherlock.
Killian’s band got big when they were 21. And stayed big. The band broke up once, briefly, but they’d been dancing around the American Top 40 for at least 6 of the last 9 years and as much as it hurt her to hear his voice through a radio and not through a wall of their shared house, at least the lyrics of the songs never stung her before.
Because they’d never been about her before.
It was the summer before senior year, late that June, and Killian had just returned from a little pop-punk festival in Seattle. She’d picked him up at the airport in Portland (Maine) and had been chatting his ear off about how much better “our” Portland was from “theirs” (Oregon), but Killian had been largely silent.
Which was out of character to the extreme, his little creative writing/song composer mind always racing and his far too pleasing voice always spilling from his stupidly attractive lips.
“What is up with you, Jones? I just said that they have better lobster in Oregon and you didn’t even react.”
From the passenger seat, he played with the window controller, the air whooshing in and stopping to the rhythm of Seven Nation Army AKA the world’s most overplayed song that wasn’t sung by Ed Sheeran or Taylor Swift.
“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, Swan. A problem for a different day, to be sure.”
His voice had been quiet, unsure. That wasn’t him either. This was the asshole who could start a trend with a typo and who claimed to have made a girl come with nothing but his voice. His level of confidence was infuriating, but unshakeable.
(He made forgetting the words to his own songs look attractive. And that was an eventual Buzzfeed headline, not Emma’s own assessment. Obviously.)
“Killian, what’s up? Did the festival not go as well as you wanted? From what I saw on YouTube, it seemed awfully successful.”
“Aye, love.” He perked up just a bit, finally turning toward her and smiling. “It was grand.”
“And you’re brooding because, what, you’re worried that feeling happy for too long will sap you of your emo energy or something?”
Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t seem to take, though, and Killian turned back out the window like he was practicing for his very own music video.
When they got back to their house, Emma grabbed his clothes and Killian lugged the musical equipment and neither of them said a word.
Fog had rolled in, or maybe it was on its way out, and if it weren’t for the green leaves, it might have felt like October. But there was something about his expression that was a hell of a lot more December. Something ending.
They were lingering almost awkwardly in their kitchen, Emma trying to casually wrack her brain for how to pull Killian out of his little funk, when he interrupted her with an overdramatic clearing of his throat.
“Ahem! Fancy a drink, Swan?” Killian extended a shot glass to her, a dark liquid inside that couldn’t be anything but spiced rum.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked hesitantly.
“Perhaps… perhaps it’s a celebration.”
“…of?”
“Your business sense, of course!” He lifted his glass toward hers for a clink and then downed the shot faster than she could even raise hers to her lips.
“What kind of business are we talking here? I’m not sure if this is the setup for an idiot joke or a reference to lyrics you swear you told me you wrote but never actually did.”
“Ah, love, no. Not that, this time anyway. Actually – actually, it’s about the band. And ‘Grand Theft Autumn.’ They loved it like you said they would.”
“They being?”
“The record company. They loved it. And they want it. And us.”
Holy shit! She knew it. They were going to be famous. Killian deserved it so much and they were going to be huge and everyone was going to love him just like she did and –
Wait.
“When you say they want you… do you mean, like, deferred acceptance so you can finish college or…”
“No, love. The boys and I … we’re packing up and moving to LA.”
She was dumbfounded.
“LA?”
“Aye.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
That’s right about the time her stomach dropped to her heels and the rum threatened its way back up her throat and perhaps onto Killian’s perfectly rumpled white shirt.
She just – wasn’t ready to let him go.
She could hear his honey-smooth voice drift through her head, his own lyrics seeming oddly relevant to this dramatic turn in her life.
Maybe he won’t find out what I know; you were the last good thing about this part of town.
So they drank. And drank. And drank some more. They were more honest with each other than they’d been in three years. She told him how much she hated that he thought setting his clocks early would keep him from being late. And he told her that he didn’t truly think that… it just had fit as a song lyrics and he felt like he needed to “make it authentic by living it.”
She called him pretentious and he called her painfully adorable and neither were true and yet somehow they felt like the perfect identifiers for the characters they were trying to be when they weren’t with each other.
So of course she fell into bed with him that night. Her bed. The twinkly lights hung around her ceiling were flickering as he kissed a trail down her neck and she tugged off his way-too-tight jeans and dear fucking lord if she thought the only thing he could do with his tongue was sing, she was officially wrong.
But come morning she was officially gone. As the sun rose on a rainy June Sunday morning, she slipped out of her bed, slid into whatever clothes she could reach without making noise, and jogged all the way to David’s brother’s frat house to hide until Monday came and went and when exactly did her life turn into an emo song?
When I wake up I’m willing to take my chances on the hope I forget
September. Friday the 13th. Pandora malfunction. Her brain was reeling and her heart was shattering all over again, because the song pumping through her pathetic tinny Dell speakers was, on first blush, just another of his melodramatic fictions, a series of sentiments that sounded good together but that he’d never actually experienced (he’d admitted the best songs were much like Hey There Delilah… a lovely story and 0% real). But she could hear something genuine in that still so attractive voice. And then… a few familiar thoughts.
I’ll be as honest as you let me
I miss your early morning company
If you get me
You are my favorite ‘what if’
You are my best ‘I’ll never know’
She’d turned off her phone the morning she’d left him in her bed. Kept it off until Tuesday. And blocked his number the minute she turned it back on.
Goodbyes were bad enough. To have been reduced to his very last college-one-night-stand? She couldn’t face it.
(Especially because she’d realized mid-fuck she’d kind of always wanted to be his forever, or whatever overly-romantic hyperbole he’d scoff at before writing it down in his notes.)
She hadn’t let herself think of him for longer than the span of one of his songs since that day. Even then, she’d usually change the channel. It was just too hard.
But could this one actually be about her? And if so, what the fuck was she supposed to do with that? Cry? Scream? Sue his sorry ass for slander?
(Not that one.)
She’d made a lot of mistakes in her life. He’d never been one of them, not until the end. Is it possible that didn’t need to be the end at all?
My 9 to 5 is cutting open old scars
Again and again til I’m stuck in your head
He’d probably had a lot of almosts. Maybe he’d just gotten better at faking genuine emotion in his songs. There’s no way he still thought about her. Even for lyrical dramatics.
I wish I’d known how much you loved me
I wish I’d cared enough to know
I’m sorry every song’s about you
The torture of small talk
With someone you used to love
Well there you had it. Small talk? They hadn’t talked in years. And she already knew every song was total bullshit, made up longing. Some of his best lovelorn pandering (that she admittedly loved) had been written when he claimed to be incapable of actual love. When he would only sleep with dark-haired, dark-eyed girls who didn’t want anything more than a good breakfast the next morning.
(I’m not looking for a soulmate, darling, just a beauty without a gag reflex, he’d repeated on many occasions. Sometimes literally to the women he was hitting on. And yes, they did usually blow him afterward and he would inexplicably tell her and she Did. Not. Care.)
(Until the day she realized she always had.)
A week after he’d moved to Los Angeles had been the 4th of July. It being summer and most of her friends working various jobs, she didn’t think there would be a huge party. James had insisted, though, that they needed to celebrate the fact that their friends were getting famous. David had pointed out the irony that the band – Killian, Will, Robin, and Graham – were all from outside of the USA. And yet they were being celebrated on America’s birthday.
“Stealing things from others is the American way. Now drink, little brother!” James had shouted just before his frat brothers lifted him into keg stand position and he chugged.
Emma wasn’t one for keg stands, so she’d opted for drinking straight liquor instead, and from what she could extrapolate from the massive headache the next morning (in addition to the vomit in her bedside garbage can), she had likely drank that bottle in its entirety.
After the opening of Pandora’s box that fateful Friday the 13th, Emma couldn’t think of much else but her almost-maybe-something Killian Jones. Suddenly his stupid band was everywhere and that stupid song was everywhere and she was feeling a deep longing to connect with that girl who had two whole albums by two different bands written about her to see how the fuck she coped with old wounds being opened every fucking visit to the grocery store.
(Then again, Brand New and Taking Back Sunday weren’t quite so mainstream. Maybe that’s how she survived.)
(Is that what you call a getaway? Tell me what you got away with, cause I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish; I’ve seen more guts in 11 year old kids.)
She’d taken to keeping the radio off at all times, and humming the Star Spangled Banner when she couldn’t escape Killian’s stupidly attractive and all-too-familiar voice gracing the airwaves.
Ruby asked her out for drinks, and alcohol was exactly the cure for her current tumult, so she agreed on the very specific request that they hit the country bar downtown instead of their usual Rabbit Hole escapades. Which worked out great for avoiding song-specific reminders, but sadly didn’t keep all Killian talk at bay.
“By the way, how have you been holding up?” Ruby asked, probably in response to Emma’s downing two shots – one of which that had been intended for Ruby – in the first minute or so at the table.
“What do you mean, holding up?” She wasn’t that transparent, right?
“Well the song… the one Killian wrote about you. It’s, like… huge. Weird how he waited this long. Did he warn you first or anything?”
… what? It wasn’t about her. Sure, it kind of, a little bit, had some moments that seemed like they could be inspired by her. But it had been nine fucking years and she hadn’t seen him since the morning she slinked away from their house and it’s not like he’d ever reached out or anything (or at least he didn’t try very hard, because blocking a cell phone number wasn’t like blocking a whole-ass person), hence her nine years of denial and shoving down her feelings like the very opposite of the emo kid she once was.
She probably looked like that stupid meme of the lady thinking about math and her heart was beating nearly out of her chest, but somehow the only sound that made it out of her mouth was, “huh?”
Ruby, bless her heart, was much better at dealing with, you know, life than Emma was. And sorting through feelings and coping with unprecedented situations that Emma had so far only seen odd iterations of in Hallmark movies or … emo music videos, probably.
“The song. Fourth of July. It’s been a while since he wrote a song about you and I mean usually they were about pining for you, which is a little more tolerable, probably. But this one… I don’t know. I just figured you probably didn’t appreciate it, and that’s why you were drinking my shots.”
Another lame, dumbfounded response: “What? Killian’s never written a song about me.”
Ruby’s eyebrow shot up to her hairline (the way Killian’s always had when she said something silly). “So all that shit in college was…?”
“Made up! Ruby, he was a creative writing major. He just made up characters and then wrote songs as if he were them. He never actually wanted to date anyone. Just fuck anything that resembled Megan Fox.”
Ruby didn’t say a word. She stood, walked to the bar, ordered two drinks, and sat back down with Emma a few minutes later.
“Sweetheart. You sure are dumb for a smart girl.”
And that’s how Emma’s Enlightenment began.
As it turns out, Killian’s creative writing skills were great, but not quite as great as his love for his best friend.
Yep, love. Apparently he’d loved her.
There was a reason he’d really only fucked girls that looked nothing like Emma.
There was a reason he had valued her input so much in his music.
There was a reason he’d hung out with her so often and it had nothing to do with Mary Margaret and David’s grossness.
Keep quiet; nothing comes as easy as you. Can I lay in your bed all day?
Fuck.
“Why didn’t he tell me?!”
Ruby laughed at her, which was totally uncalled for, but also kind of made a lot of sense if she had the ability to think of any of this objectively.
“Oh, honey. He told you every goddamn day in those songs. And how he acted. You’d have to be blind to not realize how much that boy loved you. So he assumed it was a ‘no’ from your side. And then after you slept with him and then he poured his heart out to you and still nothing? That was kinda it for him. But I mean, it’s been so long. I can’t believe he released a song about that now.”
At that, Emma’s jaw dropped. Hard. There was an audible pop and damnit, she was going to have to ice that later, probably.
“How do you know I slept with him?!”
“… because you had a fight about it literally in front of every person you knew?”
HUH?
The buzz of the alcohol was nothing compared to the stinging behind her eyes and the pain in her gut and seriously had the past decade actually been a very different reality from what she’d been living?
And how had Mary Margaret, AKA the Secret Spiller, never told her that A) Killian loved her or B) that Emma had apparently had a blacked-out fight with him in front of everyone?
Emma’s Enlightment continued.
Apparently no one spilled the secret because no one knew it was a secret to start. Much like Killian had, everyone thought that Emma knew his feelings, but that she just wanted to be friends.
And after the blow up on the Fourth of July, they just assumed she didn’t want to talk about it.
While David and James and a bunch of their friends were playing beer pong and Mary Margaret and Regina were trying to find another pair to play cornhole, Emma had been nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels from the roof of the frat house. She’d crawled out of Jefferson’s window, much to his annoyance (he worked in the morning and needed to sleep), and she just watched. Everyone was having a good time. The best days of their lives were now or even tomorrow.
But hers were yesterday.
So she drank and she drank and she drank until the boys were lighting off fireworks and Belle had started a chant of USA! USA! And out of nowhere she saw the floppy brown hair and scuffed-up leather jacket she’d been wishing for every minute of the last week.
“Swan! I need to speak with you!” he’d called up at her, perched on the Lion statue at the front entrance.
But, of course, he’d been pulled in a thousand different directions as soon as everyone else saw their about-to-be-famous friend. So Emma drank and drank and drank some more, not prepared to actually have to say goodbye this time.
Ruby wasn’t sure how long it took until Killian made it onto the roof with her. She did know they’d only been talking a few minutes when Emma started screaming at the top of her lungs about thanks for the memories, even though they weren’t so great. That seemed to have really upset him, because then he started screaming about why the bloody hell did you sleep with me then and Emma had cried but ultimately said she didn’t mean to and he needed to just leave because that’s what he was going to do anyway and there was no reason to feel sorry for her.
There had been more screaming that wasn’t quite intelligible (thank goodness), but when all was said and done, Killian had told Ruby that he laid it all down on the line, how much he loved her, how he wanted her to go with him to LA, how he really would burn down the whole city just to show her the light, but she’d said no. Emphatically.
Before crying so hard in Jefferson’s closet that he threatened to take her to the ER. When Emma passed out, Killian had carried her to his car (the only sober one) and carried her into her room when they got to his now-former house, leaving her with a kiss on the cheek and his later assurance to Ruby that at least he had tried.
And Emma didn’t remember.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Emma muttered to Ruby.
Was there anything worse than finding out something that could have changed your life nine fucking years too late? She had never loved anyone like she’d loved Killian. It had been the easiest relationship of her existence. She’d never felt more safe, more valued, more… loved. But she’d thought it was friend-love.
(Even after the amazing sex.)
What a fucking dumbass she was.
Ruby left her to gather her thoughts/sulk in the corner for at least three line dances before she came back over to their table, bringing Emma a nice tall water as she cleared the un-drunk Long Island Iced Tea from next to Emma’s slumped head.
“I don’t think I can ever un-fuck this up,” Emma whined into her elbow before sitting up to chug the glass of water.
“I do have his number,” Ruby offered.
Hey um Ruby gave me your number and apparently I have a lot to apologize for
Congratulations on the fame also by the way I loved you every minute of every day
This is Emma, remember me? Apparently your song about me is doing really well
Hey Killian, I was wondering if you ever made it to this side of the country any more
I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry
After about 15 failed attempts to send him a message that would convey the depth of her regret, she nearly gave up. Hands shaking, legs bouncing, lunch threatening to make an encore appearance, she pulled up the lyrics to his new song, took a screenshot,
And all my thoughts of you
They could heat or cool the room
And now don’t tell me you’re fine
Oh, honey, you don’t have to lie
And added:
I’m not fine.
It was a very painful 26 hours before she received a response, a screenshot with an addition as well.
I said I’d never miss you, but I guess you’ll never know
Where the bridges I have burned never really led home
Can I come home?
They met outside the old frat house (now shut down) a week later, staying awake until sunrise just catching up on all that had happened since they last saw each other (and a little bit of what happened when they did). She brought sparklers and he brought nine years of unreleased song lyrics.
And when his band’s next single was called Opening Pandora’s Box on Friday the Thirteenth, well, everyone but Emma just thought they were being their usual melodramatic selves.
Yeah, songs about her weren’t all that awful after all.
#cs ff#cs au ff#cs au#keisha writes#things i love#captain swan#emo music#BAM I PUT THEM TOGETHER#if you like this let me know?#because I think we'd be friends
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Chapter 8 - This Time Around
a Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx
Rating: Explicit
Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character
Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue
Chapters 23/?
Human nature. With all its complexities and flaws, was now the one thing that presided over a land filled with the dead. True human nature, in its most naked, exposed and unapologetic form was now both the best and worst of the world. Jess had seen the best and worst of it from her spot in the city and had managed to live, unnoticed by any survivors passing through. She’d witnessed grown men put themselves in harms way, sacrificing themselves to save children too slow and small to keep up the running pace of the adults in their group as she’d watched from her perch on the corner of the roof. In contrast, she’d stared in horror as another group simply tossed a woman out of a truck like last night’s burger wrapper, onto the street in order to slow down a small herd. She’d been bitten before Jess could grab her bow and race down the stairs. In an act of mercy that allowed her to prove to herself that she was still on the good side of human nature, she’d shot the woman in the head from the roof with a well-placed arrow and spent all night replaying the look of pure terror etched onto the stranger’s face.
Yes, human nature was complicated and destructive, inspiring and devastating. A double-edged sword. Jess was better off on her own, that much was true, but she did miss the conversation, the debate, the ideas swapping over hot chocolates and the late-night hilarity that came from a few glasses of beer and games of pool in a bar. Those days were gone and now all she had in the way of company was a reanimated dead body at the bottom of the elevator shaft and a huge stuffed bear wearing an army jacket that now took up it’s place opposite her on the roof, a stale birthday cake waited to be devoured between them on an upturned, wooden box.
“Well, Sgt Pepper. Looks like it’s just you and I celebrating another trip around the sun.” she commented as she held her glass aloft.
Merle had finished off all the whiskey and she knew better than to go scrounging for more. It wasn’t a necessity and she wasn’t about to get herself killed for a bout of nausea and a fuzzy head the next day.
The bear was tatty, threads pulled from his ears and his jacket splattered with dried blood. Jess found him in the next apartment block where he’d been positioned proudly on the pillow of a perfectly made bed in a room decorated for that of a young adult. On the floor were three bodies, two adults and a girl around 13 years old. Jess carefully nudged each one with her foot as she passed. The bullet holes in their heads told her that they hadn’t turned and like many of the people that chose to remain in the city, they thought suicide to be a better prospect than the exhausting slog to survive day by day. It hurt Jess’s heart to think that some souls felt there was no other way, but it wasn’t an option she could say she hadn’t considered at least once while she resided in her fortress of loneliness.
It was a no brainer to her. She had to leave with that bear. He reminded her so much of her own childhood companion, jacket and all. Her father had gifted it to her and during every tour and every training exercise, she found comfort in the military bear that she had dubbed ‘Sgt Pepper’. Aware that if any other survivors were passing through and saw her, she would look positively ridiculous, scurrying across the rooftops with a huge stuffed animal under her arm. But just as before the turn, she wasn’t going to change who she was to suit anyone else. Especially not in the apocalypse.
“You say it's your birthday” She sang at the bears pinned and permanent smile. She sipped the soda in the glass and slapped her other hand on her thigh to create a beat. “It's my birthday too, yeah”. She paused, looking up at Sgt Pepper as if his plastic eyes would change their expression and for a fleeting second, she was disappointed when they remained exactly the same. She raised the glass to him for a second time. “They say it's your birthday, we’re gonna have a good time” She thudded the glass on the box and began to pluck at imaginary guitar strings, closing her eyes and leaning to one side. “I'm glad it's your birthday, Happy birthday to you!” The Beatles were her favourite band ever since she was a child and that was not something that was going to change just because they and their audience weren't around anymore. Jess was still there and as long as she was, so was her love of their music. She'd found headphones while scavenging, even and old portable CD player, but her rule of keeping a clear head and always being aware of her surroundings meant that the headphones went untouched and she was reduced to singing to herself to stave off the boredom and silence. It wasn't a problem to her, she knew all of the lyrics anyway and there was no one but Ben and Sgt Pepper to complain about it.
Her eyes lowered to the dried birthday cake. Three, colored, marzipan Balloons floated across the top and the rim was adorned with cracked and discolored frosting. The chances of a strong bout of stomach cramps after consuming it were high, but it was her birthday and she was going to have a damn cake if she wanted to. A single candle flame flickered in the center of the off-white frosting and as she blew it out, she wished that she would survive long enough to see mother nature take back the earth. To reclaim what was hers and what was destroyed by the arrogance of human nature. She wanted to see vines and branches seep into the cracks of buildings, pulling them apart and turning them into a ghostly mirage of what once was. But through it all, she wanted to be around, content and safe and able to live into her old age while still being the survivor she had realized she really was.
She also wished for something else; that one day, Daryl would know how much he inspired her. If nothing else, she wanted that for him. Without his guidance, his training and his words, she was certain she would be dead. He may have broken her heart, but at one point, somewhere in between all the angst and anger, he believed in her. She regretted not writing it in the note she left pinned to the tree but time was of the essence and she had to think quickly. Now, when she thought back to the good times spent tracking and hunting in the woods, putting Walkers down and making fun of one another, it made her smile. A smile that was not through genuine happiness. Far from it. It was a smile of sadness for times that she desperately missed. But they were times of blissful ignorance of how he really felt, times based on a lie. She pressed her eyes shut and quickly shook the thoughts from her head. She watched the thin, sliver of smoke drift up from the wick. Picking up a plastic fork, she stabbed the cake and shoveled a large piece of the sponge into her mouth. Wincing at the dryness, she chewed and swallowed hard. It was like eating sand.
“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me.” She sighed.
She had resorted to guessing the time of day by using a sundial or her hands against the horizon from the roof. Her knowledge of such historical practices had proved to be invaluable and she now appreciated her interests much more than she ever did before the turn. The night was creeping in, dulling the view from the roof and creating a cold sting in the air. There was just enough time for some target practice.
The streets below the apartment were far from clear. Walkers milled in and our of side streets and alleys, some amassed in the middle of the road and if it wasn’t for Jess’s diversion tactics from time to time, she was sure the street she lived on would be clogged with festering corpses by now. Fireworks were usually the best, she’d found. They seemed to like fireworks. The dreamer in her liked to think that maybe the noise and the colors stirred something deep inside their mainly inoperative brains, some kind of distant memory of 4th July firework shows or new year celebrations. But the realist side of her knew differently. Now, they were even lower than most animals, driven to move by sounds but completely devoid of thought or any type of feeling. Just shells.
She picked up her bow and slid on her bracers as she approached the small wall that lined the edge of the roof. The faint murmur of the odd, swaying Walker was the only sound that rose from the scene below. Taking a peek over the edge, she nodded in approval at the numbers.
“That’ll do.” She said to herself before picking up a small, children’s chalkboard that rested against the inside of the wall. Her eyes flickered over the names on the list, selecting the first one and shuffling forwards to get into position.
“OK, Madonna. Are you out tonight?”
With one foot placed in front of the other, her body turned and her stance strong, she raised the bow and nocked an arrow. She smiled when she noticed her. A blonde woman with wavy, hair wearing what appeared to be a thin, satin nightgown. She wasn’t as designer clad as the real thing, but she would suffice as a target. She drew the bow string back and exhaled slowly as she took aim. The Arrow embedded in the side of the Walkers head as if it was nothing but a bag of sand and she hit the floor, causing the others around her to start shuffling towards her.
“Oof!” She exclaimed with a fist pumped in the air. “That one was a ten pointer. Sorry, Madonna.” She marked her score on the chalkboard next to the name and checked her next target.
Sarah.
It was now a habit, each time she re-filled the board with names, Sarah and Jodie’s would always be mixed in somewhere. Jess was never one to remain bitter or hold grudges, too many so-called friends had come and gone over the years to make sure she’d got used to it. But she was also never one to not make an exception for some things. When she was feeling low and having a bad day, the list of names on the board changed and she wondered at one point if she should indulge in an ‘abhorrent people target practice day’ once a week, where Sarah and Jodie’s names could mingle with the likes of Hitler, Robert Mugabe and Vlad the Impaler. But it was yet to happen because she wasn’t bitter. Not at all. Or, so she told herself as she chose a doppelganger of Sarah and took aim.
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Ben was hanging on the bars of the elevator gate when she descended the stairs, his arms were loosely draped through the gaps and his face was pushed against the cold metal. She lifted a hand in acknowledgement before sitting down on the bottom step in front of him and seeing him try to reach out to her. She held her hand out, gently tickling his grasping, blackened fingertips in what could have been seen as a gesture of affection.
“Hey dude. So, my birthday cake tasted like feet but it was one hell of a pity party you missed.”
The sound of her voice was like fuel for Ben. He instantly began to clamber up from his spot, hanging through the gate and started to snarl at her, his mouth hanging open and his teeth bared.
“Not that I know what feet taste like.” She added, her eyes locking on his now cloudy, pale and blinded orbs. “I guess you might though. Depending on how long you’ve been locked in there.”
Stepping back, Ben’s arms dropped from the grate and he stumbled backwards, his body hitting the back of the elevator and causing it to shake. A slight jingle caught her attention and she froze, straining her ears. As he moved back towards her, his pocket gave off a tinkling sound and Jess quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together. Many a week had passed when she’d been sitting on that same step engrossed in a one-way conversation with the dead man trapped inside his cell. Sometimes she even contemplated if he really would try to hurt her if she managed to somehow release him from the confined space he occupied. But then she reminded herself of her own naivety and how that kind of thinking could get her killed. Ben was a Walker. A mindless, stinking, lump of useless flesh but still a predator in his own right.
“You have the goddamn keys to the elevator in your pocket, don’t you?” She asked him.
He stilled and her eyebrows raised. She knew better than to think he could understand her, but it was strange nonetheless. The keys would change everything. She could get him out of there and actually make use of him. She sprang up from her spot.
“I have an idea. Wait here.” She told him. After striding up two steps she rolled her eyes and sighed at her own stupidity.
Like he’s going to go anywhere.
When she returned, she placed her supplies in front of her; a cylindrical block of wood with a dish cloth tightly wound around it, attached at either end to a string of thick, rubber bands, a hockey mask and a length of rope tied into a slipknot. Another one of her skills acquired from the thousands of books she had now amassed in her apartment. She paced back and forth for a few moments, observing how Ben followed her every move from behind the barrier like a magnet. Although she was almost certain he was blind, he was completely obsessed with her and she huffed with amusement when she figured that he was only guy that had ever been obsessed with her…and he was dead.
She picked up the block of wood and tilted her head to the side, it would fit through the gaps perfectly but her task was not going to be easy. Her left arm was covered with three, thick layers of tape, strapped over a Kevlar sleeve and glove in case Ben fancied a snack halfway through his rescue mission. She was now glad of her forethought. She threaded her arm through the grid, silently and without rattling the metal. Ben, who could detect no sound whatsoever, merely peered around through his useless eyes as she used her armor covered hand to quickly grasp the back of his head. He jolted and began to gnash at her, the sounds bubbling up from his throat as his lips parted provoking a rush of bile from her own stomach. She couldn’t have prepared for the smell or the sound of liquidated, rotting human organs no matter how much she knew about Walkers. She snapped his head back as he grabbed a hold of her police issue vest and dragged her forwards, slamming her body against the gate. With her other hand, she managed to wedge the piece of wood so far between his jaws that they became locked in position. She quickly stretched the string of bands over his head, creating a most macabre and brutal gag but an effective one regardless.
He thrashed and growled, throwing himself at the gate over and over until Jess was able to shove a hand into his pocket and pulled out the biggest bunch of keys she had ever seen. Her heart dropped as she stepped back and sat down, the racket of Ben desperately trying to get to her now drowned out by just how many keys she had to contend with.
“Guys got the keys to every lock in the city on here.” She mumbled.
She began sorting through them, checking the branding on the lock and looking for a match. She must have gone through at least twenty keys before she stopped and pinched one particular one between her fingers. She looked up at the lock again.
“Nova” She whispered.
The key boasted the exact same branding. She stood up, moved closer to the lock and slid the key into the chamber. Holding onto the gate as tightly as she could, she gently and quietly turned the key, a subtle click made her smile. She’d found it. The whole time he’d been locked inside, Ben possessed the key to his freedom all along. At first, she didn’t know if someone else had thrown him in there but now it was evident; he’d been bitten and locked himself in.
“That was noble of you. But this is my apartment complex now and you’re going to earn your keep.” She quipped, swiping up the hockey mask and rope from the floor. She shoved the mask under her arm and released the lock, slowly sliding the gate back. The rattling noise sent Ben into a frenzy and he collided with the gap she’d created in the gate with such force that she doubted her ability to follow through with her plan for a moment. She took a deep breath, reached into the gap and snapped the mask over his gagged face. Next, she threw the rope around his neck and pulled it tight before throwing the gate open.
He threw himself at her, knocking the mask against the side of her face while she tried to tighten her grip on the rope enough to keep his head away from hers.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m pleased to see you too buddy.” She remarked.
Ben couldn’t have been more than 30 years old when he was alive and Jess gathered that even thought he was now deceased and extremely dangerous, he was once a good-looking guy. She felt a pang of sympathy for such a wasted life. But what else was left to hang around for? The experience of wresting the undead from elevators and up the stairs to a roof wasn’t one she’d wish on anyone else. By the time she’d maneuvered him to the top of the steps and shoved open the heavy, metal door to the roof, he’d quieted considerably. Jess knew Walkers didn’t get tired; they no longer possessed the brain capacity to register fatigue. Nor were they able to come to the conclusion that something wasn’t worth the trouble. She didn’t know why he became more compliant, but she certainly wasn’t about to complain.
Tying him to a pipe inside a ramshackle, wooden shed. She stood back and looked him over, pleased with her efforts and feeling triumphant at the result. She now had a moving target, a sparring partner and little did Ben know; he was about to become her Sensei.
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She’d lost track of time. It had been months, she knew that to be a fact, but just how many had escaped her. Her need to journal would have helped keep tabs on just how long she’d been housed in the apartment block in the city, but she had Sgt Pepper and Ben and she chattered away to them without a care in the world, dispelling her darkest fears and her inner most private thoughts. There wasn’t a need to write everything down anymore, not in a world where no one and everyone was listening all at once. If she tried to guess, she looked at her crops which filled the balcony and most of the rooftop, they were huge, prospering in the summertime and struggling during the winter. But they still existed she thought it had maybe been close to a year that she’d lived alone.
People below had come and gone. Rarely was it that anyone would try her apartment. If they did, they found it to be locked up tighter than a secret military camp and soon moved on when they realized the noise and time it would take to enter such a building while surrounded by Walkers just wasn’t worth it. In so many months she had uttered hardly a word to anyone but Merle, who’s absence was felt much greater than she ever would have expected or would care to admit.
Training with Ben was one of life’s perks, she enjoyed experiencing the change in not only her body, but her mind as she jabbed and kicked her way into a full, self-defense skill set using a dead guy as her fake attacker. She goaded him, riled him up until he would lunge at her and swipe with his arms and kick out with his legs. His hands constantly grabbed for her, the need to taste human flesh far too great for him to ignore. But Ben could only go as far as his leash allowed and his hockey mask was eventually replaced each evening before he was led back to his shack.
Gunfire interrupted one sparring session during a hot, summers evening and Jess’s head snapped around while the rest of her body completely froze. Ben also stilled and started to jolt and snarl at the source of the bangs. It was close, much too close for comfort. She wiped the sweat from her brow and eyes and crept to the edge of the roof, her heart almost stopped at the view below.
Is that a…a TANK?!
Driving towards her corner apartment block with a speed that couldn’t be easily stopped, was an M1 Abrams Tank. Jess had seen them many times before, a sight that Army brats tended to get used to. It was flanked by a dozen, heavily armed men with their weapons pointed at the door to her block. Her chest constricted when she heard them start to jeer and her eyes clocked another vehicle turn a corner at the top of the street. A large, black truck that was equipped with an animal cage on the flatbed. Inside the cage, was a screaming woman. She scanned each face as quickly as she could. Blackened teeth. Then, she observed their hands and movements. Tremors. Poor coordination. She’d read about the depths some humans would reach on the moral scale in a post-apocalyptic situation. Fear raged through her body and she stumbled back when the tank collided with the door on the ground floor.
I have to get out of here.
The building shook and she whirled around, her mind racing and her heart hammering. Adrenaline began to surge through her veins, urging her to remove herself from the threat. She grabbed Ben’s rope and sprinted to the roof door. Dragging him down the steps, sweat trickled into her eyes and she cursed the timing of the attack above all things.
Could have waited until training was over. Jesus.
Crashing through the door to her apartment, she fastened Ben’s rope to the radiator and he thrashed and clawed at her as she dashed around the living space, filling her bag with handguns and supplies. She quickly slipped on anything Kevlar or armored she could find and collected what seemed like millions of arrows from almost every room. Now, there was shouting ringing out from the floors below.
“Place is cleared. Someone lives here, keep searching!” ordered a man’s voice that she could just about make out as a muffled sound through the floorboards. They were on the floor below. She had to be fast. Now wasn’t the time for sentiment, now, she had to be practical, smart and stealthy. She threw the backpack she’d lifted from yet another dead policeman onto her back, the barrels of the guns inside poked at her back but she paid it no mind as she collected her primary weapon, her bow from the hook on the back of the front door. A machete nudged against her leg as she walked, pinned there by the loop on its handle around the belt loop on her pants. She quickly freed it, clutching it in her hand as she adjusted her backpack. She stopped and looked at Ben.
He was glaring at her with his white eyes in the middle of the room, his rope was pulled taut and his neck tendons protruded. His hands were locked out in front of him with his fingers fanned out. She could hear the men clearly now, they were on the other side of the door and with every harsh bang of the wood in the frame, her heart jumped. She closed the gap between her and the corpse. Taking hold of one of his hands but not allowing him to pull her any closer. She gradually shifted his position in the room and gently squeezed his fingers.
“Don’t let me down” She whispered.
She raised the machete, sliced through his rope and ripped the wooden gag from his mouth. Then, she turned on her heels, taking hold of the window frame and diving through the gap. Outside, she slammed the window shut and watched as Ben’s hands slapped against the glass.
“Slow ‘em down, buddy. Thanks for the lessons.” She smiled.
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Daryl chewed his bottom lip as he adjusted his position on the rickety, prison mattress. His back was pressed against the wall and no matter how hard he tried, she couldn’t shake the thought that of all the places the group could have ended up, a prison had to be one of them. He hated being forced to sleep in a cage and live behind heavy, clanking doors. Even the sound of Rick’s keys irritated him. Rick, the leader. Rick the prison guard.
He wasn’t a regular at the Georgia Department of Corrections like his brother. But he’d been on the wrong side of the law just enough to know what staring at the same four walls, sitting at the same metal table and taking a dump in the same room that you sleep in was like. Charges for drug possession and fighting were hardly the kind of things he wanted to share with the rest of the group and so, he kept himself to himself, merely stating that he’d rather sleep outside of the cells. That was when he slept at all.
In his hands, he held a newly carved bolt for his crossbow. His ability to make them had improved some over the months and it was now second nature to him to create as many as possible while sat around, babysitting his brother who was locked in the cell opposite him.
Merle hadn’t managed to track Daryl down since leaving the city. Instead, he’d come across another group of survivors led by a callous psychopath and had slotted perfectly into his role as the main foot soldier. Everything had been fine and dandy for Merle at first, he was given a metal prosthetic arm with a removable bayonet attachment which meant he was never short of a weapon against the undead. He had a roof over his head, food in his belly and medicine at his disposal. Above all else, he had a purpose, a job that he did well and with gusto. That was, until Daryl appeared in front of him. The Atlanta groups run in with the Governor and his community has resulted in a lot of pain, injuries, fear and grudges, some of it at the hands of Merle, who was at the center of it all, but he was Daryl’s blood and he had made it clear that now they were together again, he would not be parted from Merle again. Initially, the two of them left the group and headed into the woods, but things were not as they used to be. Daryl had changed and with it, Merle felt outcast, even from the lifelong bond the two of them had shared since Daryl had entered the world as a sensitive and observant child. Merle quickly realized that Daryl had a code that he stuck by no matter what. A code that meant others were put before himself which infuriated and baffled Merle. A fight in the woods revealed a childhood trauma that they both shared, much to Merle’s surprise. He was aware that Daryl was a witness to violence in their household, but the extent of which was only evident upon a scuffle in which Daryl’s shirt was ripped, revealing deep, scarred lacerations to his skin. Then, everything changed.
Daryl made it clear that he was going back to the prison. Back to the group he belonged with and Merle had the choice to either walk away or try to make nice with the others. Being parted from his little brother for a second time was the less favorable option and so, Merle decided to tag along with Daryl. Upon their arrival at the fences, they found the place under attack from Walkers and although Merle helped to save lives, he was still bundled into a cell and scowled at by every other member of the group. No one had forgotten the things he had done and no one was about to forgive and forget.
“The hell were ya doin, running with that psycho?” Daryl asked.
Merle was leaning on the bars, his good hand smoothing a thumb around the edging of his prosthetic stump. His hooded, weathered eyes fixed on his brother. He found it difficult to believe that someone could change as much as Daryl had. He saw him, carrying out orders for Rick, going out on runs alone, doing as he was told. It was unlike the Daryl he’d grown up with, yet he’d always known that his baby brother was more emotionally driven than he had ever been.
“Everybody’s a psycho now, little brother. Everybody’s got a gun, a kill number and a big ol’ chip on their shoulder. Hell, I’d be more worried if some sommbitch walked up to me with his mitts in his pockets.” He reasoned with a small shrug.
Daryl shook his head in disbelief at his brother’s casual attitude to his actions. Merle was never one to take responsibility for anything, least of all his misgivings. Apparently, the end of the world hadn’t changed that in him.
“They ain’t never gonna trust ya, ya know that, right?” Daryl confirmed.
“Yeah, I know.” Merle agreed with a hint of exasperation in his voice. Daryl went back to carving his bolts, slicing through thin pieces of wood with his sharp hunting knife. “I don’t know why I do the things I do. I’m a damn mystery to me.” Merle added.
Daryl scoffed and glanced up from his task.
“You’re a dumb ass, man.” He mumbled.
They both huffed in amusement and Merle couldn’t help but revisit the last few months and how he’d come to be locked up in a cell, even after everyone died and started eating one another. Was this really where he was meant to be? Maybe he was bad through and through, just like their daddy used to say. Maybe he didn’t deserve any more chances after the one he’d been given in the city. Then, he remembered her. Jess.
“Remember the little, fat chick from the quarry?” He asked.
Daryl's body tensed and his eyes slowly worked back up from his bolt. He remembered her. Of course, he did. He thought about her every single day, especially when he closed his eyes at night. He wished he could wake up one day and she’d just be there, having never ran away. He remembered her because she was the only person he’d managed to connect with in his entire, sorry life.
“What ‘bout her?” he rasped.
“I seen her” Merle stated, his expression becoming smug as he straightened up and tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Daryl.
“She’s alive?!” Daryl exclaimed as he sat up to gain a better view of his brother’s expression. It was not lost on him that this could all be a lie to get him out of the cell.
“Was a few months back, mind. But yeah, all in one piece.” Merle told him.
Daryl stood up, dropping his knife and bolt and slowly approaching the cell door.
“Where is she?” he wanted to know.
Merle grunted and rubbed his face as he watched Daryl’s entire demeanor change. He was becoming irritated at the lack of information and it was apparent to Merle that Jess meant something to him, after all.
“Asked me to keep my mouth shut about that part.”
With his teeth locked together and his breathing increasing, Daryl began to stalk back and forth in front of the cell door, his boots scuffing on the smooth surface of the floor. He no longer thought it was a lie. He knew well enough that Jess would have made herself known if she wanted to, especially by then. After all, he found a note to prove it.
“She don’t wanna be found, kid. Let it go.” Merle added.
He stopped his pacing and let out a loud sigh. This kind of discussion was rare for the Dixons, it involved a degree of emotion and honestly which was something Merle didn’t seem to possess and Daryl managed to hide extremely well. Until the mention of her name.
“She doin OK?” He questioned “Least tell me that much. Please”
“She’s good. She’s real smart.” Merle nodded.
Picking up a pile of previously carved arrows from a table, Daryl began to sift through them with his fingertips. It looked to Merle like he was counting them, but he knew Daryl better than he knew himself. He was using them as a distraction. Merle didn’t even flinch when Daryl angrily threw the handful of wood onto the floor, the sound was like a million pencils falling from a table and rolling across the ground.
“Just tell me where she is!” Daryl raged.
Merle couldn’t help it when the corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile.
“Ooof! You got it bad, huh, boy?”
“Shut up.” Daryl hissed, turning his back and trying to calm himself. His shoulders heaved as he breathed. “I’m your fuckin’ brother” He muttered, hearing a rasped growl from behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him that Merle did really want to tell him as he witnessed him lean his head on the bars and close his eyes.
“I owe her, OK? She did right by me. Mans only as good as his word.” Merle explained.
Daryl spun around, his face now enraged and reddening fast, his eyes were filled with the kind of anger that Merle had usually only seen when the two of them fought and it was never the same kind of rage that presented itself in a fight with anyone else. It was different. It was real.
“Word?! WORD?! You can’t be fuckin’ serious! Your word counts for shit, Merle! You tortured Glenn and Maggie so don’t start pretendin’ you’re some good guy, ya ain’t!” Daryl yelled.
“I ain’t no good guy but I got a code. Just like you.” Merle retorted.
Stooping down to collect his arrows, Daryl knew he had to remove himself from the building or he would end up strangling the truth out of his own brother. With all of the arrows gripped in his hand, he pointed them at Merle and narrowed his gaze.
“If they wanna starve ya, I’mma let ‘em. If they wanna torture ya, I’mma walk away. I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for ya until ya tell me where Jess is. They can keep ya in that damn cage for all I care.”
Before he could think of an answer, Merle was left alone in the room with nothing but the fading echo of the door slamming for company.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Jess was running for so long that her feet were starting to burn and her knees were seizing up. She needed to stop somewhere and rest but being snared by the group of men with the black teeth and the woman in the cage was a thought that struck pure terror into her soul. She was sure she’d rather be eaten by Walkers than trapped with such a group. She’d stayed away from any roads, trekking through woodland and climbing over fences to remain undetected. Her clothing had helped keep her under the radar; a tight, black Kevlar top covered with her police vest and a black, hooded jacket. Dark camouflage cargo pants, black hand gun holsters and a mask that covered her mouth with a plastic outer shell that she had found on a dead biker as she fled the city.
Her bag was starting to feel heavier with every step as she approached a small town filled with abandoned cars. It looked as though people may have tried to settle there after the outbreak and the vehicles were left in a panic. She surged forwards, trying each car, looking for keys and gas. If she could just find one with enough to get her further away from the city, she could take some time to rest up. Darkness enveloped the town and birds and crickets sang a chorus as she wound her way through the cars, pleading with whatever deity would listen to just give her a break.
Then, her prayers were answered. A station wagon filled with boxes of clothes roared to life and to Jess’s delight, the tank was almost full. She set to work removing all the boxes, lightening the load so the gas wouldn’t be consumed as quickly and settled in the front seat. She pulled the door closed and drove off. Her destination was unknown but as far away from the city as she could get would be a start.
It was days before the truck ran out of gas and Jess had managed to put many, many miles in between her and the group that had almost captured her. On her journey, she’d swept through houses and collected anything she could carry on foot. She slept in buildings where they could be secured and had more than one exit, consumed any food she found in strict intervals, ensuring it lasted as long as possible and continued in the same direction she’d been travelling in for two weeks. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for in a settlement, just that it had to be safe, away from other people and walkers and with the capacity to be self-sustainable. Then, she found the boat.
Situated in the middle of a lake, accessible only by a large, fortified gate at the end of a dirt track that was well hidden from any passersby, Jess thought it might have been an old quarry due to its similarities to the old camp. The top of the gate was covered with razor wire and she narrowly avoided being sliced to ribbons when she caught her backpack on the barbs. But a rigorous wiggle and some quick thinking had literally saved her skin. The boat was so far away from the shoreline that Jess accepted that she had to use a canoe that was moored by a jetty. The water appeared to be untouched and there wasn’t a walker in sight. But chances weren’t to be taken when the dead roam the earth and she had to be sure. A collection of rocks of all sizes ended up in the lake, she threw them out as far as she could, trying to cause a stir and encourage any swimming walkers to rise to the surface. But nothing came to pass. By the evening, she’d hunted a rabbit and cooked it over a small fire on the beach. Using the skin attached to a tree branch, she dangled it in the water as the sun was going down and pondered how relaxing the place seemed.
“Huh. Walker fishing.” She mumbled to herself.
When nothing happened and the rabbit skin floated off the branch and out into the body of water, she decided to risk rowing out to the boat. Much to her surprise, the water was crystal clear and she spotted fish swimming below. Her stomach growled, the stringy, fatty meat of a rabbit hardly sufficing when such plump, and apparently disease-free fish were swimming all around her.
I need a fishing rod.
Climbing aboard, it was clear that she was not stood on a regular boat. This was luxurious, spacious and well looked after. The deck was starting to show signs of disrepair but it was a far cry from the dilapidated state of some of the houses she’d stayed in. She crept inside, sweeping the rooms one by one and eventually finding the inhabitants of the vessel. A middle-aged couple on the double bed in the largest bedroom of three. Both wrapped in an embrace in the middle of a mass of bottles of pills. She moved into the room, draping a sheet over them and resting her hand on the man’s arm.
“I hope you’re at peace. The world sure isn’t”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Merle stared at the dangerous, powerful and very angry black woman in the passenger seat of his car. She was not one to be messed with and that explained why he needed to knock her out before bundling her into the car and driving her to the Governor. It was all the man wanted. Michonne was responsible for his life changing injury after taking one of his eyes out with her samurai sword. Now, he wanted revenge and Merle was more than aware that if the Governor didn’t get what he wanted; he would obliterate the entire group. The group his brother was a part of.
“So, he takes you in, cleans you up and feeds you a load of bullshit. Why would you kill someone else for him?” She asked.
Merle didn’t answer, his eyes were on the road but his attention was elsewhere, with the safety of his brother back at the prison. He didn’t want to be there, handing Michonne over to the man that would ultimately torture and kill her was most definitely not something he wanted to do. But there were little options that he could see. Only he knew the true wrath of the Governor.
“We could go back. You and me. We could just go back.” She suggested.
“Ain’t gonna happen.” He commented.
“Why?”
Her eyes were bearing into his soul and wished he could put into words the things that were circulating in his mind. He had killed sixteen people since he’d been with the governor. Before that, he’d killed none. It dawned on him that Michonne was right, why would he kill any more people when he did have another way out? The alternative was less appealing and altogether more permanent. But it was an alternative nevertheless. He stopped the car and raised his prosthetic hand, the bayonet was fixed to the end. Michonne leaned back slightly in her seat, wondering if he might slit her throat there and then and cut out all the talking. Instead, Merle hooked the blade through her wire handcuffs and cut her free.
“You go back. I got somethin’ I gotta do on my own.” He told her, nodding towards the door. “But you’re gonna tell my brother somethin’ for me.”
NEXT CHAPTER
#daryl dixon#the walking dead daryl#daryl fanfiction#daryl x oc#twd fanfiction#twd#daryl dixion imagine
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New Year’s Eve
Lloyd and Colette celebrate their first New Year's together the best way they can. (Modern AU)
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel
Rating: T (on tumblr)
Mirror Links: AO3 (contains mature content)
Notes: A quick story I wanted to write for New Year’s, based off an rp with @frayed-symphony. The story on AO3 contains higher-rated content so watch out! Thank you for making this a great year and I can’t wait for what 2019 will bring!
With the clock striking closer to the hour, Colette found it harder and harder to stem her nervousness.
He’s been gone a while… But she shook her head, trying to busy herself with her assignment that she had gotten over the winter break. She had already gone more than halfway through it though, and the rest seemed too mindless to concentrate on. There really was not much else to do but wait.. She wished they had gotten Noishe for the day, so that at least she wouldn’t feel completely alone.
Maybe I should call… no, he’ll be too busy to answer… or maybe something happened. The worries only continued to build. She had even tried watching tv, though its volume was low enough to just be background noise. The brightness of the electric lights, along with panning shots of so many people, kept being there at her edge of vision, reminding her of the current day, or night actually. I should have just gone with him… or went myself. What if he misses it?
At the front, the doorknob jiggled suddenly, accompanied by a familiar voice outside that sounded like he was having trouble. Colette instantly got to her feet, her every nerve sparking with excitement as she rushed to open the door.
“Oh! Thanks!” Lloyd was grinning wide – in his arms he carried grocery bags, some of them holding maybe a wine bottle or two, along with snacks. Were there decorations there too? She saw some colorful things, like a few party hats, even though it was only going to be the two of them. But she didn’t stare long at that, because Lloyd was wearing a funny decoration himself.
“I just got a couple of things! Like those cool party poppers, and the store was selling really cheap candy… oh, what is it?”
Colette couldn’t stop her giggles. Half of Lloyd’s face was obscured by the 2019 plastic glasses he wore, their entire surface covered in red glitter that was definitely going to get everywhere in the apartment, even more than Noishe’s fur. “Did you get one of those for me?” she asked, pointing at it.
“Of course I did!” He finally unhooked the bags from his arms and took one such glasses from one of them, handing it over to Colette. “I got one in blue, if that’s okay.”
She nodded, already fitting it on her face. It was wide enough for her to see well for the most part, though her side vision was now a bit obscured. Lloyd was grinning at her with his own party glasses, hands on his hips. She loved it when they matched, even on such silly things.
“Thanks, Lloyd! Though, you didn’t need to get these. We were only missing the wine..”
“I know! But these looked neat!” He took out another party item from the bag, a little noisemaker that was wrapped in bright green foil. It looked like a tiny flute almost. He blew on it, and the end of it unfurled, tapping Colette on the nose. “Oh, sorry.”
“That tickled!” She couldn’t help but laugh more, knowing he also bought plenty of these. “You’re really excited for New Years, aren’t you?” She now saw why he took a while – the stores would be putting out every colorful thing they could display for last-minute sales and Lloyd would have been drawn to nearly every one of them.
He smiled a little shyly. “Yeah, just I’ve never had it here in the city. There’s supposed to be a bunch if fireworks, right? I only ever saw it on tv.” That smile widened, and even his eyes must have twinkled a little at the anticipation of it, helped out by those bright glasses. “My dad sometimes set off fireworks but he always had to be careful so there was never a lot… also Noishe got too scared of them anyway, so we don’t do it too much.”
“Oh, right.. I wish he could be here though.” Noishe was staying at Dirk’s home back out in the calmer countryside. She had thought about going there for celebrating New Year’s, but Lloyd had mentioned before about the city. She had seen it each time, so it wasn’t anything too new for her. Maybe that was what Lloyd felt about his home, too.
“He’d be hiding under the bed for hours if he heard any fireworks,” Lloyd explained. “But we can get him tomorrow!”
Colette instantly grew excited. However, while still staring at Lloyd’s silly headwear, she then remembered. “Oh, we only have like 10 minutes left! You took a while, I was.. getting worried.”
“Wh- It’s that soon?!” Lloyd instantly reached for the wine bottle, along with multiple party poppers and noisemakers in hand. “Um, maybe we can drink after… Do you think they’d start early?”
Colette was already putting on her jacket, clasping the silver buttons, smiling softly at the red material of the clothing. She saw the same with what Lloyd wore now too, which would be helpfully bright against the dark of outside. “Maybe people with their personal fireworks… but the big ones always start at 12!” She reached for his hand, taking a few of the party favors for herself. “So we should hurry.”
“Yeah, alright! Let me just, uh-” He shoved the wine and other quick foods across the kitchen counter, nearly uptipping the bottle but saving it at the last second. But he grasped her hand back, already going out the door with her. “Okay! Wanna race again?”
“N-not if you’re gonna cheat!” she said back, grinning. They just rushed off together to the stairwell instead. The night would be cold, but the skies would be bright. Colette had never felt as excited for this as before… but Lloyd always made everything more exciting.
Luckily no one was on the rooftop as she had been afraid of. It really did feel like a special place, even on this day. By the time they reached it, she could already hear the soft whistle of a firework arching through the air, ready to ignite. An early one, but not the main event yet.
Lloyd swiveled his head towards the sound, looking up wide-eyed as one firework exploded, showering lights through the air. “Whoa… is that it?”
“It’s gonna start soon!” Colette reassured. The night was still cold, and she bunched her jacket tighter to herself. The sleeves still went over her wrists, but she liked it that way. She really did. Adjusting her party glasses, she took one noisemaker, and blew it behind Lloyd’s head.
“Hey!” Lloyd jumped, grinning as he turned around. He blew his own into her face. “Bet I can do it longer!” And he proceeded to do just that, the sound so harsh but making Colette nearly double over in laughter. He just looked so silly, and it made her want to do what she promised herself before it was time…
Then finally, the real fireworks started.
Lloyd noticed, and turned back towards the skies, the noisemaker still in his mouth but silent. Some fireworks did the usual spreading out of lights, while others formed pictures – of hearts, of stars, and even of words! ‘Happy New Year’ was lit up against the dark, like briefly formed stars, before falling away, trails of smoke following after them.
“Wow!” he said aloud, dropping the noisemaker from his lips and catching it in time with a fumble. “There’s way many than I thought.”
Colette was watching too, but her hands fidgeted with themselves a little. It was midnight right now, and she wanted to help make it count before the seconds ticked by too fast. It was just hard to make Lloyd turn away, he looked so happy…
Still, maybe this would make him happy, too. “Lloyd?”
She was surprised he could hear her through the constant booms and crackles of the fireworks. She had taken off the party glasses, and then reached out to take his own from his face. It looked so cute on him, but it would only get in the way.
“What’s up? You feeling okay?” he asked her, but then she leaned in quickly to kiss him. Lloyd’s lips felt chilled from his time outside, but still soft, drawing her even closer.
I always wanted to share this moment with someone, she thought, hands gripping his shoulders tight.
She only pulled back once she felt it was enough – he probably wanted to go back to looking at the fireworks. “H-happy new year, Lloyd,” she whispered, eyes lowered. “It’s.. been a really a good year, meeting you and…living together and everything. I want.. more of that for next year, too. I…” she paused, suddenly feeling shy. “Sorry, you should go back to watching! There’s still a bunch more.”
But Lloyd was moving forward, kissing her more deeply than she had. She opened her mouth at that, hands reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. His tongue rushed through her, and she felt him press their bodies even closer.
She still heard the fireworks, could see their lights through her shut eyes as she kept kissing him, her face feeling so hot from his closeness.
The kiss lasted so long that once they finally moved apart, the night wind felt biting without his mouth to cover her in warmth.
“Colette,” he whispered, lips still so, so close. “I love you.. This has been the best year for me.” He kissed her again, his breath quickening against her lips. “I want you for every year.” His kisses grew desperate, moving from her lips to her chin before halting. “Ah, sorry… got carried away.” She felt his grin at her ear.
His hands moved to wander across her sides. They hadn’t even drunk the wine yet, and already she felt Lloyd wanting her so much. It made her feel so comforted, not alone in her feelings.
“It’s okay… we can.. keep going.” She wanted to celebrate with him the best way she could. “If that’s okay..”
Another kiss, and she was lost with him.
#tales of symphonia#colloyd#lloyd irving#colette brunel#fanfiction#one shot#frayed-symphony#happy new year!
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Jonsa S7 Summer Challenge Day 1: Travel
Summary: Jon is a veteran here, suffering from PTSD. He’s gotten to know Sansa, his upstairs neighbor, in the apartment building in Milwaukee where they both live. They’ve grown closer over the past several months, and they’re in a relationship now. But Sansa’s plans for celebrating July 4th terrify Jon, and he’s ashamed of how he feels.
Trigger Warnings: Memories of Character death (Satin), flashbacks, warfare, explosions, blood, PTSD symptoms. I have experience with PTSD, but not with military service. I did some basic research and talked to some friends in the military, so I hope the details aren’t too off. For all of you who’ve served, you have my deep and unending gratitude.
A/N: For @zip00198704 whose jonsa fic If Loving You is Wrong was part of this inspiration for this story.
***
Sansa had a flyer in her hand. She handed it to him as she stirred the turkey bean soup. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of rosemary and thyme.
Jon’s stomach dropped. Fireworks on the lakefront, a week from now.
“We could make a night out of it, I thought. Maybe even go away for the weekend afterwards.” She tasted the soup and held it out for him to try.
“Fireworks are my favorite, I love sparkly things, if that wasn’t already obvious from the shower curtain.”
Jon had to smile, even through the dread tightening in his stomach. Sansa’s white curtain threaded through with iridescent sequins was quite a – what had Margaery called it the last time she’d been over for dinner? Statement piece.
Sansa put the spoon back.
“Jon, you’re pale. What’s wrong?”
Read more below or continue on AO3
He hated that he had to tell her. “I don’t think I can, Sansa I – I have trouble, with fireworks.”
Sansa’s eyes softened. “That first night we spent together, during the blackout. It was hard for you, when the power came back on, and the music started blasting.”
Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Hey, Bruno Mars isn’t for everyone.” She threw her arms around his neck. He’d seen her face fall, though, before she hugged him.
They’d been dating for about two months now, and Jon knew Sansa wanted to take a trip with him. She’d mentioned it more than once.
July 4th, though, wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry, Sansa. I wish I could share it with you.”
Sansa shrugged. “It’s all right. Margaery will come, she’s looking for an excuse to take Oberyn somewhere for a weekend anyway.”
Jon caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. She flushed.
“Jon, I have to finish cooking.” She was still holding on to him. He cupped her cheek and kissed her, waiting the whole time for it to happen again. The tension that went though her body. She’d flinched, once, when he’d slid his hand under her shirt, and he’d stopped, right away.
Sure enough, she pulled back. “Wait, the soup!”
She was smiling, but there were tiny lines at the corner of her eyes.
He brushed her hair from her forehead. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, the night she’d drawn away from him. She’d waved it off as “just nerves.” But when he’d kissed her forehead and told her it was fine, they could wait, he’d seen relief along with disappointment in her eyes.
Tonight he kissed her cheek. “Do you need help? With the soup?”
She smiled. “Sure. Ready to do some chopping?”
They lined up next to each other. Sansa teased him about his cooking skills, but when he’d told her he really wanted to learn, she’d taken him seriously. By the time the soup was done, Sansa was yawning. Jon told he’d clean up. She smiled at him before she went to take a bath.
Jon was packing the soup into Tupperware for her to take to the clinic for lunch. Sansa came out in her pink fluffy robe. She looked flushed and relaxed. Jon tried not to concentrate on the fact that she was naked underneath that tie.
“It’s awesome, you know.”
“What is?”
“Having my own kitchen boy.”
“I aim to please.”
Sansa kissed him on the cheek before he left. Jon felt warmth spread though his whole body. He wanted to turn his head and catch her in a real kiss. But until she invited him, he wasn’t going to push her. She meant too much to him for that.
***
He’d gotten Sansa to understand he had to be alone on July 4th. It wasn’t only the big day that caused Jon trouble, though. The pounding headaches he got were clustered closer together as the holiday got nearer.
The large fireworks displays were usually fine. They were scheduled, and he expected the noise. He could handle that, alone. Though he couldn’t have taken Sansa, and shown her a good time.
But people in Milwaukee seemed determined to start partying at the end of June. Soon Jon couldn’t predict when he’d have to fight to keep from startling, as another backyard barbecue warmed up.
Tonight had been too much, with celebrations popping, crackling and booming throughout the neighborhood. His nerves were shot by 9 pm.
He went back to his apartment as quickly as he could after classes and bolted the door shut. He drew the blinds closed. The sick fear in his gut told him it was only a matter of time.
Sansa texted him. He couldn’t answer. All his senses were on hyper alert, and he wasn’t fit company for anyone, least of all her.
He’d hoped these days were gone.
But ghosts came to haunt you when they chose. They came on holidays and celebrations, when spirits were high and the world was bright. They had their own agendas and vendettas, and didn’t leave until they got what they came for, ripping at you the whole time.
His ghosts were here now.
He saw text after text from her. Finally he turned his phone off. He felt awful as he tossed it across the room. He was the one who’d opened up, and asked for more. Now – now he wasn’t sure he could do it.
He had to shut her out. He had to. Because a sniveling, craven boy was not what she needed. Someone who cried as his friend bled out onto the sand was not what she needed.
I’m damaged. Torn up. Broken inside like a clock that won’t tick.
The crash of fireworks was coming from all sides. He got onto his mattress and pressed his back to the wall. That helped, and his heart rate started to slow. Until the largest set of fireworks yet started and he covered his head instinctively.
Another explosion went off and it was an IED he heard. All the miles and months between him and Afghanistan evaporated in an instant and he was back, it was happening, it had never stopped happened, he’s howling at Satin to get down, get down for god’s sake you’re too far out!
He could taste the gunpowder in the air and feel the shock of the landmines exploding at random and hear the screams of wounded men, and Satin would be next.
Satin’s out ahead because he’s quick and quiet and a good scout but he’s too ambitious, too confident, and he only throws a smile over his shoulder when Jon yells and Jon’s heart sinks.
Satin takes another step forward and the boom of the landmine shatters the air. Jon knows, deep in the pit of his stomach, after his lungs stop burning from racing to Satin’s side, that Satin is already gone.
His leg’s blown off at the knee and the foam on his mouth is flecked with blood. Satin wheezes as he struggles to breathe, and part of his chest is caved in.
“Easy Satin easy, you’re all right, just take it slow.”
Satin shakes his head and coughs. Blood spatters on his uniform. Satin, who cheats at cards and loves licorice and never once shies away from ranging ahead, never.
“I’m done, and we both know it, Snow. We both know it.”
Jon cradles the back of his head. “You’re not going anywhere you’re”
– BOOM
He ducks as the sand pelts his back. He has to turn around, assess the damage, keep him men moving. But he can’t look, can’t find out, because Satin’s there in front of him, and Satin is dying.
“You’re coming home with us, Satin, you are,” and now Jon’s pleading with Satin, to stay with him. He takes Satin’s hand.
Satin gives him a weary half-smile. “It’s all right Jon, it’s over for me. Keep going. Keep going.” He squeezes Jon’s hand, once, before his eyes slid shut, and then he’s a heavy weight in Jon’s arms, nothing more.
Jon was rocking back and forth, feeling each new blast in his bones.
There was no rhyme or reason to it, why some men would make it through till morning and others would drop to the ground bleeding and broken. Crying out for their mothers. That was something they didn’t tell you in basic training. How men would often turn into boys, and beg for comfort in their last moments.
Satin hadn’t, though. Jon had begged him for comfort, and Satin had given it to him. It was one of his deepest moments of shame, that he’d cried while Satin died, that Satin had tried to ease Jon’s pain as the sand was stained with red.
Now Satin was gone, and Jon was left, and he didn’t know why he’d been spared.
What would you think, Satin if you could see me now? Hiding in my room like a coward?
He only heard the insistent pounding on the door when there was a lull in the fireworks.
“Jon. Let me in.” It was Sansa, sounding more serious than she ever had.
He was glued to the mattress with his head down. She was going to keep knocking, and he was going to keep sitting where he was, because the distance between him and the door was covered with sand and blood and gore, and he didn’t have the strength to cross it.
Coward.
“Jon, please.”
It was the sob in her voice that made him stand up. He was shaky on his feet, disoriented. He almost sat down and curled up again when he heard another blast. Satin was back, but it wasn’t Satin’s face he saw. He heard Satin’s last words.
Keep going.
He’d made it, and Satin hadn’t, and it wouldn’t mean a damn thing if he couldn’t live the life he’d been given when he was spared.
So he took one step, and then another. The ten feet between him and the door felt like ten miles. He held on to the doorknob for a long time. He pressed his forehead to the cool surface of the door. He could still hear Sansa pleading with him on the other side.
Do it, Snow.
Whether that was his voice or Satin’s, he’d never know, but he turned the knob all the same.
As he looked into her blue eyes he felt the shell around him crack. He was out again, raw and exposed but out, out of the nightmare that never stopped. She was the one who saved him, the one who tethered him to the world and he loved her for it, even when he was screaming inside for her to stop.
He could tell she’d been crying and that tore at his heart, just like the ghosts had. But she was real, and alive. With her next to him it was a little easier for him to breathe.
“It’s the fireworks, isn’t it? The ones that go off at random?”
He still wanted to deny it. But he was too tired and she was too close. He needed her, needed her care and her comfort.
“Yes.”
She stepped in and held him.
“I’ll take you away, Jon, somewhere that’s sound-proofed, somewhere–“
“Hush, Sansa, you can’t, it’s all right.”
She looked up at him. Her cheeks were splotched with red. “But I have to! I have to be able to help you or what good am I to you?”
“You can’t fix this. But you’ve already helped me, Sansa. So much. So many ways, beautiful girl. These are days I have to go through by myself.”
She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. But she left him, finally, after holding him tight. He was sad to see her go. He was also a tiny bit relieved. She’d be off, soon, for the long weekend, and he wouldn’t have another chance to disappoint her.
***
She knocked on his door again the next morning.
“We’re going to Hayes State Park in Michigan for the weekend. I looked it up online, they’re far away from big fireworks displays, and they only allow sparklers.” Her chin was high and set.
He sighed heavily. “Sansa–“
“I know, Jon, I know, I can’t fix you with a camping trip, or a state park, or a pair of headphones. I know that, don’t you understand? But I’m asking if I can help you, even just a little bit. I’m asking you to try to let me in.”
Come with me, she was saying. Be brave enough to try.
He paused. “Sansa, I might still get–“
She shook her head. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Jon. But if we’re going to be together, you have to let me see the parts of you that you want to hide away. You have to meet me halfway.”
Her hands were trembling. He realized, slowly, much more slowly than he should have, that he was at risk of losing her if he said no.
He swallowed.
Keep going.
“All right, Sansa. You – you deserve someone better than this.”
Sansa took his hand. “You’re the someone I want, Jon. Take this vacation with me. You won’t have to write letters this time, because I’ll be there.”
He’d told her that he wanted to share stories with her. That he wanted the two of them to go on adventures.
He gathered up his courage. He took a deep, slow breath.
“Well, I do have a lot of camping stuff. Should we figure out what to pack?”
She squeezed his hand, and smiled. “I figured the guy who kept a blackout toolkit would be a good bet for camping gear.”
The sun would be high this weekend, and the world would be bright.
He could stay by her side, ghosts or no ghosts.
He gave her the best smile he could manage.
“You bet right.”
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New Years Eve... hello Hella!
New years traditions are very ingrained in this country. Icelanders are nuts about fireworks and their version of search and rescue sells them everywhere as fundraising. They seem to set them off any time in the weeks before and after new years... which explains all the fireworks the night I had arrived in Reykjavik. Here's me rhinking they were celebrating my arrival 😂😂
On New years eve the skies and the steeets go quiet fron about 10pm until about 11 20 all for a special tv show, its a parody of the year past, created by well known comedians and the locals all leave their fireworking in order to see it. It's a real thing. Love it!
Day 2 tour - I like to call today the 'windy waterfalls day'. We visited 2 iconic falls, with the wind so strong that it was blowing the water sideways and creating a mist that was soaking anyone who got too near. What an amazing contrast to their location. A rocky treeless volcanic area broken by giant falls. First stop was the high but narrow Seljalandsfoss that plunges over a mountain. The trail that goes behind the waterfall is closed in winter for safety *as if anyone wanted to use it and get wet in this weather anyway! Then off to another amazing waterfall, Skógafoss, a massive 60m high!!
Right nearby was the Skógar Folk Museum, full of items and displays (including outdoor museum) of the cultural heritage. It was really cool to see the different houses, and the way the folk lived years ago. Our guide advised us that JRR Tolkien had loved Iceland, and had used alot of not just the stories of the elves and trolls etc, but the old houses like the grass roof mud floor huts in his books. They were fantastic to see. The whole museum gave a great insight into life in Iceland and just how far they have come in a very short space of time.
We then headed to the Southern beaches area, is, and, you guessed it...amazing. I walked on the Black lava beaches near Vik, the ocean was wild, with some crazy rips. Good thing no one ever swims there! We took in the amazing bird cliffs at Reynifjara. Apparently the residents of Vik live under the threat of an impending explosion of the nearby volcano which would trigger flooding from the glacier melting, wiping out the whole city. According to our guide they are well prepared for it. Seems strange, but I guess they grow up with volcanos all around them, so it's nothing new. I have learnt that there are no bugs, no creatures that can hurt or kill you, or rodents in Iceland. So I guess the actual land being able to kill you may balance that?
We saw two of the glaciers in the distance and got to watch as the sun set on them. Mýrdalsjökull and the other one...that name escapes me (sorry). We were going to walk up to and onto one of them with our guide. But there were gale force winds and blizzard warnings and all access was closed for the day. We still got a go at crampons.. only the version that is little stretchy things that attach to the bottom of your shoes to help with traction, just no glacier (and no stabby but at the toe end of the crampons) 😁.
Sheep are a big industry here. They have farmed sheep since 874 and no I haven't missed a digit there! They apparently are born, roam free, and are rounded up.for one bad day (for them) in September.. I must say the lamb is amazing.
Forestry. Apparently iceland is the centre for forestry research. Odd, when they have no forests. A large part of the lack of trees is attributed to the sheep. Any trees they have are sweet birch leaves, not bitter, as there are no bugs that require the trees to be bitter to prevent them being eaten. The sheep (and people - our guide says he chews on them when he hikes in summer) eat them, so the trees don't get to drop seeds that and erosion sees that they have not self propogated. As a result there's a concerted re-forestation program that sees people come to Iceland to study and participate due to the unique challenges they face here.
What a day! We still have new year to go! We got back in time to race out for the local bonfire lighting and fireworks. I may or may not have whinged enough that our tour leader got me a sparkler from Santa. What fun it was to hang with the locals and burn stuff!
Our hotel served us up a fantastic new years dinner of yummy treats of a pate, followed by creamy horseradish soup with monkfish (yep I ate monkfish). Followed by lamb and langoustine surf and turf with potatoes and creamed turnips, followed by creme brulee. Then it was bubbles, our own private fireworks with a local rescue team member, then off to continue to ring in the new year in...hang on, how did my cabin end up being the party room?! Lol!! Its ok there was only about 8 of us there...
But! We saw the Northern lights!!! Just after midnight. It was very mild, but there nonetheless- Ron took some great shots to prove it, and other sober members of our group also saw them. Great end to the year!
Photo credit goes to Ron! Only one who could hold his camera still 😁
Early start tomorrow, and another huge day to come!
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Academic, chapter 10: The Intern
rosymamacita
Chapter 10 Read on AO3 read from the beginning Academic
: The Intern
It's the end of Clarke's year of being a visiting professor at NYU, so as far as her friends are aware, she should be ready to make their Bellarke dreams canon, in real life... but instead, The History Channel has asked her to hire Bellamy as "The Intern," on their show, much to the dismay of her friends who are sure she won't allow herself to get involved with her employee.
Ah, Bellarkers... always hoping, always having their hopes delayed. Again.
;)
This is a prompt from my 2k followers celebration, asking me to add a chapter to the abandoned story. And I did. :) Thanks @miraculoushipping
miraculoushipping said:Hi! I really hope this doesn't come off as rude since I know that a lot of authors don't really like being badgered for updates, which is completely understandable, writing is HARD. But do you have plans to update/complete Academic? It's sosososo good and I love it, I couldn't stop grinning (Nubile little nymph, made my night 😂) and it just has everything I could possibly want in an AU fic PS Kane totally ships Bellarke PPS Clarke not telling her friends they're dating out of pettiness? Gold
Chapter Text
They were at the bar, near the end of the school year. “So that sucks, right?”
Clarke gawked at the ridiculous number of hits for the new youtube vid of Bellamy at the Boys Club in his old neighborhood where he had raised Octavia. The theme was “Everyday Heroes,” and apparently, the whole internet was in love with the Bellamy Blake.
Clarke couldn’t blame them. She was in love with him too.
“How could this possibly suck? He’s a sensation. That has to be good for him. He’s my friend. Why would I want him not to have success?” She was still staring at him on screen, even though the volume was turned down low and she couldn’t hear the stories he was telling about the disadvantaged kids of the inner-city, their struggling parents and the people who were advocating for them. She swallowed and looked at Jasper, who looked back at her in exasperation.
“Duh, Clarke, because The History Chanel wants him to work on our show as ‘The Intern.’ You’ll be his employer! You’ll never be able to get together, now.”
Clarke looked at him, her face carefully neutral. “Have you been reading fan fiction again, Jasper?” she asked.
“I’ll have you know that Bellarke is not the only ship your man is in now. There’s Caesamy. They’ve paired him up with Caesar, isn’t that awesome? And Zeusamy. Quite the fireworks in that one. A bit of Aphrodellamy… but Aphrodite always sounds vaguely like you anyway. My favorite is a little out of the history geek wheelhouse. Riplamy.”
Clarke couldn’t take it anymore and rolled her eyes. “Riplamy? Which greek god is that?”
“No greek god. Ripley. From Aliens!” Clarke stared at him. His eyes were wide and excited and she took a bite of pizza while he gushed about Bellamy fighting aliens in space. It turns out that it wasn’t that hard to distract Jasper from things she didn’t want to talk about.
Clarke called for a round of shots and made sure that when they came, Raven and Wells were sitting as close as they could in the booth, penned in on both sides by the enthusiastic Jasper on one side and a VERY friendly Monty and Miller on the other, who had apparently come to some agreements about what they were to each other, if the cuddling and smiles and the way they kept crowding into Raven’s space, pushing her closer to Wells had anything to say about it.
Clarke tossed back her shot and smiled at the way Raven blushed under Wells gaze. Honestly blushed. Raven couldn’t even look at Wells as he stared down at her and asked her if she was okay.
Raven was not okay. Wells put a hand to her forehead and Raven blinked up at him. Her lips parting ever so slightly. It was awesome.
Her phone in her back pocket buzzed.
“As much as I’d love to stay and watch all— “she waved her hands at the general friendness of her friend group, getting closer in ways that made her happy, not the least because she liked their matchmaking hearts being stung by cupid’s arrow. “I really need to get out of here. I have a business call from China coming in a bit. And I need all my notes. You guys keep on doing what you’re doing.” Her friends barely noticed her. Miller was entranced by Monty. The mighty Raven was laid low by Wells’ attention and Jasper was staring sadly at his phone. HE was next on the list. She’d find someone for him, to get him out of his Bellarke obsession. It wasn’t healthy. He needed to focus on his own life, not hers.
Clarke shrugged her bag over her shoulder only to be confronted by the sharp green eyes of Octavia. “I’m sorry he couldn’t make it tonight.”
“Who?” she said. As if she didn’t know.
Octavia pursed her lips. “My brother,” she snapped.
Clarke let out a soft laugh. “Oh Octavia,” she said, fondly. “I told you. You don’t have to feel bad about me and Bellamy. We’re friends.” They were. It was true. Friends. He was one of her best friends. Best.
Octavia scowled at her. “There was something between you.”
“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. It was true.
“There IS something between you.”
Clarke smiled and nodded without saying anything at all. It was true.
“Stop acting like it doesn’t bother you that you couldn’t get together!” Octavia said. It was almost yelling, but her voice was quiet. Hissed almost.
“Babe,” Lincoln said behind her, taking a hold of her arm as if he were trying to hold her back.
Octavia shot a frustrated look back at Lincoln. “Why did you let The History Channel hire him as your stupid intern. He’s more important than that.”
He was. “Things worked out for the best, Octavia. They really did. This could really open doors for him. I’m excited for him. You should be, too.”
Octavia’s scowl turned even fiercer. “I am. I just wish….”
“Babe,” Lincoln said and wrapped a soothing arm around her. “Let it go.”
“But they could have been so good together,” she grumbled to her boyfriend.
Clarke had pity for Octavia. She leaned down to the table and gestured towards Raven and Wells. “See that? Wells has been in love with her for ages. But Raven? She doesn’t believe in love.” She thought back to all the anguish that Raven had suffered over the years, all the broken hearts and pain. “She thinks love is for suckers.”
Octavia slanted her eyes over at them, the way Wells kind of loomed over Raven and the way Raven kept looking away, but still oriented towards him, as if her body couldn’t help it.
“But she tried to get you and Bellamy to fall in love.”
Clarke shook her head wryly. “No. She tried to get us to hook up. She thought if we had sex, I’d get him out of my system and be able to move on.”
Octavia shot her piercing glance back at Clarke. “But you didn’t do that, right?”
“If I hooked up with your brother,” Clarke said and her heart started racing, “do you think I’d just be able to move on and forget him?”
Octavia raised her chin like a challenge. “No, I don’t.”
“Good,” Clarke said and stood up. “So work on that over there.” Wells had a crooked grin on and Raven was on some rant with multiple curse words and much disdain for whoever she was ranting about, but there was a high flush on her cheeks.
“Yeah, maybe,” Octavia said and turned her attention down the table while Clarke made her goodbyes and left the bar.
****
She turned the key in her apartment. It was quiet. Clarke closed the door behind her, locking it. Latching it too. Cautious.
She slipped off her shoes and hung her bag over the back of the chair, stepping quietly, not wanting to break the silence, in case….
“Bellamy?” she called.
“In here.”
She smiled. He had his serious voice. All the different versions of Bellamy still thrilled her. The academic one. The sexy one. The contentious one. The protective one.
She dropped her sweater as she walked back to her bedroom and stood in the doorway.
He was in her bed, shirtless, reading a huge tome. It was his favorite way to be, she’d found out. And she loved it. She loved him.
She laid down next to him. He raised his arm so that she could cuddle up against his side and that’s what she did, kissing the skin of his shoulder and laying her head on his chest, just happy to be there.
“They were talking about you at the bar,” she said.
“Hmm, yeah?” he said distracted by his book. His hand petted up and down her arm. “What were they saying?”
“Oh, that it was a pity The History Channel had hired you as “The Intern” on my show, and that meant I was your boss and couldn’t hook up with you. They were sad.”
He sighed, amused and turned the page. “And you couldn’t tell them that they hired me as your love interest because they loved the internet nonsense and wanted to jump onto the whole Bellarke frenzy just like our friends?”
“They didn’t,” Clarke purred, stroking his flat belly, playing with the little hairs above his waist band. “They hired you because of your passion for history and your screen presence. They liked the idea of a regular guy coming in to challenge me.”
“If that was what it was about, you never would have agreed to it.” He smiled as he read, but she got the feeling he wasn’t paying much attention to his book anymore. “You never needed a man to make your show good.”
“True.” His abs were so nice. “But I do so like having you around.”
“Uh huh,” he said doubtfully, still pretending to read his book.
“I do. You keep me on my toes, Bellamy. You make sure I’ve got the whole picture and I don’t get too laser focused on my own opinion. You make me better.”
He put his book down. “You’ve got it backwards, Clarke. I’m always trying to keep up with you. To think bigger. To question my beliefs. You make me better.”
She smiled. “Together we make a good show. Plus with added sexual tension.” She let her fingertips slip just barely underneath his waistband.
“So you’re going to enjoy working with your impressionable, young and nubile intern.” he pulled her towards him and kissed her temple, nuzzling the skin there with his nose. “You’re such a predator.” The motion of his hand became slower on her back, stroking down her spine to the curve of her ass, before sliding back up again, under her shirt and around to fondle her breast.
“Yeah, you’re a real innocent.” She just breathed, feeling the sensations while he nibbled at her ear and slipped his fingers inside of her bra. The muscles of his chest under her hands were warm and firm and she reached for the snap of his jeans. He lifted his hips just slightly to meet her hands, but she stopped. “Are you okay, though? With this game we’re playing? Pretending not to be together, working on the show. Teasing not just our friends but the whole world? You— you’re such a good guy, Bellamy, you can’t like lying.”
He laughed and the low vibrations went through her. “Oh baby,” he said and pulled her shirt over her head. “I’m not that good a guy. They set the rules. They fucked with us first. So we get to fuck with them.” He reached behind her and released the clasp on her bra, slipping the straps down and throwing the scrap of lace over there, somewhere. He bent down to kiss the soft skin at the top curve of her breast and she surged up to meet his lips, but he simply petted down her side and smiled at her.
“Hey, they’re paying me a shit load of money to argue with you about history and justice and also to travel to amazing places that I’d never go otherwise. We’re filming around my academic calendar. Miller has the bar. This is going to be really great for my career… I HAVE a career and I’ve only been in college for one year. I think you’re really failing to understand just how much of a win this all is for me. And the best thing of all, I get you out of it. And I get to flirt with you and make that angry glint come into your eye when I challenge you… do you know how MUCH I loved that when you were just my professor? That little glint. I knew how much fire you had inside you.” He laughed under his breath and his hand drifted down to undo her jeans and slip inside.
She gasped.
“Yeah that’s the fire.” His grin was crooked and beloved. “That we get to screw with our friends and mess up their betting and also make them wonder about us for the whole filming? That’s just bonus, huh?”
But Clarke really couldn’t follow the conversation anymore. Not with the electricity Bellamy was striking inside of her. “Stop talking,” she breathed. “Do you really want to keep talking about our friends right now?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, and his mouth came down on her nipple while his hands brought her higher. She peaked under him and laughed, pulling him close to her and kissing down his chest.
“Is that how I get you shut up?” she asked, so happy in that moment that it felt like the universe was revolving around them.
“Pretty much, yeah,” he said and kissed her.
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An Ode to Joy: the Legend of Baker Mayfield
In the fall of 2013, a friend of mine told me about a freshman QB for Texas Tech that was pretty good. I hadn’t watched a bunch of Tech games that season, I was trying to keep up with Oklahoma’s QB situation with freshman Trevor Knight going down and fan fave junior Blake Bell taking the reins. I had waited until the then 7-0 Texas Tech team visited Norman, but by then that freshman QB my friend was talking about was injured and replaced by another freshman. That season I didn’t get to watch the QB my friend was talking about, but little did I know I’d be watching a lot of games for that guy.
The freshman my friend was talking about? Baker Mayfield.
Funny how things work out. We all know the story…lightly recruited 3-star QB walks-on at Texas Tech. Earns the starting job the first game, goes 5-0 before getting injured. He ended up the season 5-2 as a starter but not offered a scholarship to stay at Tech. Sidebar, but if I’m HC Kliff Kingsbury I’m probably doing the same thing…he had Davis Webb and Michael Brewer on campus (both would leave eventually as well) and Patrick Mahomes coming in the very next season. Anyway, Mayfield walks-on at OU without even speaking to the Oklahoma coaching staff. Runs the scout team in 2014. Beats out incumbent Trevor Knight for the starting job in 2015. The rest, as they say, is history.
Along the way, Baker becomes a Heisman winner and an Oklahoma legend. Every legend comes with moments. Defining moment that shape their story. Some of them glorious. Some of them human and vulnerable. And still others embarrassing growing moments that shape the future of the legend. Baker wasn’t short of any of these kinds of moments.
During the bowl practices in 2014, a video and later GIF of him dancing becomes viral.
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In his first road start at Tennessee in 2015 after struggling most of the first three quarters, he leads a furious comeback from being down 17-0 to win 31-24 in 2OT — in the first OT he barrels his way into the endzone to tie things at 24 and does a hush motion to the crowd. It was basically Mayfield’s coming out party to the nation, and what a sight it was.
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Also in 2015, at #6 Baylor (yeah, back when Baylor was the toast of the Big 12) the Sooners are up 37-34 in a tight one late in the fourth quarter. The now infamous call from ABC/ESPN’s Chris Fowler on a play that pretty much capsules Baker’s style — “Mayfield…looking…looking…scrambling…retreating…fires to the endzone for the touchdown to Flowers!” Sooners ended up winning 44-34.
To cap off a Big 12 title run, the first of three for Baker, Mayfield hands it off to Joe Mixon in the Bedlam game against Oklahoma State. When things break down and Mixon runs to the right outside, Baker is out and pancake blocks a cornerback on the way to a Mixon TD. Sooners end up dominating the Cowboys 58-23, their only regular season blemish coming to Texas earlier in the season.
Oklahoma ended that 2015 season with a loss in the CFP semifinal against Clemson 37-17, but Baker finished number four in the Heisman vote. It set up the Sooners with a top four ranking preseason for 2016. Expectations were high as ever. But OU ended up crashing down with a 1-2 start with a loss in the opener to Houston and crushing home loss to Ohio State where they sing their alma mater on the field. More on that later.
What came next was a series of shootouts and the emergence of speedster WR Dede Westbrook. 52-46 win against TCU. 45-40 victory over rival Texas. And it culminated with the duel with QB Pat Mahomes and Texas Tech.
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1708 combined yards, 854 yards each team oddly enough. Patrick Mahomes threw the ball 88 times (88!) with 52 completions, 734 yards passing, 85 yards rushing, 5 TD passes, 2 more on the ground. And a costly INT. Mayfield played a near perfect game: 27/36 for 545 yards passing, 7 TDs no INTs and another 19 yards rushing (and had a bunch of help from the 263 yard rushing, 114 yards receiving, 5 total TD performance from Joe Mixon and another 202 yards receiving 2 TDs from Westbrook). For football purists it was a defensive abomination. For Big 12 trumpeters, it was a spectacular fireworks display of offense.
The game also put both Mayfield and Westbrook in the Heisman race.
The Sooners rolled on through the rest of the schedule which included a snowy 56-28 road victory over top 10 West Virginia and the first ever home win to claim the Big 12 title coming against No. 11 Bedlam rival Oklahoma State 38-20. Baker finished third in the Heisman vote and got to go to New York with fourth place in voting teammate Dede Westbrook. The two early losses were too much to overcome to get into the playoff but they settled for a dominating 35-19 win in the Sugar Bowl against the SEC’s Auburn Tigers.
Mayfield, as fiery as he is seen on the field, had a fairly squeaky clean off the field image. That is until a chilly night in Arkansas in February 2017. For any legend’s story to be worth anything, there has to be some adversity right? According to Baker he was drunk but was trying to break up a fight between two other people that were drunk. That led to police confronting Mayfield for disorderly conduct and public intox. Upon the confrontation, Mayfield resisted arrest and attempted to run from the police, leading to this now overly-used GIF.
Comparisons to bad boy QB Johnny Manziel intensified. Suddenly his on the field bravado translated to trouble-making cockiness off the field in some media members eyes, and Arkansas was their smoking gun. In his return to Norman, he held a press conference trying to explain his actions and apologize to the program. Although this incident is used as the black-eye moment by opposing fan bases and media outlets, Barry Switzer had another perspective. Calling Baker shortly after it happened in support, he tells Mayfield he was arrested there once as well and asked if they improved the jail any because it was a dump when he was there (gotta love Barry).
To add to things on the field, Mayfield’s major offensive weapons Joe Mixon, Samaje Perine, and Dede Westbrook all move on to the NFL. TE Mark Andrews is the only experienced one of the group left. The Oklahoma spectacular offensive line remains intact, but Baker will be working with mostly new offensive weapons. And in early June, HC Bob Stoops announces retirement, leaving Baker’s QB coach/OC/mentor Lincoln Riley to take the OU program over.
There were a lot of national media and even local outlets picking the offensively talented Oklahoma State as the Big 12 favorite in the preseason. The chips were stacked against the Sooners.
But as we know, when the odds are stacked against Baker Mayfield, he usually comes through in the clutch.
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In week 2, a top five matchup with No. 5 Oklahoma visiting No. 2 Ohio State. After finishing the first half tied 3-3, the Sooners and Buckeyes exchanged punches. With Ohio State leading 13-10 late in the third quarter, Baker Mayfield takes over and pushes the Sooners to the finish line with a 27/35 386 yards passing 3 TD performance. Sooners triumph 31-16. What happened at the end of the game is perhaps Baker’s most iconic moment of the 2017 season.
Hurt by seeing the Buckeyes celebrating their win last season on the field of Oklahoma Memorial Stadium, Mayfield went to the sideline where his teammates were celebrating with the band. He is handed an OU flag and proceeds to take a lap around the edge of the field, waving the flag proudly. A teammate along the way shouted at him that he should plant the flag, like they do in the Cotton Bowl for OU-Texas. So Baker made his way to midfield and emphatically plants the flag (if only just for a second, it didn’t stick because it’s fake turf). He apologized immediately after.
Following the impressive performance, the Sooners went into conference play and struggled to control games and close teams out. Mayfield had to lead his Sooners to close victories: 49-41 on the road at Baylor, 29-24 over rival Texas, and 42-35 in Manhattan over Kansas State. In the middle of that, a heartbreaking 38-31 home loss to Iowa State. Each of those games Baker Mayfield had to make plays to keep his team in it. In the Texas game in particular, Baker was banged up getting landed on by one of the Longhorns’ big D-lineman — his throwing shoulder sore late in the fourth quarter. On the following possession, he finds a wide open Mark Andrews on a wheel route to take the lead for good.
Perhaps the game that Mayfield captured the Heisman trophy was his shootout win against the preseason favorite to win the Big 12 - Oklahoma State Cowboys.
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The duel this season was against the powerful Cowboys offense led by QB Mason Rudolph. It was somewhat reminiscent of the Texas Tech game the season before. 1446 yards of combined offense between the two teams. Although both QBs had 5 TDs passing and 2 INTs, Baker looked to be the more poised, with just two yards short of 600 yards passing and a rushing TD with a stiff-arm that resembled a certain trophy pose (if just in mirror reflection). The Sooners triumphed 62-52 in Stillwater.
The rest of the season? The Sooners looked more and more in control of things, stringing together 41-3 win at Kansas, 59-31 home win against West Virginia, and a pair of dominating wins against TCU - one at home 38-20 and the other in the return of the Big 12 Championship Game in Arlington 41-17.
There was one controversial incident in Kansas though. The crotch grab.
To understand what happened, you have to get the whole picture. Pregame, at the coin flip when team captains normally shake hands, the Kansas captains refused to shake hands with Baker Mayfield (and the rest of the Sooner captains, but the media failed to show that). Throughout the first half, the Jayhawks cheap-shotted the Sooners, particularly Mayfield after a pass was thrown in what turned out to be a roughing the passer that wasn’t called. So naturally Baker is fired up when the Sooners score midway through the third quarter. Naturally since he was the Heisman frontrunner, cameras were on him when he began to clap back at the Kansas sideline. Another infamous GIF ensues.
Another antic by Mayfield, another apology both after the game and the week following. HC Lincoln Riley suspended him the first series of the West Virginia game and stripped his captaincy for that game as well, Mayfield’s last home game for the Sooners. And while, yes, that crotch grab may have crossed the line, you can’t help but see the result of his fiery leadership. His teammates adore him. He is the type of guy that they would follow into a burning building. His support by his teammates wasn’t displayed any better than LT Orlando Brown and FB Dimitri Flowers carrying a Mayfield jersey with them to the coin flip of the West Virginia game.
You can’t duplicate that kind of bond, just like you can’t duplicate that kind of leadership. Love him or hate him, Baker Mayfield is the ultimate college competitor, forged by his underdog mentality being a two-time walk-on. So that, along with carrying his team and the eye-popping efficiency won him the 2017 Heisman Trophy.
He is the fourth player ever in college football to finish in the top four in voting for the Heisman three years in a row, the last one being Georgia’s Herschel Walker. As far as the debate among Sooner fans if he is the best QB in Oklahoma history, there is certainly the argument. Statistically, he will end up being second in many of the major categories to Landry Jones (mostly because Landry has most of another year of play over Baker). Here are some of those stats courtesy of SoonerStats.com:
Mayfield will still have a chance to eclipse Sam Bradford’s sensational 2008 season with one, possibly two games left this season. Mayfield will not pass Landry Jones in career wins, passing yards, and passing TDs. But if Mayfield does have something that Bradford, Jones, Jason White, and Josh Heupel don’t have: three conference championships. In my opinion he’s already the all-time greatest QB at Oklahoma. And if he wins a national championship on top of all these achievements, that will further solidify that title.
You don’t see or hear much of how Mayfield is away from football. You should definitely read this piece on Baker and his family life. And if that’s not enough, read about how Mayfield gives a eulogy for a little girl who visited the Sooner locker room frequently and recently passed due to leukemia and how he dedicated the rest of the season in her honor. As polarizing as some of the things he does, you can’t help but cheer and get behind this guy as a Sooner fan or as a fan of watching sports at the height of competition.
Love him or hate him, his story is compelling and his swagger and leadership is unparalleled. I can’t wait for the 30 For 30 on this guy, and I can’t imagine his story is over yet by any means. So good luck to Baker Mayfield and the Sooners in the College Football Playoff in their semifinal matchup against Georgia and hopefully beyond! Bring home that championship trophy!
BOOMER SOONER
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