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nadja-antipaxos · 1 year

Text

Gold Eyes

Title: Gold Eyes

Fandom: The Mandalorian (2019)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Using OFC (Witch of Dathomir)

Summary: Din’s ongoing rivalry with his least favorite bounty hunter becomes something else once the kid enters the picture.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: : canon typical violence, handjob, fingering, PIV sex (protected and unprotected), oral sex (male and female receiving), swearing. kissing

Word Count: 4,972

Author’s Note: @einno-arko Happy Holidays! This is your Secret Santa gift. I tried to work in as many tropes as I could: enemies to lovers, the color teal, smut, little bit of angst, and fluff. Enjoy! Thank you to my wife @dailyreverie for giving this a beta read before I posted it. Graphic by me.

AO3

Din isn’t sure how he let this happen. He’s smarter than this. No one ever gets the jump on him. He’s a Mandalorian. But here he is with his foot caught in her snare upside down in a tree. With a precise shot of a small blaster, a net appears and knocks down his bounty by the ankles. He usually offers warm or cold. She never does. Warm. Cold. Maimed. Intact. She brings them in however she wants. He used to think it was because she had no patience but after years of their little rivalry, he knows she doesn’t move until it’s vital. He struggles against his restraints and hisses as it tightens around his foot and starts to swing him back and forth. He goes still as she drags the bounty back to her ship. Din closes his eyes feeling dizzy under his helmet and lets the annoyance simmer into piping-hot hatred.

Without warning, he’s dropped to the ground. Zalia waltzes over with a blaster rifle perched in between her shoulder blades. Her gold eyes peer down at him as a smirk grows on her mouth. That’s how everyone in the Guild knows her: Gold Eyes. Her dark fringe cuts right above her eyebrows. She has sharp cheekbones, pale skin, and a strong square jaw. No one knows her story. No one knows why a tall, striking human is racking up bounties instead of credits filming holovids. No one trusts her and that’s how she likes it.

“Figured you’d be off planet by now.” Din cuts the fibercord off his boot.

“That’s four to two. By the way.” Her smirk becomes a full grin. Her accent reminds him of the Armorer but not as stiff.

“It’s three to two.” He gets to his feet.

In her boots, they are the same height. She wears bulky black armor with an intricate and loaded weapons belt. A hefty teal cape hangs from her shoulders.

“Clean your visor. You must not be seein’ proper. I got that Arcona fair and square.” She taps his helmet with her knuckles.

Din sighs heavily. He had been tracking the Arcona for days. He did all the work. His finger had been on the trigger when she swooped in. Nothing fair about it. She could be kicked out of the Guild for that but he wants to beat her at this game.

“Gonna give me a ride to my ship?” Din asks.

“No! This doesn’t mean I like you.” Zalia laughs and snaps her helmet on.

Din lets out a long sigh as irritation courses through his veins. He truly hopes he never sees her again. But the universe is never that kind.

“Mando, look out!”

Din hears Zalia’s words before he sees the giant fist swinging toward his head. He dodges out of the way in time and reaches for his blaster. Before he can fire, Zalia throws a smaller vibroblade at the Houk’s corded neck. It doesn’t cut because the Houk’s body is so tough but it gets his attention. He roars and charges at her but she kicks off the wall of the alley and hops over his shoulder to safety. The Houk growls.

“I thought Houks didn’t like confrontation.” Din aims his blaster again but Zalia is in the way. He needs to take advantage of this. His attack would be a complete surprise. But he can’t just shoot her too. He may not like her but he isn’t going to kill her…yet.

“I’d say he likes it.” She’s quick on her feet as she avoids his hands. She sees a ledge and feels her rifle still on her back.

Zalia bends her knees to spring onto a ledge but Houk snatches her in his gigantic meaty hand. He tosses her to the ground like a youngling’s toy. Her hands scramble behind her. The rifle is no longer on her back.

Houk barks out a laugh as he stalks toward her.

“Not so fast now, are ya?”

Her gold eyes widen as she gropes her armor for a weapon. The Houk raises his titanic fist once to rein a crushing blow down on her and snap her helmet in two. She flings her open palm out as if to catch the fist before it makes contact. It’s impossible.

Din strides toward them and raises his right vambrace. He sprays bright fire all over the colossal bounty. The Houk shrieks at the pain. He runs blindly around the alley crashing into walls as he tries to put the flames out. Since the threat is distracted, Din’s gloved hand pulls Zalia to her feet. She could’ve let the Houk take him out. She didn’t. So, he hands her the blaster rifle.

Without a second’s hesitation, she hits the Houk through his thick skull. He collapses immediately. She stalks over and puts out the flames with her teal cape. Din wonders what it is made of since it doesn’t catch fire. She pulls off her helmet revealing the blonde streaks in her dark hair.

“So, what now?” Din tilts his head.

“We both took him down. 50/50?” Her gold eyes lock onto him.

“Your ship or mine?” Din asks.

“Yours but mine has the tow. Wait here. ” Zalia marches off to her ship.

Din waits, coming down from the adrenaline when she returns with the tow and a droid.

“No droids.”

“How else are we gonna carry it once we’re in your ship?”

“I’m here. You’re here. Droid goes.”

“Hook it up to the speeder,” Zalia tells the droid before rounding on Din. “Listen, you dim-witted, mismatched piece of chrome. That thing is huge. We are not–”

“Dim-witted? Who just saved your life?”

“After I bloody saved yours.”

They’re chest to chest ready to come to blows. She grips the front of his cape and he grabs for her arm.

“We’re using the fucking droid.”

“Not on my fucking ship.”

“Then I’ll just take the bounty. I’ll–”

“Hey! Are you two gonna clean this up or make out?” A Duros wearing an apron wanders into the alley. “I got a business to run.”

“Make out? We are not–”

“Save it, sister. You and your boyfriend get out of here.”

The droid places the Houk on the tarp and hooks it up to Zalia’s speeder. She huffs and gets on. Din gets on behind her.

“That thing isn’t going on my ship.”

“Shut up the fuck up and listen to your girlfriend, Mando.” She kicks the speeder into gear while the droid follows alongside them.

“We don’t need your droid. Just help me drag it in.” Din tells her once they get to his Razor Crest. He unhooks the tow and begins dragging it up the ramp. He’s incredibly strong. Zalia picks up the end.

It takes longer than she would’ve liked with a lot more annoyance and grunting but they get the Houk into his carbonite storage.

“Told you we could do it.” Din sighs placing his hands on his hips.

“What do you want? A blow job?” Zalia scoffs and moves over to the crates.

Din just stares at her and doesn’t move. Images flood his mind of her on her knees and those big gold eyes looking up at him as she swallows–-

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Why did that Duros think we were a couple?”

“Cause he’s a fucking idiot. I would never touch you.”

“Like I’d let you.”

“Oh, I think you would. I think since I joked about blowing you it’s all you can think about.” She stalks over to him until his back is against the crate. Her hand touches the armor on his chest and travels down.

“You said you’d never touch me.”

“I guess we’re both liars.” She stops before she reaches his crotch.

“Do it.”

She stops to lick her palm and sees his length twitch. His hiss comes through the modulator as she tucks her hand into his trousers making her smile.

“Didn’t think you’d be vocal since you’re not much of a talker.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” She circles his tip with her thumb and he gasps. “What’s that then?”

“Fuck off.” He grits his teeth.

“Not very nice to the person stroking your dick.” She flicks her wrist.

“Oh, shit.” He leans his back against the crate. “Do that again.”

“Mmm.” She pulls her hand back and sucks her thumb into her mouth. “Do what?”

Din should’ve known she wasn’t going to play nice.

“Bend over.” He growls.

“Ooh, he’s angry.” Zalia chuckles.

“Can’t be mouthy if you’re stuffed full of me.”Din slides an arm around her waist and pulls her back against his chest.

“That a promise?” She looks over her shoulder at him.

“Bend over the crate and find out.”

Zalia slips her cape around her front and hits the release button on the legs of her armor. He never would’ve guessed she had such shapely thighs. The armor is designed for full protection and doesn’t show him much. He reaches out with a gloved hand to squeeze her ass as she bends over.

“Excuse you.”

He remembers himself and withdraws his hand.

“Spread your legs.”

He’s surprised when she listens and widens her stance. She brushes the hem of her underwear with her thumbs.

“Let me.” His voice is low

She stops moving.

“This okay, Zalia?”

“Yeah. It’ll be better when you stop talking.” She turns her head to shoot him a glare.

Din tugs her underwear down to her ankles. She shivers as her body is exposed to the cool air. He undoes his pants and shoves them down. He’s fully hard now. He swipes his hand through her folds and watches how his gloves glisten.

“Gloves off. I don’t know where those have been.” She glares at him.

He removes the gloves and wiggles his bare fingers. She leans back over the crate. He pushes a thick finger inside her. She holds back a gasp. It feels good. His thumb brushes over the bundle of nerves as his finger slowly moves in and out. Maker, he knows what he’s doing. She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her. Even though she’s quiet, Din notices the change in her breathing. It’s shallow now.

He circles his thumb and adds another finger. She tips forward and braces herself on the crate.

She bites her lip as the pressure builds to an unstoppable point. Except at that moment, Din removes his fingers and waits.

Zalia exhales slowly and squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to give him a reaction. He walks over to the refresher and rolls on a sheath. She hasn’t said a word which seems unlike her.

“You ready?” Din asks.

“Yeah. We gonna do this ‘fore I fall asleep?” She rolls her eyes but he can’t see it.

He guides himself inside her and lets out a long breath. Fuck, she feels tight. He starts out slow.

“Fuck me like you mean it.” She hisses.

“Stop talking.” Din wraps a hand around her throat. He doesn’t squeeze. That’s not the point of this.

“Make me.” She clenches down on him and his hand falls.

The pace picks up until it’s deliciously brutal. Zalia pushes back against him and they build a steady rhythm. His finger finds that bundle of nerves once more and moves in tight little circles. Electricity trickles up her spine. She doesn’t even care if he leaves marks on her body because it feels so fantastic. A moan escapes her and Din smirks behind his helmet. Before she can explain it away, he pulls out and slams back in. She leans forward on the crate and grips it.

“Shit, Mando.”

He plants a boot on the crate and the change in angle is exactly what she needs. He kisses something devastating inside her and she falls apart in a sudden wave. It takes every bit of strength not to cry out in ecstasy. She’s panting on the crate, limp, while her body flutters around him. His hips push against the back of her thighs until he’s filling the sheath.

Din sighs and pulls out carefully keeping the sheath closed until he can dispose of it in the refresher. She’s waiting outside to use it when he’s done.

“Well, you’re not half bad at that.”

“Likewise.”

“My turn.” She shows him the new sheath in her hand.

She pushes his chest until he’s falling back on his cot. This time, she doesn’t make any comments about the helmet. She’s more focused on getting as many sounds out of him as possible and she does not play fair. Zalia rides him, giving as good as she got.

Satisfied in more ways than one, she gets off him and goes to the refresher first. Din knows three things. He cannot go again. She’s the best sex he’s ever had. And he’s never telling her that.

“I think I worked up enough of an appetite.” Zalia snaps the legs of her armor back on and walks to the door as he gets out of the refresher. He expected a very short goodbye.

She turns around.

“You coming along or what?”

Din tilts his head. Zalia rolls her gold eyes.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“This looks familiar.” Zalia raises her eyebrows.

Din hangs upside down in the Razor Crest with his arms bound.

“I heard about your big showdown on Nevarro. You caught a bounty, delivered it, and took it back? Who does that?” She stares at him incredulously. “Did you get a better deal?”

“Zalia, listen. Listen.” Din tries to reason with her. “If you knew, if you–”

“I know we didn’t get on and we just fucked…a lot but I gotta say you really surprised me. You blew up your life for what?” Zalia shakes her head. She’s about to say something else when she feels something. He isn’t alone.

She hears him shouting at her to stop but she climbs up the ladder. She sees the cockpit and looks around spotting an orb-shaped pod. It’s where the energy is the strongest. With a wave of her hand, she opens the pod. Two giant glassy black eyes stare at her attached to a big green head with long ears. The creature coos at her. It’s a child.

She stretches out her hand and guides the pod into the air. The creature squeals delightedly. It lands in front of her before raising its hands and levitating the blanket.

“You got some tricks, huh?” She laughs. No wonder she felt a presence. She unzips a compartment on the chest of her jacket and pulls out a piece of jerky. She moves it over to the creature who greedily gobbles it up.

Those big eyes look expectantly at her for more and she smiles.

“Let’s see. What else do I have?” Zalia unzips another pocket and hands the creature a blue jewel which he wills back to her through the Force.

It becomes a game between the two of them. The jewel isn’t worth many credits. All its value is sentimental. She gets immersed in the game and doesn’t pay attention to a certain someone clambering up the ladder.

“Zalia, get away from him. ” Din stops in his tracks when he sees the two of them moving the jewel through the air.

“You’re a him?” Zalia wiggles her eyebrows at the kid who laughs.

“How are you doing that?” Din asks cautiously.

“I’m Dathomiri.” She practically waves Mando off while giving the kid another piece of jerky. “My clan are Daughters of Allaya. We have powers like he does.”

The kid picks up the sphere from the control panel that he loves so much and guides it over to her. Zalia guides it back and it quickly becomes a new game.

“I got offered an obscene amount of credits to bring you in.” Zalia catches the sphere and floats it back to the kid. “But I don’t deal in kids. Especially not ones that are basically kin. But stars, you’re in it deep.”

“What do you mean?”

“His kind were hunted. Why do you think the bounty was so high? Look how bloody shiny you are!” She gestures to the beskar.

“I don’t know what they wanted with him. Just knew it wasn’t good.” Din sighs.

“The Guild thought I’d have the best shot at getting you. Didn’t say much else.”

“Where’s your ship?”

“Got stolen. I figured once I brought you in I could use this baby. But seeing as that isn’t going to happen, could you drop me off at your next stop?” She bats her eyelashes at him and twirls a strand of dark hair with bright red ends around her finger.

“You’re really not going to turn me in?” He hasn’t moved for fear of her grabbing the child. She really wouldn’t turn down a chance to beat him, would she? A couple of fucks and one shared bounty didn’t mean they were friends.

She takes the tracking fob out and crushes it under her boot. “About that ride?”

“It’ll be a couple of days,” Din tells her.

“How will we pass the time?” She arches an eyebrow playfully.

Once they hit hyperspace and the kid gets tuckered out from many games, Zalia joins Din in his room where she sucks him off. He comes so hard his soul nearly leaves his body.

“I would’ve given you the ride regardless.” Din pants as she gets to her feet.

“No shit. I just like seeing you crumble.” Zalia smirks.

“Take off your clothes and get on the cot.” Din orders.

“Think you can get it up already?” Zalia teases while removing her teal cape.

He makes her come twice as he thrusts in from behind and plays her perfectly with his thumb. After, she sleeps on the floor by the crates. She can sleep anywhere.

It’s a four-day journey and they develop a little routine. He pilots while she plays with the kid. They all eat together and at night, their old game is back on. At one point, she even spells her name with her hips before he nearly blacks out from such a powerful orgasm.

“You can join me in the cot,” Din says on their last night.

“Hard pass,” Zalia mumbles from her spot on the floor.

“Think you’ll find a ship on Batuu?” Din looks over at her.

“Are you worried?” Zalia giggles.

“You accepted my bounty, destroyed the fob, and you’re not dead.”

“So observant. It’s amazing.”

Din lets out a heavy sigh that Zalia imitates.

“They will come after you.”

“And?”

“You don’t have a ship.”

“So?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Zalia wraps her cape around her body tighter.

They land on Batuu and Din is able to refuel. He never thought he would trust Zalia Quinst but here they are. One of his only allies was once his greatest rival. The kid whines when she stands up to leave.

“Don’t go missing me, kiddo. Here.” She floats the blue jewel over to him.

The child blinks at her while clutching the jewel tightly.

“It’ll bring you luck.” Zalia pats his head and makes her way down the ladder.

Din waits there to lower the ramp for her.

“Someone real bad wants that kid.” She warns him.

“I know.”

“You don’t but still. Watch yourself.” Zalia readjusts her blaster rifle on her shoulder.

Before she can step forward, he places a hand on her elbow.

“Zalia–”

“Shut up, Mando.” She places a kiss on his helmet right above the visor where his forehead would be.

Din sighs heavily.

“This doesn’t mean I like you.” She turns back and winks.

He watches her disappear into the vast forest and wonders if he’ll ever see her again.

Din feels rudderless. Grogu is with his kind and Din no longer belongs to his. And he has to fly commercial. It’s supposed to be nonstop but the ship has to be repaired on a planet he’s never been on. He retrieves his weapons from the hold and wanders to a cantina.

“Come here often?” A nasal voice asks.

Din turns his head. He’s not really in the mood to deal with anyone right now.

“Zalia?”

“Hey, good lookin’. What’s cookin’?” Her accent returns as she laughs. She takes a seat next to him at the bar and takes the drink he was served.

“You’re alive.”

“You’re alone.”

“He’s with the Jedi now.”

“Hmm…lots of rules with the Jedi.”

“But not with your people?”

“Nope. Why aren’t you with yours?”

“Long story.”

“I’ll tell you mine and you can tell me yours?”

Zalia explains how she left Batuu and acquired a new ship in a game of a sabacc. Greef sent ten bounty hunters after her and she killed every one. She went back to Nevarro and was informed all was forgiven. Din shifts in his seat. She puts some credits down and stands up.

“C’mon, I got better stuff back at mine anyway.”

“Yours?”

“Temporary. You know how it is. Shoot a warlord and get new digs.”

He follows her to a small bungalow away from the main part of town surrounded by tall trees. She gestures to the seats on the porch. Din doesn’t talk at first. He just sits on the porch with her and watches the trees. At some point, she gets something to drink.

He tells her about the run-in with Moff Gideon on Nevarro all the way to his exile from the covert. He expects a smart comment or two but she just listens. Day turns to night and she just listens.

“I…” He heaves a sigh. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“Please, you’re still a Mandalorian. That Armorer sounds like a bitch. She tells you to take care of the kid, and be his dad, so you take off your helmet to find him and you’re out? Fuck her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Imagine if I had to say goodbye to my mum and never saw her face. You’re not a Mandalorian but you get to keep the dark sword? Ridiculous. The Jedi wouldn’t let you see him, but my people pass down knowledge of the Force from mother to daughter.” She takes a long drink from her cup. “They’re just words some arshole decided mattered but they don’t. Actions matter. You bled for him. You took care of him. Of course, you wanted him to see your face.”

Silence settles between them for a while until Din clears his throat.

“Darksaber not dark sword.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna remember that.”

“No?”

“Just to annoy that Armorer lady. Want me to beat her up?”

“No.” Din takes a deep breath in. “Why did you kiss me?”

“I did not kiss you, Bucket Head. Clean your visor.”

“Bucket Head?”

“I said what I said.”

“On Batuu. You kissed me.” He points to his forehead.

“Don’t read into it. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, Mando.”

“Din.”

“What?”

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

“Still Zalia Quinst.”

“You…you said actions matter.”

“They do. That doesn’t–”

Din removes his helmet letting it hang from his hand. Her gold eyes widen as they take in his face.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“You’re hot.”

Din backs her against the door.

“You made your life forfeit for me and the kid.”

“Told you I’d be fine.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

“I wanted to.”

“And now?”

“I do. Can I?”

“Yes.”

Their lips meet softly in a tender first kiss. She pulls back.

“How was that?”

“A little…reserved for you.”

“It was your first bloody kiss, yeah? I wasn’t gonna tongue you.”

“Shame. You have a talented tongue.”

“Bloody idiot.” She grips the front of his cape and drags him over. Her tongue traces his full lower lip and he gasps. She licks inside his mouth and he moans. It’s a lovely sound without the modulator.

With her other hand, she opens the door and pulls him through it until they get to her bedroom. They break apart to remove their armor.

“Dank farrik, these legs.” Din runs his hands down her wide hips down to her calves.

“Never said anything before.” Zalia brushes his soft brown curls as she kisses him. He surprises her this time by nipping her lower lip and sliding his tongue inside—quick study.

“This is the nicest you’ve ever been to me.” Din teases.

“Of course, now that I know you’re not an uggo.” Her gold eyes sparkle. “Lay down, handsome.”

Zalia tortures him by leaving tiny bites and licks all over his body to rev him up. He’s had enough and surges forward flipping them. Her head tips back when he kisses her neck and bites at her breasts. He settles between her thighs grazing the sensitive flesh before diving in. She moans loudly as he learns to use his tongue instead of his fingers. Then the smart bastard decides to combine them when she curls her hand into his hair. He groans into her skin and she loses herself.

“Mando…” She whines as she reaches her second peak. He doesn’t answer. “Din.”

His soft brown eyes look up at her and she smiles.

“C’mere.”

Din moves over her and kisses her neck. She can feel how hard he is against her stomach.

“I don’t have anything.” He whispers.

“It’s okay. I have an implant.” Her nails run down his neck and she feels him tremble.

“For taking in the local talent?” Din kisses her shoulder. He loves how her skin feels on his lips.

“Nah. I have high standards.” Zalia smirks. Din looks up and she uses her strong legs to roll him over.

“I do too.” Din sits up and pulls her with him. It’s incredibly close. He can see every amber fleck in those gold eyes.

She sits on his thighs and lines him up. He shudders when she takes him in her body.

“You okay?” She strokes his face.

“Perfect.” Din sighs and kisses her.

His hands find her waist as she rolls her hips. There is no space between them. Just two beings moving together in the soft light of her room. She cries out at how his body drags over her bundle of nerves. He’s so deep.

They’re building towards their crest and she falters. It’s too much. She can’t possibly. Her hands clutch onto his broad tan shoulders. Something has changed and he knows it too.

“Din…” Her heart pounds in her ears.

“Zalia, I’ve got you.” Din strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ve got you.”

That’s all she needs. They fall together. His fingers dig into her hips as he buries his face between her breasts. She cradles his head and strokes his curls. The only sound in the room is their staggered breathing.

Zalia untangles herself from him and disappears to the refresher. When she returns, Din has a sated smile on his face. He reaches out a hand and she takes it, letting him pull her into bed.

He rests his head on her chest as she drapes the blanket over them. He falls asleep to the soothing feeling of her fingers running up and down his scalp. It’s a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Din wakes with a start. His helmet is off and he’s naked. He looks over and sees Zalia fast asleep next to him and he relaxes. Her dark hair has streaks of purple in it now. He brushes the back of his knuckles against the ends. She stirs so he leaves a kiss on the base of her spine.

“That tickles.”

Din does it again before taking a handful of her hair aside to kiss her shoulder blades. She rolls over and beckons him with her finger. Her hands caress his face.

“How do you maintain this?” Her thumb smooths over his facial hair.

“I’m allowed to see my face.” Din chuckles and Zalia’s eyebrows jump.

“He can laugh!”

Din kisses her thumb when she traces his full lips.

“You’re gorgeous.” She smiles and settles on top of him.

“Me? Do you know how fucking frustrating it is to hate you when you look like this?” He squeezes her wide hips.

“Do you still hate me?” Those gold eyes burn into him.

“No, cyar’ika.” Din doesn’t break her gaze.

“You know, I like to keep moving but I wouldn’t hate it if it was the same direction as you.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“But this doesn’t mean I like you.”

Din laughs loudly. Zalia leans down for a kiss and he flips them. He nuzzles her neck and she giggles.

Din grits his teeth behind his helmet. The bounty in front of him has the kid in its claws. Suddenly, something drops on its shoulders causing him to let go of Grogu. Din swoops him up. He turns back just in time to see Zalia shooting the bounty through the neck. He slumps forward and she hops down. Grogu waddles over to her.

“Hi, buddy. Remember me?” She smiles. There’s blue dye highlighted in her dark tresses.

Grogu shows her the blue jewel and stands on her boot. She picks him up.

“It’s a wonder he hasn’t eaten it yet.” Din walks over to her.

“Hey.”

They get the kid some food and wander to their temporary lodgings. Once inside, Din removes his helmet and tugs her into him.

“You’re a day early. Missed me?”

“Din, I–”

“I know. This doesn’t mean you like me.”

“No.” Zalia laughs and cups his face as he tries to hide his frown. “Cause I love you.”

“You’re never easy on me.” Din kisses her softly.

“Aw, you love me.” She chuckles.

“Ner mirdala cyar’ika.” His thumb brushes her chin.

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x oc #oc: zalia quinst #fic: gold eyes

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sysig · 3 years

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Uh oh I’m crafting again

#Pokemon #Pokemon Homestyle #Technically not a WIP since this is the completed prototype #And I am very happy with it!!#I mean just look at it it's perfect #It's exactly what I wanted and I was able to make it even with janky measurements and subpar cutting-out skills #Also it looks kinda cool like this?? It's just scrap paper from the failed Battle Cards that didn't align properly >|0 #But it honestly looks pretty neat with the card and moves on the outside #Also in true Pathologic fashion it is partially made from its own blueprints #Yeah I didn't plan that very well lol #You can see in the first couple pictures that there were tabs out the sides of the top #I removed those since it would make opening it fully impossible and hard to reach into to grab your team #And I would like to make these as ergonomic as possible lol #There was a bit more of an allowance on the sides and top than I initially planned but honestly I think it's okay like that #Making it a little too big is far preferable to making it too small - more likely to get crushed by not noticing it that way #So now I get to make the final version! :D #I want to make it fully Pokeball red but that would require a lot of ink :')#I guess a Premier Ball scheme wouldn't be that bad #And I can at least spring for a full and proper one as an accent!

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

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A Very Hexley Birthday

A/N: Seeing all those beautiful edits on my dash for the birthday of my favourite twins in the Potterverse (I said what I said), I knew I couldn't possibly do any better. So instead, let's have a look what Ethel and Jim are up to on their birthday, shall we?

This is for you, Bestie! @the-al-chemist

Happy Birthday, Jim and Ethel! 💛❤️

Naturally, Ethel and Jim Hexley and Héloïse Perrault belong to my favourite person in this world @the-al-chemist. The attending guests belong to @slytherindisaster (Lysander Mercury), @kc-and-oc (Siobhan Llewellyn, Bradford Pendleton, Oliver and Eliot Gerard, Ivy Anders), @hogwartsmysteryho (Vinny Raymond), @that-scouse-wizard (Cledwyn Ironwood), @cursebreakerfarrier (Galen Stagg), and @unfortunate-arrow (Anthony Rosen).

Even though the golden arrows of the September sun were showing themselves on the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Jeremiah Hexley was in a rather glum mood when he reached for the huge bowl of porridge at the Hufflepuff House table.

It was just out of his reach and his fingertips only grazed the rim; he simply would have needed to stand up to get it, but that would only draw attention to the tall, lankish boy, which was something he generally tried to avoid, but especially so today. So Jim sat straight again and reached for a slice of toast instead.

“I wish you the finest of mornings,” he heard a voice call out to him, “isn’t it a wonderful day outside? You should have seen the colours of the sunrise; no one can paint anything as beautiful as that.”

The voice belonged to Lysander Mercury, another Hufflepuff boy from his year, and undoubtedly Jim’s best friend. He had a spring in his step as he walked up to Jim, and his thumbs were hooked under the straps of his suspenders; he hadn’t bothered putting the black jumper of their school uniform over them yet.

He sat down opposite Jim with a graceful motion, grabbing the porridge bowl in the same instance and pushing it over to Jim. Giving Lysander a grateful look, Jim helped himself to a healthy portion and drizzled a teaspoon full of dark golden honey on top, just the way he liked it. But even the prospect of his favourite breakfast wasn’t enough to lighten Jim’s mood, and it wasn’t lost on Lysander.

“Why such a long face, old fellow?” he grinned, and his stress on the word ‘old’ wasn’t lost on Jim, quite the contrary. “It’s not a day to be brooding!”

Jim opened his mouth to explain himself, but was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps approaching from behind him; a moment later two pairs of arms were flung around his neck and Jim almost knocked over his bowl of porridge in his attempt to not be thrown off the bench.

“Happy Birthday, Jim!” two girls shouted into his ears in perfect unison, of course they did. The sound of their excitement cut through Jim’s eardrums and he winced as he pushed them away.

“Uhm, thank you,” he muttered, “Happy Birthday to you as well,” he said in the direction of the smaller of the two.

Ethel Hexley, his twin sister and complete opposite and in every aspect imaginable, grinned and clapped Jim on his back so hard he almost lurched forward. “Thanks, kiddo. One more year of making sure my little brother has at least some fun in his life.”

“Like a proper big sister should,” her best friend Selene Fraser added with a knowing nod. Not even the Sorting Hat had been able to separate these two, and sometimes Jim wondered who out of them three actually were the twin siblings.

“But, er, you know Effy’s only older by a few minutes... so she isn’t really my big sister, if you want to put it that way…”

Jim trailed off when he saw something whisk past him into the direction of the porridge bowl. Before he had the chance to dive straight into it though, Lysander had already gotten hold of the brown and white ferret Ethel and Selene shared custody of; Alan’s nose twitched as Lysander held him out to Ethel.

“Take your ferret back, Hexley,” he said, “I��d say you two are looking like the actual twins here, but seeing as it’s unfortunately your birthday as well, I’ll let it pass. Consider this my present.”

“Seeing as Alan definitely is the best looking guy I’ve spoken to today, I’ll take that as a compliment, Mercury,” Ethel immediately shot back, with that unmistakable glint in her eyes that Jim knew promised nothing but bother, very wordy bother.

Lysander had already leaned slightly forward as well, his eyes fixed on Jim’s twin sister, ready for their morning round of bickering and Jim sighed.

“Could you two, uhm… maybe, just maybe… perhaps stop it? Just for today?”

“Leave him, Effy, he’s not worth it. Not a match for you anyway,” Selene muttered to her best friend; Jim gave her a grateful look.

“True, Sels, I won’t have my birthday spoiled by a wanna-be artist in suspenders,” Ethel said indignantly, and Lysander opened his mouth in protest. Selene elbowed Ethel into the side, before setting Alan onto her shoulder and linking arms with her, quickly pulling her away before things would escalate. Again.

Selene turned around after a few steps and called over her shoulder. “Come to the Quidditch pitch after classes, Jim, will you? We have a little surprise for you!”

Throughout the whole day, Jim wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable: all the attention he got because it was his birthday, or the prospect of a surprise set up for him by Ethel and Selene. The sheer idea of everything these two could have been planning was enough to upset Jim’s stomach and he couldn’t even enjoy his favourite roast beef for lunch.

When their last class of the day was over, Jim reluctantly made his may over to the Quidditch pitch, as he had been told to. He had wanted to ask Lysander to come, but then again, bringing Ethel and Lysander into the same space was too much for him today; or any day, to be precise.

As soon as he stepped through the opening in the wooden perimeter of the pitch, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ethel and Selene had laid out several red and white chequered picnic blankets in the middle of the immaculate green lawn, just like the ones their parents had at home. He could see baskets full of sandwiches, little cakes, fruit and cheese on every single one of them, alongside countless jugs of pumpkin juice.

Naturally, Ethel and Selene were standing in the midst of the people already gathered there, laughing and joking and having a wonderful time, and Jim’s heart sank a little. He saw many familiar faces; he saw Siobhan Llewellyn and her best friend Galen Stagg, who were feeding slices of roast beef to a very content looking Alan; he saw Oliver Gerard who was laughing with Ethel about a lively story she was telling; he had brought his brother, Eliot, a Ravenclaw boy Jim didn’t really know, and who was looking very comfortable talking to Selene, who was standing next to Ivy Anders and Vinny Raymond were sharing some cake; he could even spy the eternally grumpy Cledwyn Ironwood, who never got tired of proclaiming he wasn’t Ethel’s friend but, just like Jim, had obviously stood no chance in declining the invitation.

All of these people were there, but all of them were Ethel’s friends, not his. Jim sighed; he knew Ethel and Selene had meant well, but they just didn’t understand him, they never really did.

“I ‘ope we aren’t late, non?”

Upon hearing the familiar French accent, Jim’s heart skipped a beat before beating doubly as fast as before. He turned around and his eyes went wide when he saw the group of people who had quietly come up behind him.

“Bon anniversaire, Jim!” Héloïse swept in and quickly kissed him on both cheeks in close succession, before pushing an immaculately wrapped gift into his hands, the edges of the paper sharp and the bow perfectly tied. Jim tried to thank her but his words came out as a horrible stutter and he felt the heat rise to his face; it felt particularly warm where Héloïse had kissed him.

Next up came his dear friend Bradford, who shared his enthusiasm for painting; he extended his hand to Jim to wish him a happy birthday as well, and the gift he was handing over to him felt suspiciously like the elaborate sketchbook Jim had seen on his last trip to Hogsmeade.

His roommate Anthony was there, too, as always accompanied by his wolfhound Conall. Jim bent down to pet the animal and scratch his ears. He had to smile when he saw how enthusiastic Conall was at the prospect of all the attention; at least one of them was, then.

Even Lysander had been invited, or had in any case decided to show up; you never knew with Ethel and him. But whether he had actually been asked to be here or not, Jim was glad to see him.

By Brady’s side, more quiet than the rest, stood Brady’s friend - or at least that’s what they claimed to be - Carolyn Nyberg. Jim was surprised to see her here; he and Carolyn didn’t really have anything in common but Brady, but then again, they were seldomly seen without each other these days. She inclined her head and quietly congratulated him.

The question as to why Carolyn had come, though, was quickly answered when Ethel spotted the new arrivals and bounded over to them. “It’s so good you came! I’m so happy all of you could make it to our birthday picnic. Most of you, that is,” she said with a pointed look in Lysander’s direction, but before he could shoot back, her attention had already shifted to Carolyn.

“Did you manage to make what we talked about?”

Jim could see Carolyn was trying hard not to roll her eyes. “Please, who do you take me for? That was a child’s play.”

Brady gave her a pointed look. “Be nice, Caro, it’s their birthday.”

She sighed, but her face softened and she reached into the hidden pocket in her dress, producing a small, stoppered vial with purple liquid inside. She weighed it in her hands, looking at the mugs of pumpkin juice on the picnic blankets. “I’d say six drops per mug should be sufficient.” She moved the vial out of Ethel’s reach when she extended her hand towards it. “Not one drop more, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

Jim’s apprehension about Ethel putting a potion into their drinks soon vanished when he saw what it was that Carolyn had brewed on his sister’s request. After drinking from the modified juice, everyone of their guests had a distinct spring to their step that made them jump a little every time they moved. He remembered how much fun Ethel and Selene had had when they had turned the floor of the courtyard elastic with the Spongify charm; it had gotten them three weeks worth of detention and a passion for jumping as high as they possibly could.

Not being particularly keen on moving around like a bouncing ball, Jim had only taken the tiniest sip of pumpkin juice when Ethel had offered it to him; it was enough to give his step a tolerable spring, but not enough to make him bounce like the others, and that was just the way Jim preferred it to be.

Jim usually didn’t feel comfortable among so many people, but he had to give Ethel that, even he was enjoying himself. He watched Héloïse and Selene sharing excited whispers about the latest story of the Muggle detective they were so keen about, while Brady was bickering with Siobhan over one thing or the other, and Lysander was busy trying to place Alan on top of Carolyn’s head, who told him very sternly to stop it if he didn’t want a swig of Veritaserum served with his next meal.

Happy that his and Ethel’s friends seemed to be having a good time, Jim sat down on one of the blankets, partly because he wanted to eat something, and partly because he needed a step back from the hustle and bustle.

It wasn’t long, however, before Ethel spotted him. She walked over to him, jumping into the air with each step, and slumped down onto the blanket beside him.

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” she wanted to know. For a very brief moment, concern flickered over her freckled face. “Because I did my very best to make this fun for both of us. Look, I even invited that horrible friend of yours,” she said and pulled a face in Lysander’s direction; he stuck his tongue out at her in response before turning away.

“No, uhm, I just needed a short break,” Jim answered and set down his plate. “You, er… you did a great job, Effy, you know? I’m having fun, I think… It’s a lovely birthday party, really… so thank you. I, uhm, I didn’t expect this, to be honest.”

“But why?” Ethel asked; she looked truly baffled at his words.

“We’re just so… uhm, how do I say it… we’re just so different, you and I. I’m quiet and, er, shy, I guess and you’re so… loud and popular and we’re just not much alike.”

Ethel dipped her head back and laughed loudly. “I’m not popular, Jim,” she sniggered, “I just don’t leave people alone. Tell them you’re friends often enough and they end up believing it,” she grinned and waved to Cledwyn, who rolled his eyes and looked away. “There’s nothing more to it than that. I bet you could do it, too.”

But Jim shook his head. “I’m not really so sure of that... I think.”

Ethel nudged him into the side with her shoulder. “Give yourself more credit. You’re my twin brother after all, that has to account for something. If this is any help, we may be polar opposites, but you’re still my favourite person in this world.”

“Uhm, what about Selene?”

Ethel pursed her lips. “Okay, maybe it’s a tie.”

Jim had to smile at that. Remembering something, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of parchment, tied to a scroll with a crimson piece of ribbon.

“Happy Birthday, Effy,” he said, for once without a stutter.

Ethel’s eyes went wide when she saw the picture Jim had drawn for her. It showed the two of them, laughing with each other. Ethel, despite being smaller than Jim, had his head in a headlock and was ruffling his hair while he was trying to escape, but he was laughing just as much as she was. The drawn versions of themselves were moving over the parchment in fluent motions. Jim had asked for Héloïse’s help with enchanting it; with his French still being awful, it had been one of the most awkward and complicated conversations in his entire life.

“It’s beautiful, Jim, thank you,” she said and flung her arms around his neck. When she let go, she looked a little sheepish. “Now I feel stupid for what I got you, although I’m pretty sure you can need it.”

With a wink, she produced her own gift. Jim could see she had wrapped it in her typical Ethel-style, with way too much wrapping paper and loads of colourful ribbons; one of them looking suspiciously like the hair tie their grandmother had gotten Ethel for Christmas. He blushed deeply when he read the cover of the small red book the parcel contained:

101 Foolproof Ways to a French Witch’s Heart - A Guide for Modern Gentlemen

“Effy… that… um… you… why…” Jim stuttered, his face a deeper shade of red than the Gryffindor banners hanging from the wooden tower behind Ethel.

His twin sister only sniggered. “Read it and thank me later.”

She got to her feet and pulled Jim along, motioning to the entrance of the pitch, where Selene was in the process of levitating a giant birthday cake onto the field. It had enchanted lion and badger figurines on top; the lion was throwing tiny pieces of cake after the badger, who caught it with its mouth.

“Come on now, dear brother,” she said as she linked arms with him and half marched, half dragged him across the lawn towards their friends. “We have a cake to cut.”

#ethel hexley #jim hexley #selene fraser #lysander mercury #heloise perrault #cledwyn ironwood #oliver gerard #eliot gerard #anthony rosen #bradford pendleton iv #carolyn nyberg #hphl #hogwarts legacy #oc birthday #writer besties

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copias-thrall · 3 years

Text

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

#mary goore #longfic #gender neutral insert #aurelio voltaire

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ardentmuse · 5 years

Text

Four Times Fred Weasley Proposed to You... And the One Time He Meant It (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Harry Potter - Fred Weasley x fem!Reader

Summary: The title says it all. Just read it ;)

Wordcount: 4.7k (I’m trash)

Warnings: fluff, sex, cursing - basically my holy trinity, and AU where Fred lives (which is the only universe I live in)

Masterlist

A/N: Toddle started daycare yesterday and I learned that I churn out about 1k worlds per hour if I don’t have a kid crawling on me. Today is also my wedding anniversary for fluff felt right. A request from anon!

The candles floating high under the vaulted ceiling are the only things that don’t shake with the uproar of cheers, especially from the seventh years, that accompany Dumbledore’s announcement of return of the Triwizard Tournament. Fred bumps elbows with his twin, whom he simply knows is already conspiring to rig this thing in their favor. Fame, glory, prize money – everything they need to set themselves up for success is being presented on a golden platter – or rather in a wooden goblet. But they don’t have the opportunity to conspire before the room falls hush at the gentle lowering of Dumbledore’s willowy arms.

“Please join me in welcoming the students of Beauxbaton Academy of Magic and their headmistress Madame Maxine,” Dumbledore’s voice bellows, but to Fred it is but a whisper. The doors to the Great Hall have already opened and towards the front of the group of impressively dressed students, their jackets pristinely fitted and their skirts flared in a way that hints so nicely at the shapely things that certainly reside beneath them. Fred’s baser brain, the part that, as a sixteen year old, gives power and life to many of his higher-level functions, completely takes over. His eyes roam the group, landing on a stunning creature, third from the left whose straightened back, bright smile, and flushed face from the chill of the castle night are enough to make his mouth grow dry and his palms sweat with anticipation.

But then you begin your dance – if it could even be called a dance. You skip forward like an elegant ballerina, your neck tall and your chest out the way a swan might look upon the lesser creatures within its pond, elegant but superior. And Fred minds not one bit being the scum that lines your lakeside domain. With light steps you descend upon the Great Hall, down the path on which he sits. And as you grow closer, you open your hands, releasing blue mist and butterflies upon the crowd, like a siren singing a song to lure in the ships at sea.

A few more pranced steps and you are standing right beside him. He watches with baited breath as your skirts flow and twist. You lean forward with special flourish, flicking your wrists and humming in unison with your cohort. Your fingers lightly brush against Fred’s cheek as he ebbs closer in rapture.

“Marry me,” he whispers, which draws your eyes away from the front of the hall to meet the man sitting right beside you. A simple turn of his head has his lips gently brushing against your fingertips and the piercing of his cinnamon eyes catches your breath in your chest. You miss your next step, so beguiled by this handsome man before you, broad and freckled and just the teeniest bit unobtainable in the way that confidence seems to radiate off him.

You bite your lips as you quickly make your leave, returning to the perfectly choreographed dance that seems to have enchanted more than just the eldest Weasley twin.

George’s elbow lands squarely in the soft space below Fred’s ribs.

“Oi, Freddie, what the hell was that?” George asks as the room rises in applause for their new guests.

George searches Fred’s face for answers. Across from him, both Angelina and Hermione seem to be brooding in equal measure. Ron is busy picking his jaw off the floor. But for Fred, all he could do is search the room for the figure whose shape is now buried deep in his mind and whose soft fingertips he can still feel upon his lips.

He finds you taking your seat at the Ravenclaw table beside Roger Davies, who is all too eager to move his cloak and offer you water. Something primal rises in Fred, hot bile in his gut at the sight of Davies’ hand brushing against your wrist as you turn to speak with him. But as if feeling Fred’s presence, you flick up your gaze to lock with his and almost immediate you look away. But Fred is satisfied if the way you are biting your lip and hiding so delicately behind your hat is any indication that you might be feeling the exact same electric charge between you that he is.

“I don’t know, George. I really don’t know.”

II.

The spring sun warms the courtyard as the visiting students say their goodbyes to Hogwarts and the witches and wizards that call it home. Fred and George sit on the stone wall of the archway, overlooking the chaos of tearful hugs and exchanged promises to write, respectful handshakes and gossipy giggles.

“So much emotion for something so simple as a goodbye,” George says as he pulls at the leaves of the bush just starting to bud beside him, “Does everyone forget we have magic? Owls, portkeys, floo networks, and the works? It’s not goodbye forever, you know?”

Fred’s eyes scan the courtyard until he finds the top of your head standing in a circle of Beauxbaton students who are wishing farewell to their Hufflepuff friends, offering elongated hugs and whispered words of comfort to those mourning the loss of Diggory.

You pull away from a puffy-eyed girl, handing her a notecard, which Fred assumes has your address on it, and turn your eyes up on catch him staring at you. You blush – at least he thinks you do at this distance – and turn your attention back to the young Gryffindor who has just tapped you on the shoulder. Fred closes his eyes.

“Well, George, sometimes even a goodbye for now can be more than you’re willing to accept.”

George looks to see Fred’s eyes still closed, his head lulled to the side in a look that can only be described as painful longing.

“Speaking in general or personal there, dear brother? A certain French girl I caught you snogging have anything to do with—“

“George,” you say, interrupting their hushed conversation. George smiles almost too wickedly at your appearance. “And Fred,” you say, turning your eyes to the boy who has consumed so many of your thoughts these past few months.

At hearing your voice, Fred’s head pops up from its angst-filled recline against the stone castle wall. The wide saucers take you in like a man dying of thirst.

You clear your throat and move your head to take in both twins. “I just want to say that I will miss you and your laughter. You have both made my time here at Hogwarts a pleasant one.” Your smile seems forced, but Fred cannot tell why.

“And it has been a pleasure getting to know you as well, my dearest mademoiselle,” George says in his best accent, swallowing the first “e” the way you taught him to do so precisely. “Quite the pleasure for one of us, I might say.”

Fred turns near crimson at his brother’s coaxing and your own eyes find rest starring down at your lap.

“Well, yes,” you stammer, knowing full well this was George’s intention but not being skilled enough to overcome its impact, “For me, too.”

You feel a hand come under your chin, and your eyes come up to meet the very bright, but very pleased face of Fred Weasley.

“You are a pleasure,” he says for just your ears, his thumb running across your chin as your face grows hot at his attentions.

“You know, I’m not sure I want to go home,” you admit, looking up at the cute boy before you from under your lashes. His Adam’s Apple bobs at your minor seduction. “I have quite come to like your country.”

“I could marry you,” he says as his hand finds the curve of your neck, “Then they couldn’t take you away. I hear Ministry visas are quite a valuable commodity these days.”

You laugh, deep and hearty, the kind of laugh you have come to know so often as your friendship has blossomed with the twins.

You hand a card to Fred, not a tiny index card like the kind he watch you hand your other friends, but a proper greeting card, with a beautiful calligraphed, “My Fred,” on the envelope.

“Maybe you can write me sometime, if you want? I’d love to know how the business comes along.”

Fred’s fingers trace the curves and bends of the ‘my’ so thoughtfully placed before his name.

When Fred says nothing, his eyes so drawn to the paper, George pipes up with an, “Of course, love. We’ll be sure to.”

“Okay,” you whisper, but Fred’s attention is still elsewhere. With a swallow, you say, “Bye, then,” and with a tiny wave, returned by George alone, you turn on your heels and head for your carriage.

George stares down at his brother, whose fingers have already gone to rip at the letter, to see its contents and pray that its words align with the flutter he feels in his chest right now.

Opening the envelope releases a frill of blue dust and butterflies, scented like your shampoo, which he is ashamed to say he knows now. An index card with an address, just like the ones you gave the others sits inside, along with a note, long and eloquent about how you’ve enjoyed the time you’ve shared together, the laughter and the kisses, too, but it is the last two lines that gets him right in his throat, his heart beating faster than he can ever remember it doing before.

“You are the sweetest man I’ve ever known, Fred Weasley, and I pray one day when I know love, it will be with someone who makes me smile, makes me think, and makes me feel as beautiful as you have in these few short months. Who knows, maybe that someone will even be you.”

Finally, Fred hears George screaming his name, the tone of which makes it clear to him this was not the first yell.

“What!” Fred finally screams back, his hands gripping tightly on the parchment he holds.

“You didn’t even say bye to her, mate.”

Fred whips around to see a line of soft blue suits taking the stairs into their Abraxan-drawn carriages, the boys of the school offering softly cupped hands to the girls as they ascend. Fred jumps the stone wall into the courtyard, not caring for the height of the fall and sprints through the crowds, pushing a few first year students in the process until his hand grabs yours just as you take your first steps away from Hogwarts.

You spin around at the tug. When Fred sees your face, slightly obscured by your hat, his chest hurts at the sight of the tear lines that clearly flow down your cheeks.

He pulls you to him quickly, catching you in his arms as you partially tumble down the stairs towards him. He kisses you before you can even recover, to the hoots and hollers of some of the younger students, which earns them the scolding of a surprisingly softhearted McGonagall.

Fred’s lips are all pressure, as though movement might take you further away from him. He is locked in the moment, securing you to him and into his memory for as long as he may have you.

When he finally pulls away, he runs his hands along the sides of your face and your forehead, like memorizing every shape and detail.

“Goodbye, my Fred,” you say to him, you eyes still saddened, still hurt but the parting, but all the more healed for the confirmation that this is hurting Fred too.

“Goodbye for now, my princess.”

And so you walk away, your hands lingering together as Fred does his best to help you up the stairs and into your carriage, his precious swan princess preparing for her journey home.

A few minutes later, Fred returns to his brother, who still sits on the stone but is now holding the envelope and letter that Fred discarded in his pursuit of you. George offers a slow clap of appreciation at Fred’s grand gesture.

“Georgie, how much money do you think we have for the summer? Enough to restock and still have extra?”

“Why are you asking?” George hands the precious parchment over to Fred for safe keeping.

Fred just stares down into his hands, at your words and your script and the remains of your magic and your scent.

“I think I have to go to France.”

III.

“You keep cooking like this and I’ll have to make a kept woman out of you, you know,” Fred teases as he grabs yet another of the Christmas cookies you have just pulled from the cooling racks. You swat his hand away but not quickly enough to stop him from adding another handful to the collection already lining his plate and pockets. “Trying to impress my mother with baked goods is a very good idea but completely unnecessary. She’s going to love you. She already loves you for how happy you make me.”

“Are you sure?” you ask as you continue to turn over the cookies, packing the ones with the best looking bottoms into festive tin to take with you to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Fred’s hand grabs as your wrist as you nervously rearrange the cookies ones more, “I’m absolutely certain.”

A few moments pass as Fred hums happily, crunching down one cookie after another before you speak up once more. “A kept woman, ye? I hope I might be more to you someday than just someone to fulfill your desires.”

Fred’s mouth curls into a Cheshire grin as drops his plate once more against the countertop. “And what’s so wrong with fulfilling my desires? Hmmm?”

You can’t help but smile too as you toss your oven mitts aside.

“Nothing,” you hum absentmindedly, leaning into Fred’s game. “Other than that I have desires of my own.”

Fred creeps around the counter, taking in your form as the aprons strings hug tightly at your waist. In one deft motion, Fred has you pinned so fiercely against the counter you worry he might actually take a bit of you instead of the desserts you have spent all morning making.

“Well,” he whispers into the soft of your ears, sending shivers down your spin, “Make me a kept man and we can live a life filled with unending pleasures.” And with the purr of the last word, he dives down to taste the salted hollow of your neck.

“Two kept people is just a marriage,” you manage to get out before the sweet suction upon you pulse makes you lose your breath and, with it, your composure.

“Then married we shall be.” His lips tickle against your collarbone before making the ascent back up your neck towards your chin. “Married, happy, fat off cookies,” he says between kisses. “And drunk off desire,” he whispers, leaving a final, long, bruising kiss upon your lips.

You are pulled from your daze by the call of George’s voice in the shop below the apartment, telling you his mother would be quite disappointed if you found yourself running late for Christmas dinner because you were too busy making her grandbabies.

As he pulls away, Fred runs a fingertip, slow, across your bottom lip, feeling the swell his kisses put there.

“I’m keeping you,” he says to your lips before meeting your eyes. For a moment, his look is deep with longing, but quickly he smiles and the mask of play returns to his bright features as he snatches the packaged cookies off the counter and pulls you out of the room to meet up with his twin.

IV.

“That’s it, love,” Fred breathes into your hair as you tighten the grip of your thighs around his hips. The sweat from his brow rolls down your neck sending shivers across your already prickled skin. Fred’s arms grip at your hips, desperate and needy. You can’t help but admire the taut muscles of his shoulders, round and firm in exertion. Even now, long after all the quidditch training and regular exercise, the lines of him are still subtle perfection.

A bite at your ear pulls your eyes away. And the rocking of his firm length deep inside you pulls your mind away, too.

On instinct, you roll your hips to meet his needy thrusts, finding a rhythm so right that you each let out a satisfied groan. You grip tight into the shoulders you love so much, digging your chin into his neck as you work yourself against him, pulling your pleasure from him as much as he is from you.

“Merlin,” Fred breathes as he seizes your chin so he may look in your eyes. He pins your hips once more with his rough hand, pounding into you long and slow. “You’re perfect,” he says before kissing you deeply, the action pressing your entire personage further into the mattress, all parts of him consuming you wholly.

As his hand moves from your hipbone to brush against your sex, you feel the tightening that Fred so easily can pull from you, the sweet anticipation of a cascade of relief that marks your lovemaking as something necessary. His fingers deftly work you in time with his hips and soon you are falling off that cliff with only his strong arms to catch you.

Fred groans at the feel of your orgasm, finding his own in the sweet music your body plays for him. And as he releases himself in your depths, your body quakes once more with the pleasurable feel of it.

Exhausted and spent, Fred lays himself upon you, chest to chest, the weight of him a welcome reminder of the real world to which your brain has just returned.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife,” Fred says into the darkness of your bedroom.

You laugh – or at least as much as you can with his weight bearing down upon your chest. You take in his nose now resting against your shoulder, the soft freckles decorating the bridge, the pink of the creases now coated in a pleasant sheen of sweat. He pops up his eyes to meet yours in unspoken question.

“The feeling’s mutual,” you smile. You run your hands through his hair, hoping to ease the worry you feel from him.

Fred rolls off of you to lie on his side, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“You also can’t wait to make me your wife?”

You turn to see Fred lounging casually upon the mattress, his nudity fully on display as he shows off his body for you with a flourish.

“Can you not resist these womanly curves?” He almost can’t keep the smile off his face.

You lunge towards him, but he’s quicker. He hops off the bed and runs down the hallway before you can even extract yourself from the covers. The last thing you see is that cute, firm butt of his round the corner towards the kitchen.

“Shall your wife bring you tea?” He calls in a mocking high-pitched voice from the depths of your home. You toss a pillow at the door, and as it plops, Fred laughs.

And just as you feel the glow of your orgasm begin to subside, Fred walks through the door with two steaming cups. He sets them down on the bedside table before kneeling before you. Only then do you notice the silliness is gone from his face, replaced with the hint of nerves and raw emotion you saw only a hint of in your afterglow.

“I’m not joking, you know,” he says as he grabs at your knuckles, “I’d like to marry you someday, make this beautiful, precious thing we have permanent, assuming you want that too.”

And with a look into those beautiful brown orbs of his, you nod.

You cling tightly to Fred’s back as his broom zooms between the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees. The castle in which you spent your formative years seems but a speck off in the distance as you direct Fred along a saddle of the range and towards the cliff face just beyond.

“There,” you point towards the gap in the trees on the north face. The rush of the wind as Fred speeds downward makes it hard to hear the beautiful crash of water you associate so much with this place. But as the trees thin, you see it – the gorgeous waterfall and crisp blue-green pools that catch its spray.

Fred slows down his flying, weaving expertly through the forest until you come to rest upon the boulders that face the torrent of water.

“This is it. This is where us Beauxbaton girls came for peaceful retreats. Made quite a few friends among the wood nymphs, too.”

Fred turns to you, confused. “You find this relaxing?” He screams over the loud crash of water.

 “Trust me?” You ask as you take his hand and lead him down the winding paths deeper into the forest. He grips your fingers tightly as his boots dig into the mud you seem to navigate with an elegance that reminds him so much of how you floated into the Great Hall of Hogwarts all those years ago.

When you finally let go of his hand, you are in a clearing covered in a canopy of trees. Steam fills the space as three pools, one flowing into the next, radiate heat outward. The water is an inviting shade of aquamarine and the stones underneath seem to glisten silver, the cleavage of them lined with some rare elements that Fred can only assume are as precious as the creature standing beside him. Your face glows with memory, like a child on Christmas filled with the possibilities of unopened boxes and mysterious smells from the oven.

“I told you it’s beautiful,” you say, turning to the man you love, the man you are so excited to show the parts of your life he had been absent from so that he can become one with all of you. What you see when you find him again makes it clear he wants the same thing.

Fred is bent on one knee, his soft woolen jacket open revealing a pocket you hadn’t seen, and in his hands sits a beautiful ring box holding a delicate band and a single, shining diamond, even brighter for the way the blues of your hot springs cast off of it.

“You did,” he says, his voice deeper than you are used to, like a lump somehow is already forming in his throat. But that isn’t too hard to believe, as tears are prickling at your eyes, ready to roll over before he has even spoken. The sight of this man, his handsome chiseled face and his soft, kind eyes looking so weak, so wrought with emotion, and all for you, is enough to send you into hysterics. He is perfect – your silly, brave, industrious, kind, honest, perfect Fred. And here he is, telling you without words that you are perfect, too.

“Do you remember my first words to you?” He asks with a lift of the left corner of his lips.

“Marry me,” you whisper with a hiccup, now full-blown crying at the memory of how his lips somehow felt so right against your fingers, even though you didn’t even know his name.

“Marry me,” he breathes more to himself than you, chuckling at his own teenage silliness. He shakes his head and looks at the ground. But upon catching the glow of the ring, his eyes return to your face. “I’d like an answer now,” he says. His hand somehow instinctively finds your fingertips, the source of all the kinetic energy between you, the spark that opened the doors to a lifetime of happiness.

You try your best to find your breath between your tears. “Yes,” you say, though you are unsure if you actually made any sound given the heaving of your chest. “Yes.”

Fred hops into the air, his lips finding yours and his arms engulfing your body in his embrace. He showers you with kisses, your tears mingling together, no different from the moisture of the steam coating your skin.

“I love you so much,” you manage to say as you smile against his mouth.

“I love you—fuck,” Fred pulls himself from you and drops to the ground. The ring box is discarded several feet from you, dropped quickly in Fred’s desire to shower you in affection. The ring still sits inside, pretty and intact but dusted with dirt. Fred frantically wipes the ring against his coat before grabbing at your hand.

“May I?” He asks. You nod enthusiastically, enjoying the feel of the cold metal running over your knuckles, chilling your heated skin.

As Fred stares in awe at the new jewel that gilds your hand, you slowly back away from him. With a careful flick of the buttons, you drop your coat to the ground. Fred’s gaze moves to your neck where your hands now continue their slow turn and flick, opening the buttons of your blouse in the most enticing strip tease he could imagine.

“What are you doing, woman?” He whispers, though he takes no steps to approach your still retreating form, now just inches from the edge of the water.

“What do you think I was planning for us to do here?” You ask him. Your hands slide down the curves of your now-exposed sides, bunching the fabric of your hips. “It’s a hot spring.” You wiggle your hips just a little as you push the fabric over your rump and down your thighs. “What do you think we Beauxbaton girls did here? Painted our nails and doodled in our notebooks?” As you lift your ankles, leaving yourself completely bare – bare expect for the gorgeous ring your fiancé just placed upon your hand – you stride with slow, confident steps towards him, a swan returned to her pond, a siren seducing her sailor.

“Do not make me picture you and a handful of beautiful French girls bathing here naked together. My heart can’t take it.”

You now find yourself inches away from your fiancé, his eyes trying their hardest to stay trained on your face but failing miserably with each breath that lifts your chest just a little closer to his face.

“Your heart can take plenty of things,” you moan into his ear, your entire body just an inch from touching his. “It’s taken me, hasn’t it?”

And just as his hands comes to ghost the curve of your lower back, you flee him, jumping into the largest of the pools with a satisfying splash.

As you come up and turn to him with your hair slicked back out of your face, Fred is already half naked, his clothing thrown haphazardly across the clearing and his belt buckle proving much more difficult than he ever imagined it would.

“Damn it, Princess,” he says with a huff and he yanks at his jeans, “You have no idea what’s in store for you.” He flicks his eyes to you as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, revealing the beautiful expanse of strong stomach and chest that somehow never fail to take your breath away. His eyes glint with a hint of evil and a heap of lust and you are almost ashamed at how quickly your body responds to it, his gaze heating your whole self even more than the springs already have.

“I think I know,” you say as Fred lowers himself into the waters.

He paddles over to you and wraps your nude form in his arms. His lips find your hands and delicately play with them, his fingers running over the smooth metal as his lips move up to your wrist. You drop your head back against the smooth rocks and allow this man you love, this man who has enchanted you for the first connection, to love your body in turn.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech,

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp #hp imagine #weasley twins #harry potter imagines #hp imagines #reader insert #x reader

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alphasmoonlit-selfships · 3 years

Note

Hiya! I noticed your f/o take over asks and would like to send some! 🌅,🎢, 💬 With Atsushi! Hope your tiger can answer! :3

The tall, silver haired gifted blinks in curiosity at the ask, smiling with interest, “Well, this is new.” He chuckled as he gives a wave, “I’m guessing by your question, I’m meant to respond instead of Dany.” Atsushi mused as he glanced over to the petite brunette in question, who was busy fussing over her work and unaware of the question sent over.

Atsushi chuckled warmly at this and shakes his head, “Well, I’m sure she won’t mind if I take over for a bit; we are both kind of responsible for this blog.” (Includes Jason too 💖).

“Well let’s jump in shall we! Oh! And before anything, we are in our mid-20’s here! So this is going down memory lane!” 🐯✨

🌅How did you two meet?

Oh wow, this feels like so long ago, almost 6 years to be exact! And it’s actually kind of funny now that I think about it! I’m sure Dany agrees.

The way we meet was actually…kind of similar to my situation, yet it has its key differences. For one, Danielle was more on the run and in hiding, she’d use her shadow ability a lot to steal items from small stores to get her food. She knew how to stay off the radar well enough that we had no idea what we were dealing with when the agency was contacted...

Many dubbed her as a ghost due to her shadow gift, which didn’t help Kunikida’s psyche or patience 😅 but Ranpo soon gave us more details after a good laugh. Explaining that this person was a gifted and had a knack for using her ability at night.

So we took the opportunity to find her; my tiger’s hyper senses helped in tracking her, especially when she took notice of how I was able to pick her out. Taking the lead from Kunikida and Dazai and chasing her to one of the warehouses by the Port.

While my ability at the time was well in picking her out, she still had an advantage using the darkness around the warehouse to traverse through the space without making so much as a sound. Suddenly a white light of something flies by and I’m almost struck with what looked like an arrow, yet it disappeared before I realized. It’s like it came from every direction and there was no sure idea on where she was.

Hmm… even when I tried to talk to her, she refused to appear. Only when I made the effort to fight back did she make some appearance, but just slightly with how quickly she left her ability and returned to it. But I got an upper hand on her once I got an idea of her repetitive jabs. Enough for her to reveal herself to me, but not really her.

Rather she appeared as her wolf, I was almost struck by her appearance, maybe out of surprise and awe than fear. My tiger can attest to the feeling, but we were quick to realize the situation were in and wasn’t the time to really admire a large wolf gifted that wasn’t keen on being captured.

And I will say, at the time I hadn’t transformed into a full grown tiger again, not since the Guild chaos. I had better control over my ability, especially due to the President’s influence, but willing that part of my ability again? I couldn’t in that moment with worry I might lose control. I could feel he wanted to leave and break free to protect me when Danielle’s ability overwhelmed me enough to pin me to the ground.

But I could just tell, if you could believe it, that she didn’t want to hurt me, more than anything, intimidate me into submission and scare me off. Overall, Dany didn’t want to fight, she didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I could see she wasn’t just a confused and uncontrolled animal gifted like I was. She was well-aware and just trying to get by from wherever she was running from.

It was then Kunikida and Dazai had caught up, gun fire seeming to break Danielle’s wolf ability attention from me and towards them. Fear clear as day, before Dazai nullified her ability.

By then, we were surprised by her appearance; clearly not expecting her to be small in stature and features not from around Japan. Needless to say, she didn’t automatically wake up like I had when I was found out about my ability. The nullification from Dazai’s ability taking a toll on her on her psyche and connection to her ability from what she later told me. So we took her back to the Agency...

Sorry, about the detail, but that was just our first unofficial meeting, first fight, I suppose you can say 🤔😅 but our first conversation was actually a few days after. Sadly, Kunikida insisted I be kept out of interrogating her, especially after we all found out Lucy knew her from her previous affiliation with the Guild. Letting her be the one up and front of getting Dany to talk when she woke up.

Which I suppose I understand…I would have liked to ease her into speaking too…I did just fine with Kyouka-chan…until she asked for food with my money… >.> plus my Tiger may have been an influence to want to meet this new animal gifted…

Anyway, we’re finally here, meeting time! Seems like I was the first to unofficially meet her and the last one to properly introduce myself to her 😅 by then, Danielle was given a proper uniform by the agency and more composed than her disheveled figure prior.

Hmm… maybe it’s our current relationship standing that making me think so fondly of her in that moment. Or maybe it’s how I've always seen her in all honesty. I admit I was taken aback by her, compared to how she fought me nights before, her eyes appeared more brighter, a unique violet due to her ability’s influence, yet held…a lot of story in them. She was cute, I admitted to myself at the time, her voice soft and held an accent under the Japanese she spoke.

I’m pretty sure we were both surprised by each other to an extent, likely from our first ever meeting and the underlying curiosity of our abilities… Up until Dany just voiced out her thoughts that I was the one she fought against nights ago… To which I began to apologize because of how we encountered and fought each other 😅

She apologized in return too, hesitant and almost embarrassed from attacking me…of course I didn’t fault her for the action, she was just trying to protect herself. And with the years of knowing her, I understand why she did what she did…

Nonetheless! I’m grateful to have been there to unofficially meet her the first time… I don’t think Dany would be where she would be if we didn’t catch up her, well me, because Dazai-San and Kunikida-kun definitely took their time 😅👀 (don’t let them know I said that!).

🎢What was the first date like?

Oh! 😳 our first date together? 🥰

Wow, I remember being so nervous to even ask out of just…fear of rejection. Of course silly thing to think about now, all things considered. And how I asked her was kind spontaneous and blunt after… a serious mission that Dany got hurt in. Feelings coming up to the surface thinking I was going to lose her without saying how I felt.

She said yes of course, once she was completely healed with Yosano’s ability. Dazai may have had a bit of high encouragement from me on what we could have done through the day and what Dany would have liked going into it. Which honestly would have been a bit to overwhelming for her in all the suggestions Dazai gave. Course what would have I expected from him 😅

Nonetheless, Dany and I went on an exploration through areas of Yokohama she wanted to visit, such as a national park that had a vibrant garden and array of ponds to have a meal in. It was during a nice spring season so not to hot or overbearing. She definitely loved every minute, especially a bit of cloud gazing. We talked about several stories we hadn’t talked about before and a few deep ones too, such as what she use to do with her family as a child and how this kind of surrounding reminded her about her old home.

We even took a walk through a small shopping strip, where I may have jumped into an uncharacteristic-of-me moment to want to buy her anything she found an interest in. To which Dany fussed over me to not spoil her with silly trinkets; “What could I possibly want more when I have the best thing in the world right beside me?” 😳🥰💖

I at least bought her a stuffed animal plush; she loves the soft, soft textured ones; loves running her hands through them or carrying them about our home; she really loves them. May even clip a favorite one to her belt; she definitely still has it somewhere on a shelf in our room. 😊

The rest of day went well into the night, where she took the lead in taking me a bit into the outer ring of Yokohama, where it’s more residential and less bright lights of the city. She surprised me with some stargazing, but also getting a really beautiful view of the city from a viewing platform near a hiking route. I had lived in Yokohama for about 3 years at that point and I was still in awe of the view from afar. Considering this was the first time I was viewing it from this new location, I was in taken almost with emotion.. Hmm, maybe recalling an old comment Dazai-san made about Yokohama being my city to protect...

But I was also in awe by Dany too, who rambled a bit on how she found this place later when she expanded her night runs. There was a soft glow on her that night that I remember and it left me kind of..in a daze ☺️ Normally quiet and not much of a talker, but I really enjoyed being the special one enough to hear more of her speak…I could listen to her for hours much like she tends to do for others a lot.

I recall her being surprised by my staring and may have gotten flustered and nervous for rambling the way she did. How silly of her to assume I wouldn’t mind listening to her talk for hours if she wanted to UwU I kind of took on a leap of confidence then to calm her down, taking a hold of her cheek to let her know what I thought...

Needless to say, she was definitely blushing hard in the twilight night. I, even more so when she caught me off guard to kiss me first… (I wanted to be the one to do so…but I suppose she could have a claim for that >.> but I can say I’ve claimed many more after that 💖🥰).

💬You have any pet names for S/I?

Oh plenty!~ Other than everyone commonly referring her to Dany-san or Danielle, mostly by Kunikida, I tend to call her Dany (affectionately); which now that I think of it, I am the only one that does.

Dazai did once and she kind of bristled at him with a glare, granted he was being his usual..flirtatious self with her 🙄 (I swear he does to tease both of us..)

But personal pet names I often refer to her as “Darling” or “My Darling” especially when she’s very anxious and visibly worried. She does appreciate it during those times the most. I’ve also called her “Love” a few times, but mostly out of teasing impersonation of her accent when she does it, it always makes her laugh, snort laugh too (which is adorable), when I try 🥰.

I also have learned a bit of Spanish through our short year of friendship before we became an official couple, where I’ve gradually learned more 💕. While I may not be up to par with her, I can still hold a bit of a conversation in the language; and in learning, I gave her a pet name of “My Star”, so “Mi Estrella ✨” (I do say it kind of how it sounds from the wording 😅 and not like how she says it, but she loves it nonetheless 🥺 this pet name makes her smile and visibly more affectionate 💕💖). It may also be my tiger ability coming out and saying that nickname to refer to her ability ^^;

I do call her “Mika” sometimes, but only in private and when comforting her… She wasn’t so keen to me calling her that in the beginning due to… Well, it took a lot of time for her to get use to it, even when I told her that if she didn’t want me to, I wouldn’t call her that. But she slowly insisted, eventually becoming more of the endearing name she wanted it to sound like with me, and told me it was okay to call her that. It’s not the most common pet name for her, but she appreciates and often asks me to call her that when she is feeling down and in need of reassurance.

I also call her “Kitten” occasionally, in whatever blissful and relaxing time we have together, private or in public. It definitely confused a few of the others on while I settled on calling her that when she technically is a wolf… but it just stuck and Dany doesn’t seem to mind it all! (The silver haired young man looks thoughtful with a smile, recalling how flustered and how she purrs quietly when he says that to her) If anything I think her wolf likes it too, probably another instance of my tiger talking out of me. 😅✨

Be on the look out for a post she made about that “Kitten” nickname! ✨ it’s been on her drafts for a long while now cause she wanted to include a drawing, which she has but knowing her she wants things to be perfect… Honestly everything she does is just... amazing 💕 She needs to realize that more, I’ll make sure she does UwU 🥰😊!

Thank you for the ask anon! This is the first time I've ever done this and I definitely don't mind accepting any more in the future!

Dany can be very busy sometimes with work and tends to get mentally exhausted very quickly. She also tries so hard to be attentive to things that she forgets to care for herself ;;w;; Anything to lighten the load for My Darling 💖🐯 I know another ask came around! So I'll be sure to answer that as soon as I can! — Atsushi 🐯 🌙

#atsushi nakajima #atsudany #danielle mika mason #f/o takeover ask #self ship community #self shipping ask #self ship #bungou stray dogs #tag: we are of the moon and stars my dear #tiger roars? I think this would be a nice tag name for when I get some asks

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Note

night for rehearsal pls 🥺💗

Night | Rehearsal

Theatre!AU; a look into a normal night in the drama club

Prompt: Night

Word count: 1668

***

“Robin!” her name echoed across the auditorium as a familiar blonde bounced over, damp hair escaping from its haphazardly tied scrunchy. She was still in her swim suit too, the spandex peeking out from her open sweater and tucked into her school sweats. She had obviously been in a hurry to leave, which made sense when Robin looked behind her.

“Hey, Sam,” she nodded at the boy who was trailing after her, looking amusing, “Connor, you’re late.”

“So is Sam,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the teasing remark, “It's not my fault I had to drive down to the pool to pick someone up because she missed the bus.”

“I had practice!” Sam argued as she dropped her gym bag on the stage, it's familiar cross-stitch motifs making Robin smile. She had gotten her best friend a new duffel bag for Christmas that year, since her old one was falling apart from years of damp swimsuits and piles of theatre costumes. She had taken the time to stitch little things into the black fabric, including little bees and flowers that she thought would make Sam smile. It had and it never ceased to make Robin happy too when she saw how practical yet meaningful her gift had turned out to be.

“Still,” Robin nudged Connor’s shoulder, “Now we know why I’m the president of the club and you two aren’t.”

“We are literally co-presidents, Ro,” Connor’s reminder made her laugh; as if he would ever let her forget that. They had helped rebuild the dying drama club in their first year of high school, bringing in more students and assisting their teacher with planning and fundraisers. Sam joined along the way, quickly becoming their friend with her headstrong disposition and bold ideas. It had always been the three of them, for years, and now that they were in senior year everything had started to feel a bit bittersweet.

Robin tried to not let it get to her, though, because graduation wouldn’t tear them apart. Her and Connor had the same dream, Broadway, and they had made a pact years ago to hold each other to it. Every audition, every show, and even every mess up and meltdown was done with the other there to support and help. Even when things got hard they were in it together, no way would one bad audition or anything ruin their chances at the best schools or roles.

Sam was there for fun, mostly. She was a good actress, easily immersed into any role she was given and ready to take the lead in activities. She was an athlete first and foremost, though, and that hadn’t changed much. She had her dreams set on olympic coaching since the beginning, yet joined the drama club because their counselor thought it would help her with team building. It did, for sure, and while Sam never changed her mind on her dream profession, she had made a lot of friends and found a certain love for musicals along the way.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” Sam asked once they all settled down a little, taking a seat beside her on the stage. Robin glanced at the clock across the room, noting that it was almost half-past six. She had stayed after school to run lines by herself and get a head start on some set design. The second semester had just begun and that meant the spring arts showcase was fast approaching, which meant the drama club was scrambling to start preparations for a show. Auditions had taken place only the week prior, which had Robin practicing painstakingly so she could secure the main role. It was, after all, her last year in the club; she ought to make a lasting impact.

“Rehearsal, on book still,” she replied, fidgeting with the worn corner of her script book. She had a lot of nervous energy fizzling beneath her confident exterior and unfortunately she wasn’t all too good at hiding it. Not from her friends, anyway, because Connor’s hand reached out to cease her worrying of the book’s fragile pages almost as quickly as they started.

“It’s only the second week,” he reminded her, “Of course we’re still on book. We’ll have it memorized soon enough, Robin, be patient.”

“I know.”

“We’re already ahead of schedule with costuming and props,” the blonde across from them added cheerfully, “Plus we can come in during lunch hour and get things done if we really wanted. I’m sure I could rope some of the freshman into helping paint and stuff.”

“And by that you mean bribe the kids into doing the grunt work.”

Faking a gasp, Sam glared at Connor a little, “How dare you accuse me of such manipulation.”

“Dramatic,” he stage-whispered to Robin, who was shaking her head at the whole thing. The two never stopped bickering but it was how they showed affection, even if they did butt heads sometimes. Between the three of them there was a lot of attitude and maybe a little too much ego in the room, if Robin was to be honest, so this was commonplace. It was all in good fun, though, and they had never actually had a proper falling out despite the lighthearted arguing.

“That’s kind of the point, Rhodes.”

Before any more non-club related dramatics could be had, their teacher walked into the auditorium. Tanya Hanes was a rather eccentric woman, with a never ending supply of anecdotes and interesting fashion choices, though Robin assumed that kind of came with the job description. What was a little odd, though, was the girl trailing behind Ms. Hanes.

She was only vaguely familiar to Robin, probably from one of her AP classes if she had to guess. The girl had her dark blonde hair in a meticulous half ponytail, leaving her sharp features unshadowed. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, instead looking around the auditorium as if she was searching for anything to keep her occupied. Her beat-up red converse squeaked against the ugly tile floor as she stumbled a little over an extension cord, muttering something as she regained her balance.

“Everyone,” Ms. Hanes’ voice echoed through the large room, bringing everyone’s attention to her down near the front of the stage. She waited a few moments for the younger students to calm down from whatever they were messing with in the props area, waving them over until she deemed it quiet enough to continue.

“We have a new student joining us for this semester,” Ms. Hanes explained as she gestured to the blonde behind her, “She will be here to assist with any technical or set related work, as well as line prompting and costuming.”

There was a chorus of welcomes and hellos, Robin noticing the way the girl relaxed a bit at that. She was glad the drama club were relatively friendly people, since the comforting atmosphere managed to make new kids feel at ease.

“Care to introduce yourself, dear?”

“Uh… yeah. Ava Bekker,” her voice was lower than expected, laced with a pretty accent that seemed to catch everyone’s interest, “Nice to meet you all, I guess.”

“Robin, Connor, since you two are our presidents would you mind helping Ava become acquainted and set up with some jobs?”

“Hey! Don’t forget me,” Sam put on a little pout, obviously in the mood to joke around. She never wanted a leadership position in the club, since she already had that in her sports and didn’t want to take away from her best friends’ thing. Still, she liked to be included, though it was just assumed she would do whatever Robin and Connor did anyway.

“Of course, Samantha,” the teacher laughed, “But don’t terrorize her, now.”

Scrunching her nose at the use of her full name, Sam just nodded, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

After letting people know they would start practice as soon as their presidents got things sorted, Ms. Hanes went off to talk to some students. Taking that as their cue to go properly greet the new girl, Sam was the first to hop off the stage to meet Ava near the stairs. The blonde looked a little startled at her energy but offered her a polite smile regardless, holding out her hand to shake.

“Call me Sam,” she said happily, “Welcome to Hell.”

“Sammy,” Robin sighed and lightly hit her shoulder as she came up behind her, “Don’t do that.”

“I’m only teasing, Ro,” Sam replied coolly, “Newbie, meet the Queen of Hell herself.”

“Please,” Robin’s incredulous look only made her laugh, which had her best friend sighing yet again. She turned her attention to Ava, relieved to see that the other girl only looked amused at the antics.

“I’m Robin,” she said with a smile she hoped was reassuring, “I promise Sam will calm down once she stops showing off.”

“I don’t mind, at least one of us has the energy,” Ava replied, though her tone was a little guarded. She was nervous, that was obvious, and the other girl just hoped she would become more comfortable once she got acquainted with everyone. She still offered Robin a handshake too, which was an amusingly formal gesture for students around there.

“Well, I can show you backstage and get you set up with a script and some jobs to do, if you’d like.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Ava nodded and the smile she gave Robin just about melted her heart. It was the first genuine look the blonde had had since coming into the auditorium and it was sweeter than that ridiculous starbucks drink Connor was always carrying around. She was just as pretty as her smile, that was glaringly obvious, and Robin would be a fool to say otherwise. Not one to be shy very often, she recovered quickly and had no qualms about offering her hand to Ava, a smile of her own settling on her face when the other girl took it cautiously.

“C’mon then, Ava,” Robin replied as she tried to ignore Sam’s pointed look she saw in her peripheral, “I’ll introduce you to some people first.”

#this went in a completely different direction than intended #Ava is still Bitter about this whole situation #but she’s also nervous 🥺#and Robin just wants people to be comfy!#what happens when she learns why Ava is really there though? 👀🤭#ava bekker #robin charles #chekker #sam zanetti #connor rhodes #rehearsal #theatre!au #my aus #asks #mutuals #Nova tag #cj add this to your fic masterpost

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wandas-sunshine · 4 years

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A Soldier’s Spring - Chapter 3

Summary: She was one of Hydra’s secret weapons; a female winter soldier. And Bucky can’t let her go through what he did alone. everything is coming back to her, and he’s the only one that can help her become human again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mention of gunshot wounds

Word Count: 3867

Previously on A Soldier’s Spring | Series Masterlist

Eventually, (Y/N) had calmed herself down from her little panic attack. She knew she didn’t have time for reckless emotion. She stashed her weapons under the bed, and managed to wash some of the blood out of her clothes. She had even gotten up and taken a shower. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bathed. Not that she remembered much of anything. By the time she stepped out, the water had gone ice cold and she’d nearly scrubbed her skin raw in an attempt to wash away any trace of her past, of the awful things she had done.

She didn’t manage more than a few hours of sleep, mostly just laying awake and listening to the quiet. Her thoughts weren’t so unbearably loud anymore, but they were more consistent than she was used to. They started to get this way after a particularly long mission she thought. It was strange, like her head was full for the first time. Her memories on the other hand, there was hardly anything there apart from the past day or so. Her memories on the other hand were essentially nonexistent beyond the past day or so. Ever since she had been given her mission. Trying to think beyond that just made her head throb.

Come morning, she hauled herself out of bed and smoothed her hair out. Her mostly dry clothes were pulled back on. She kneeled beside the bed and retrieved some of the weapons from underneath it. She had to go out, so going unnoticed was going to be key. Too many weapons and it would be a dead giveaway.

She reloaded her guns, tucking one into the holster at her hip, another was tucked safely into her waistband. She carefully slipped three knives into each of her boots, and strapped her dozen throwing knives into place around her thighs. That would have to do. She slid her room key securely into her pocket and hung the do not disturb sign on the door.

She needed a plan, a proper one. Needed to figure out where the hell she was, get something into her stomach, maybe score some cash if she was lucky. Not that she got lucky very often.

She flipped her hood up and slipped out of her motel room. She kept her head low, her eyes constantly scanning for any sign of danger. As she made it closer to the center of town, the streets grew unreasonably crowded. It had her on edge. Hydra could be hidden anywhere in the massive sea of people.

It was all so strange. Everyone was going about their lives as if the entire world wasn’t shaking and crumbling to the ground around her. (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to go through life completely oblivious to everything awful going on right under her nose. To be one of those girls walking down the street with a boy, just laughing, and flirting, and not worrying about the next time that she would have to fight for her life. She figured it was nice.

Her goals were repeated in her head, a sort of mantra. Anything to keep her focused as she weaved through the crowd. She caught bits of conversations here and there in a language that felt oddly familiar even though she couldn’t make out the words. Her frustration grew more and more. She was never going to get somewhere safe. Maybe she could find a city name, maybe even a map. She just needed a starting point.

Half an hour had passed, and (Y/N) was skittish to say the least. She had never planned to stay out in the open for so long. But between her unfamiliar surroundings and the unexpected crowd, she couldn’t move at a particularly good pace. Eventually, she had followed the current of people to an outdoor market.

She did her best to blend in with the bustling crowd, following the flow from booth to booth. She was a good thief, it had been engraved into her brain right alongside the killing. She had managed to pocket a couple pieces of jerky, an orange. She’d even gotten a wallet, though it was almost entirely empty. She was positive she was in the clear as she slipped a fresh roll into her jacket.

“I’m sorry, honey? You have to pay for that.” A woman’s sweet voice called to (Y/N) through a thick accent. She froze in her tracks, eyes flickering around for the best way out of the situation. She wasn’t thinking straight, she was being greedy. She had enough food. But the warm, familiar scent had been too much for her to resist.

“I’m so sorry,” She dropped her gaze from the middle aged woman who had spotted her. “Please understand, I’m sorry.”

With those words, she turned on her heel and bolted back the way she had come. She ran as quickly as possible through the crowd. There was a bit of a ruckus behind her, shouting and arguing. She could practically feel someone chasing her. Her nerves were on fire, and her instincts were fighting to take over. She had to hold back from shoving people out of her way and simply sprinting full speed. But she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She didn’t dare look back at her pursuer for fear of seeing the familiar face of one of her handlers.

She came skidding to a stop as a firm hand clamped around her arm. Her eyes flashed with unbridled danger, a first warning not to test her. She took a step away from the stranger, twisting away from him like he’d burned her.

“Don’t touch me.” She growled, her body language reminiscent of a cornered animal. Her brain screamed for her to get out at any cost, to just get away from it before things got worse.

“You need to give back what you stole, or pay for it.” The man demanded with a tone dripping with authority that did nothing to ease her fight or flight instinct. She grit her teeth.

“Calm down, (Y/N).” The voice cut through, but she hardly processed it.

“I can’t do that.” She stated, eyes flicking over faces as the crowd grew around them. Attention was being drawn to her, and that was the very last thing she needed. “Please don’t do this. Just let me go.”

She backed up as far as she could, but the flow of the crowd had ground to a halt. Her (y/e/c) eyes went wide and wild, stormy with terror.

Then his hands were on her again, and the world felt like it was imploding. The air was sucked from her lungs, her body burned like every atom had been dipped into acid. She released an animalistic snarl and her free hand gripped his forearm with such strength she was sure it would leave a bruise in the shape of her hand. She pulled it towards her, using his grip on her for leverage until she felt the bone snap under her enhanced strength. The man screamed in agony, but she didn’t even flinch. She aimed a jab at his ribs without a care for the damage she dealt. As he crumpled to the ground, she stared at her hands. What had she just done?

People had their phones out, all trained on (Y/N). She turned again and pushed her way through the horde of curious strangers. Law enforcement would be on their way, and she feared that those videos would have her dragged kicking and screaming back to her cage. She didn’t know if she was headed towards safety anymore, but she had to run somewhere.

The ride in from Wakanda was unbelievably nice. T’Challa had sent Shuri and a handful of the Dora Milaje with Bucky. The idea was that it would be easier to sneak him into a country where he was a wanted criminal if he was smuggled in by a visiting royal on business. He had no reason to argue.

He’d tried catching up on some sleep, and writing in his journal, but nothing was working. His mind was already preoccupied. Thoughts of the mission were plaguing him, making it virtually impossible to focus on anything else. He was terrified to be in the field again. He hadn’t been put under that sort of pressure since he’d been taken into Wakanda. Something in him worried about being around her, that piece of his past, would trigger something deeper in his mind. If he turned back into that...that killing machine, there was no guarantee that his friends would stand a chance. Everything they had brought down upon themselves would be for nothing. But more than anything, he knew that he needed to try and help. For Steve, of course. And for her.

“We’re here.” One of the Wakandan warriors announced, and Bucky blinked himself back into reality. They’d pulled up to what almost looked like an apartment complex from the outside. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but that rundown building wasn’t it. Steve had told him that Tony had helped fix up their little compound, but that didn’t seem like it was up to Stark’s standards.

He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to obscure his face, and climbed out of the vehicle they’d all been piled into. He grabbed the two bags he had brought, and Shuri gave him a reassuring smile as if she could read his mind. Who knew, maybe she could.

“Good luck, sergeant. Let us know when you’re ready and we’ll bring you home.” She told him. A smile danced on his lips for a millisecond. Wakanda really had become like his home, and they all had welcomed him like long lost family.

“Thank you.” He nodded a tiny goodbye, and headed for the door. The frosted glass door swung open easily under Bucky’s touch. He stepped inside and jumped a bit at the sound of a chipper female voice.

“Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y.” She spoke. Stark had definitely helped with this place. “I’ve alerted Captain Rogers of your arrival.”

Bucky stepped a bit farther into the wide open lobby. The inside of the building was nice, much nicer than the outside let on. It was chic, sophisticated. It didn’t feel particularly homey aside from the table that had been set up with various books, papers, and other possessions scattered about it. The walls were a pale blue, matched to a dark grey tile. It reminded him of Stark and nothing of Steve.

Before he bothered analyzing any more of his surroundings, the elevator doors opposite him dinged open. Steve stepped out with a wide smile. He looked different, nothing like the Steve that Bucky was so used to. His hair was longer now, and not nearly as neat. His beard wasn’t shaved off, he’d let it get scruffy, and it suited him. A few strides, and the two men met in the middle of the room. Steve pulled him into a bruising hug that Bucky returned.

“It’s good to have you back, Buck.” Steve stepped back and gave his best friend a firm pat on the shoulder.

“It’s good to be back for a while.” Bucky replied.

“Come on, let me show you around the place.” Steve nodded for Bucky to follow him. He hiked his bags back up onto his shoulder and did just that. Steve showed him the living area complete with a massive tv and every gaming system he’d ever heard of. It even had a pool table. Then he was shown the training gym, the room they’d dedicated to medical treatment, and the kitchen. Steve walked him through the upper floors, pointing out everyone's rooms. Music came from behind Sam’s door. Nat and Wanda were talking on Wanda’s bed when the two men peeked in. Even Clint had his own room in case he came around.

“Mine’s at the end of the hall. We’re the only ones staying up here right now.” Steve announced as they stopped at the room he’d saved for Bucky. “So if you need anything you can always come find me.”

Bucky didn’t miss the worry in his best friend’s voice. He’d gotten awfully good at picking it up recently. He hated it. Hated just how fragile it made him feel. Everyone treated him like he was going to fall apart at any moment. He hoped he wouldn’t treat her that way. Assuming they got to her at all.

“Relax, punk. I’ll be fine.” Steve did relax, even just a little bit. Bucky punched his friend’s arm. “I’m just gonna unpack and settle in. Probably try to catch up on my sleep.”

Steve nodded his approval and promised to wake him up in time to eat. Then, for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, Bucky was alone with his thoughts. He settled his things into his room. He tried to make it feel more like his hut in Wakanda. He put his clothes away, laid his journal and his phone on the stand by his bed. He laid down in the plush bed Tony had provided. But his damned head wouldn’t quiet down.

He knew exactly what she was going through. It was agony. The fear, the emptiness. He wanted to set her free. When he finally escaped their grasp, he had Steve. He didn’t think this girl had anyone, and he would never forgive himself if he let her go through it all by herself. He was the only person who could understand.

(Y/N) was absolutely panicked as she headed back to the safety of her motel room. She hoped that maybe they wouldn’t track her there. It was stupid, immature even. She hadn’t made it halfway back by the time the sea of people began parting for several men in uniforms — she counted five of them. Her heart was racing, her throat was getting tight. Her mind felt cloudy, like every piece of her was fighting against itself.

“(Y/N), you need to stay calm. Don’t let them take you over again.” The voice pleaded with her. She pressed a hand to her head and took a deep breath. It wasn’t working, she wasn’t calming down. Her brain was going fuzzy around the edges, all of her thoughts trying to turn to static. “Stay with me.”

“Mom,” (Y/N) whimpered...to herself? To the voice? It was fading into the static, slipping through her fingers. It was so quiet now. It was being taken, and she needed it back, she needed her mommy.

They were closing in now, and she knew she was a goner. Like she was teetering at the edge of a cliff just waiting for the final push. She was waiting for the final push back into the bloodred princess.

“Please get back.” She pleaded desperately with the officers. The voice that came out hardly sounded like her. It sounded like that broken, terrified 17 year old that Hydra had trapped inside herself. She was scared, she could feel her training fighting to take over and mute her emotions. It was do or die, and judging by the guns trained on her, that was a literal statement.

It was a blur as her instincts kicked in. She dodged bullets and landed kicks and punches with the agility only a super soldier was capable of. She took a few hits. Her nose was bleeding, maybe broken. She knocked them down one by one, over and over until they finally stayed down. Once the danger had been subdued, her brain started to clear. She took notice of the searing pain in her left bicep. Her trembling hand pressed to the spot and she groaned softly when her hand came away wet with blood.

Fuck.

The walk back to her motel room took far less time than the walk into town. Turns out that people tended to steer clear of you when you’re covered in blood, brandishing a gun like a madman. She didn’t have a lot of time, she knew that much. She didn’t know who would be coming, but she wanted to get the hell out of dodge before she found out.

She stripped out of her blood soaked clothes and threw them in the tub to wash out. She set to work on her wounds with a calm, experienced hand that she didn’t realize she had. Getting the bullet out and stitching herself up would have to wait. She made herself a tourniquet and bandaged herself up.

Once the bleeding had stopped, she scrubbed the blood from her skin. She wasn’t even sure some of it belonged to her. This was the second time she’d done this in the past 24 hours and it most certainly bothered her. She washed out her clothes and hung them up to dry a little, then ate what was salvageable from her meal. She was so tired, all of her energy was gone. But she knew better than to fall asleep until her body recovered a little. It could be a death sentence. She just needed to stay awake…

Bucky had managed to fall asleep, but the girl found her way into his dreams too. He saw her, beautiful, and powerful, and every bit his equal. He saw her being tortured, watched the scientists break her down to nothing. She screamed for help, screamed for him to save her.

He knew it was only a dream when he woke up, but that didn’t make him feel any better. He replayed the sounds of her screaming, of her begging in his head. He only stopped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that Steve had called him down for dinner in the living area. He took a moment, splashing some water onto his face and tying his hair back. He needed to relax.

He joined the team, in the living area. They were all lounging around, talking and eating bowls of something that smelled exceptional. Steve motioned to the bowl he’d set out for Bucky with his spoon, and he flashed a thankful smile as he sat down.

“Wanda cooked, so you don’t have to worry about getting food poisoning.” Natasha joked. He rolled his eyes playfully and tucked into his food. Everyone talked and joked. It reminded them all of better times. It was comforting really. They seemed to be taking it quite well, Bucky thought, the whole being nationally wanted criminals thing. Eventually, Steve sat his empty bowl aside and stood up.

“I think we should talk business. If we get this mission debriefing out of the way tonight, we can get started first thing tomorrow.” He said. This caught Bucly’s attention. Steve had Tony’s AI pull up a file and project it for everyone to see. It showed a few grainy photos of a woman, the girl that Bucky remembered, but she was all grown up now. She was dressed in dark clothes. In one of them she was totally decked out with weaponry standing at the side of a motorcycle. In another, she was in the middle of a fight with someone who was clearly losing. There was only one that was a clear show of her face, but there was nothing behind her eyes, no emotion evident anywhere.

“This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Steve went on. Bucky couldn’t look away. “People refer to her as the bloodred princess. We need her. She’s one of Hydra’s best kept secrets, a specially trained assassin completely under their control.”

Bucky could feel all the eyes in the room shift towards him. He had sort of expected it. She was him, and nobody knew for sure what to expect from either of them. But he didn’t look away from the pictures. Her name was (Y/N). He’d never heard it before. She was even more human in his mind than she’d ever been.

“So, wait, we got another Winter Soldier situation?” Sam asked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards Bucky. Steve gave a sharp nod.

“Bucky knows what we’re up against. He’s our best chance of getting to her, and she’s our best chance of destroying Hydra forever.” Steve explained as calmly as he could. He was protective, not that any of the others cared that Bucky had joined their fight. Hell, they’d fought a civil war for him.

The debriefing went on. Steve told them where she’d last been spotted and that she may have gone rogue. He ran through their plans, made it very clear that they were going to try and help her. She would be brought back, and if they could get her to cooperate, they’d take her to Shuri and get her fixed up too. Soon enough, they were dismissed, and Bucky was the first to leave for the safe solitude of his room. He had a lot to think about now. They didn’t begin the mission until morning. That gave him the rest of the night to pull himself together And that had just become a great deal more difficult.

“Hey, Sergeant.” A sultry voice called out from behind him, and he turned around to see Natasha with a friendly smile. “You have a second?”

He nodded, leaning against the doorway to his room. She leaned herself against the wall across from him and simply looked at him for a second, her eyes examining his face.

“You seemed sort of uncomfortable back there. I didn’t know if that was about (Y/N) or Hydra or…” She trailed off as if giving him an opportunity to answer her. He didn’t take it, so she kept talking. “I’m gonna talk to Steve. You shouldn’t be in the middle of this.”

Bucky smoothed a hand over his hair. Any logical part of his brain knew that she was right, that he was too close to the situation to deal with it properly. But the rest of him was screaming. Weren’t they all too close to the situation? Every member of their team had a bone to pick with Hydra. So what if his was a little bigger? She wasn’t sure what to make of his silence.

“I just wanted to tell you that you won’t have to lead the charge. I’m making sure of it.” It didn’t exactly sound like she was reassuring him, but more like she was threatening him to stay in the back and bite his tongue. “You know where my room is if you want to talk. Goodnight.”

Bucky slipped into his room and changed his clothes. He wasn’t exactly tired, but his other option was taking a shower, and he was pretty sure that would only force him deeper into his thoughts. He sank onto his bed and closed his eyes. He’d really thought he’d escaped all of it. But helping people was in his blood. He couldn’t leave people to suffer, not anymore. And god, (Y/N) was suffering.

@dragonofthenorth0726 @nightshade7117 @believeitseeitdoit @stuckyandsciencebros @this-is-mycrisis @xmtd5 @someonekeepstakingmyusernames @greeniemoon @wayward-student-philosopher @messedupmyfuckinglife @yourwonderbelle @booboobella01 @kpoplover1306-depressedgirl315 @heybbyitsdarkoutside @silver-winter-wolf

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #avengers #avengers imagine #imagine #fanfic #reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #a soldiers spring

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

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Shelter (Part One)

I promised that I had something in the works for Jay White and I thought I’d share some of it since it’s gotten away from me a little. Thus far, I’ve written nearly 11,000 words and I have a fair chunk to go yet. (I expect that there’s another third of the story to be written. The good news is that I’ve figured out what is going to happen, whereas for a while, I was sort of waiting on the characters to tell me what was up.)

This is only the second historical piece I’ve written (the first being The Escape Route, which was also the first piece of fiction I posted here) and I know that there are inaccuracies in it. The setting is northern England in the high MIddle Ages (13th-14th century) but I’ve assigned the place names and titles sort of randomly.

Up front, I’ll confess that a number of people may find this section dull. It’s more of a “setting everything in place” part. This information will come in handy in subsequent sections, I promise.

As to when those sections will be posted, my answer is that I’m typing as fast as I can and am actually making good progress. That means that there is definitely a lot more coming in the short term. (Of course, there may also be some other things forthcoming in the short term, but that’s a whole other thing.)

I still don’t know that I’ve posted enough stories here to warrant a master list but if you’re curious, all the fiction I write is tagged “wayward wrestle writing”.

Pairing: Jay White x OFC (first person)

Word count: 3,933

Content advisory: Literally nothing in this part. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Seriously.

Married life was not what I had envisioned. My sister Elizabeth and I were taught to read as children and among the texts we’d devoured were the increasingly popular French romances. I understood that marriages were not like those stories. My older cousins, male and female, had had their marriages arranged by their families and usually didn’t meet their wife or husband until the day of the marriage. Nevertheless, Elizabeth and I both dreamed of being wooed and won, perhaps by a knight returning home from the wars abroad, or by a handsome noble traveling in disguise across the countryside. As our time came closer and our parents sought to finalize arrangements for us to marry, we hoped that we would at least find ourselves with a husband who would treat us as a friend and partner. But we secretly still held out hope for the dashing hero.

As the elder, Elizabeth was married first, to the Earl of Louth, a vastly wealthy and powerful man whose connections saw him well received even by the King. Rumor had it that he had personally funded several of His Majesty’s military campaigns. Their wedding was a more sombre affair than others I had seen, with few minstrels and a longer mass, for her new husband was very devout and preferred something that honored the solemnity of their union. Nevertheless, her letters to me indicated that he did not impose his conservatism on her, and saw to it that she had ladies to keep her company, musicians to entertain her, and whatever books, clothes and jewels she could wish for. His avuncular indulgence became even greater when she bore him a son in the spring following their marriage.

I knew I could not expect my own husband to hold such a high position since Elizabeth was the heir to our family’s estates and fortune. However, our stature was such that even a connection with us was desirable, especially for newly created gentry who sought to legitimize their positions. My father had found such a man but he died from fever before the marriage contract could be made. Eventually, I was given to Symon, the fifth and youngest son of the Duke of Cumbria. While he, like I, had no expectation of inheritance, he was more able to take care of me and his father was eager to reinforce his flagging influence by forging an alliance with a family in another part of the north.

I tried not to be disappointed with Symon when I met him but he was immediately a hard man to love. Still young, his body showed the signs I had come to recognize as the result of heavy drinking and little sleep. His pale skin had crimson blooms over the cheeks and nose and his body was unevenly distributed, with thin limbs and a bloated belly. When I touched him, I was reminded of the texture of cloth left in the rain: limp and saturated.

When I was moved to his estate in the eastern reaches of his father’s sphere, I soon found that he was indeed saturated most of the time. Our home was a constant stream of guests seeking nothing but a place for a good time and to indulge their vices. It became clear that our marriage had been a project of the Duke’s and that Symon had no interest in having a wife or being a husband. Nor did he have any skill at running a household and so it fell to me to manage as best I could, ensuring that we had all we needed, that our lands were tended to and that we maintained good relations with the other nobles and landowners. It was difficult, especially at first, since many of the servants spoke with an accent I could barely understand. After a few weeks of forced sociability, I barely saw my husband.

I asked him on numerous occasions to allow me to invite Elizabeth and her family to visit, however he disliked the idea that he might have to play the host and refused. Nor would he allow me to accept one of her many invitations to visit her. I knew that what he really feared was their judgment, which would be harsh. Elizabeth would despise him for the way in which he treated me and her husband would be appalled by his louche lifestyle.

Most worrisome was that Symon showed no interest in fathering children, despite his father’s obvious desire for him to do so. A child would truly bind our families. Nevertheless, while my sister was delivered of a second son by a man with grey hairs in his beard, my young husband refused to touch me. I overheard gossip among the servants that he said I was barren. I knew enough to understand that this could not be the case, or at least that he had no way of knowing, but it was troubling because I was of no use to the family if I could not bear children. If I could not fulfill that one obligation, the Duke would order his son to set me aside so that he could forge another alliance.

Thus were many of my days spent in anxiousness, unsure of what I was doing to drive my husband away while at the same time praying that I might be able to accept him despite his failings. My letters to my sister were my sole outlet, although my lady-in-waiting Hannah was some comfort.

It was late autumn when the spare routine of my life was interrupted in the dead of night. Hannah and Branwen, one of the house maids, arrived in my chambers, waking me none too gently to tell me that a travelling party had arrived unexpectedly.

“If there are guests, you need to bring them to his lordship,” I grumbled, wiping sleep from my eyes. “His companions have nothing to do with me.”

“His lordship is indisposed,” Hannah responded, pinching her features to indicate her distaste. “And I do not believe these are kin or companions of his.”

“His lordship is always indisposed. And I am expecting no one, certainly not at this time of the night.”

“”Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Branwen interjected, “but the watchman says that the woman says she’s your sister. And the carriage bears the crest of the Earl of Louth.”

This roused me immediately, of course. I directed Hannah to fetch some robes so that I could appear at least somewhat decent and told Branwen to send word to the watch that the party was to be admitted. My heart pounded fast in my chest because I knew already that there must be bad news. Elizabeth would never arrive unannounced like this under normal circumstances. Nevertheless, I also felt excited at the prospect of seeing her again.

When I was finally ready, I descended the stairs to the great hall where Elizabeth stood at the center of a small party, less than a dozen. Neither her husband nor her children were with her, only servants and guards.

“Have you been unwell?” she asked sharply.

“No, not at all. I’m perhaps a little tired.”

She extended an arm and pinched my chin, turning my face for her inspection.

“Your complexion looks like you haven’t seen the light in weeks.”

“Elizabeth,” I insisted, pulling back from her grip, “I am fine. And while I am thrilled to receive you, I am a little confused as to what brings you here.”

“Should I stable the lady’s horses, ma’am?” the watchman asked nervously.

“Yes.”

“No,” Elizabeth contradicted. “We’ll not be staying long enough to warrant it.”

For the first time, she pulled me close and I felt her hands tremble on my shoulders.

“Ella,” she whispered, using my pet name as she always did, “mother and father are both taken ill. It struck him first and then her. No one seems to know what it is but they’re both sick. The Steward sends word that his life is in the balance. I’m on my way to them and I knew you would want to come.”

It would have been simple enough to send word to me that I should return home, however by now Elizabeth knew that going anywhere for me was going to present a problem. She had gone significantly out of her way to collect me herself, knowing that my husband would be unwilling to sanction my travel.

“You mean to continue soon, then?” I asked her, feeling a little weak at the thought of my parents suffering.

“Within the hour. And I mean to take you with me.”

The proper thing to do would be for me to summon my husband, no matter what state he happened to be in, and request his permission. I knew full well, though, that it was pointless. He would never consent to me leaving for any reason. I glanced around the room, noticing that a few of my servants had arrived to see what the commotion was. They’d be quick to tell on me if I left. But could I really risk never seeing my parents again simply to placate a man who refused to honor even the most basic tenets of our marriage?

“You’ll need some warmer clothes, my lady,” Hannah muttered, moving close to Elizabeth and I. “I shall have them brought down while the two of you are talking.

She turned a stern face to a couple of the younger girls and began issuing commands. The others stood in place, not daring to act while I was still in the room.

Hannah returned and wrapped a thick cloak around me.

“The girls will give some more to the carriagemen, if that is acceptable to her ladyship.”

“More than acceptable,” Elizabeth replied, her grey eyes sparkling. “You must be Hannah. My sister has written to me often about your kindness to her here.”

“It’s no more than she deserves, your ladyship.”

“And will you be accompanying us.”

“If my mistress will have me then yes I shall,” Hannah declared.

“Are you sure?” It was one thing for me to go running off in defiance of my husband but I never expected that Hannah would accompany me.

“I go where you go,” she said gently. “Besides, I should like to see the coast you’ve spoken of.”

Along with extra clothing and blankets for the journey, I bid the servants gather some food from the pantry for us to take with us. Elizabeth had brought what she believed she needed but I knew that the country between here and our parents’ home could be rough. Parts of it were lawless and the roads ill-tended. The going would be slower than it had been for her coming to collect me.

She was quite surprised at the condition of the roads and the land as we rode. In many places, the roads were so decrepit and narrow that the guards flanking us were forced to ride single file, slowing us down so much that we could have walked faster. I had never seen this part of the country, having taken a longer but pleasanter route after my wedding, but Hannah and some of the others had prepared me for what to expect. Forbidding and desolate as it was, there was a kind of excitement to knowing we were crossing territory that was outside the command of any lord. We felt like we were a very brave group indeed.

After two days ride, however, our party came to an unexpected halt. We heard men’s voices and then James, the senior guard assigned to Elizabeth, opened the carriage door, his face full of concern.

“I’m sorry for the delay, but it seems that there is a problem.” He nodded in the direction that we were headed and continued, “A small company of soldiers just passed us on the road. They’ve told us that the road ahead is impassable and that there have been incursions all week by the Scots. Even if we could get through, there’s a great risk you could be taken hostage or worse.”

“How long will it take us to go around?” Elizabeth cried.

I couldn’t help but give a mirthless laugh as I saw James’s face tense. “There’s no way around, Elizabeth. This is the only road through these parts. If we want to take another route, we’d have to go back six hours’ ride and then circle around well to the south, which adds another three days to the journey.”

All of us exchanged depressed looks until I thought of a possibility. “James, did the soldiers say how far ahead the road was blocked?”

“About five miles or so by their reckoning although they could not say for certain.”

“If I’m judging our position correctly, we’re not so far from Marlborough Castle, is that right?” I continued.

James smiled a little and nodded, seeing where I was headed with my inquiries. “Not so far at all, ma’am. And the road should be open as far as the spur that leads to the castle.”

“Marlborough is the seat of John White, the Earl of Barr, who is a cousin of ours,” I explained.

“A distant cousin. And I thought the Earl was dead?”

“The old Earl, yes, but you’re forgetting his son. Remember how they visited our home when we were young? There were two or three summers we passed together.”

“Oh yes, of course. I’d forgotten that was them. They were a kindly family.” Elizabeth’s face picked up immediately as she realized that things were better than they had seemed.

“There’s a small problem, thought,” James added hesitantly. “That road is narrow and steep. There’s no way the carriage is going to manage it.”

“Well, I have an idea,” I responded. “I’m a good rider and so is Hannah. Let us go with a couple of the guards on horseback. Once we’ve spoken to the Earl, we can ask him to send some men to help move everything else to the castle. And hopefully he can help us come up with a plan to get past the danger.”

“I’m not going to just sit here and wait hours for your return, Ella. I should be the one to go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I rebuked her. “You only gave birth a few months ago. It’s dangerous enough for you to be travelling at all, let alone going on horseback through the moors. Besides, I’m the better rider.”

Elizabeth seemed to argue but then a smile spread across her lips. “Oh yes, I just remembered their son Jay. He must be the Earl now. I’m sure you’re eager to see him.”

I felt my cheeks turn hot. “I’m simply thinking of the fastest way to get us to safety.”

“And not at all of the boy you were so enchanted by the last time you saw him?”

“We were children, Elizabeth. There was nothing romantic about it.”

Hannah could not resist a quiet laugh and James looked desperately uncomfortable.

“Tell me, James,” Elizabeth asked slyly, “what do you know of the young Earl? Is he said to be very handsome?”

“Quite handsome,” Hannah piped up. “And very much sought after, as he’s never taken a wife.”

I shot her a dark look but at the same time, I felt a slight tremor in my heart. I did remember Jay White very well, despite the fact that it had been years since I’d seen him. He was a quiet boy for the most part but we had spent much of the time his family had stayed with us conversing about books and about history. It had been some time before I realized that such conversations were not common between men and women and it made me value their memory all the more.

“Myself and Henry can accompany the ladies to the castle,” James offered. “I shall leave word that if we are not back by moonrise that the driver should return to the last town and see that you are sheltered there for the night.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “because if the Earl cannot or will not help us, it would be safer to meet there to determine what is to be done.”

The narrowness and steepness of the road were bad enough but there was also a high wind that made it even more difficult. It took us well longer than I had anticipated to make the castle gate and the reception we received from the guards there did little to inspire hope. They were surly and at first unwilling to send word that we had arrived and that we were seeking shelter.

“You try my patience with this behavior,” I upbraided the head of the guard. “I will ask you a final time to tell the Earl that his cousin, the Lady Estella Fannon of Northumbria and Cumbria, seeks shelter with him for the night.”

The mention of my full title seemed to grease the locks, as a messenger was dispatched and quickly returned to say that we were to be let in. At the same time, as we passed, I was chilled by the look on the messenger’s face, as if we were game headed for a trap.

There was a lot of activity in the castle, servants scurrying about and laughter reverberating through the halls and while it made for a warm atmosphere, I also knew too well what was likely happening. At least, I told myself, I had some experience negotiating with drunken young men, even if I hadn't always been very successful at it.

Hannah cut a dubious look at me as we were ushered from the entrance hall into a large salon filled with people. As soon as our eyes adjusted to the blazing lights from the sconces and the fire, I felt James place a heavy hand on my shoulder and push himself in front of me.

Many of the guests were in various stages of undress, including at least two who appeared to be agents of the church. Mixed in with the wealthy were a number of low types including several women whose profession seemed obvious enough from their attire and demeanor. The addition of commoners to a party was something I wasnt used to but the rest felt familiar.

"My lady, you and your companion need to go back to the hall and wait while I speak to the Earl," James muttered.

"There's no point to that. I'm the one claiming kinship and the one he's met. Besides, I'm not fragile."

He still insisted on staying a step ahead of me as the curious crowd parted before us and we approached the lord of the manor.

Jay White was much changed since I had last seen him. He now wore a beard, trimmed in what I believed to be a french style, which on its own made him look more a man than the boy I remembered. However, he seemed to have changed in almost every way. His previously slender frame had filled out, which was all the more evident because he lay stretched over a sofa, his shirt undone and his muscular chest bared. I could see the bulk of his shoulders barely covered by his tunic. What was most striking, though, was the change in his expression; boyish enthusiasm and gentility had been transformed into something hard and cold, a downy chick grown into a falcon. I recognized the intelligent blue green eyes I had known but there was something unsettling about them now, something dangerous.

I tried to avert my eyes from his body in the name of modesty and to avoid looking at the woman next to him, whose clothes were in a state of disarray.

"My noble cousin, I am sorry to arrive so unexpectedly and to come to you in need. My sister and I were making our way to Northumbria but we have been advised that the road is impassable. So although it has been many years since we have met in person, I find myself forced to ask for your lordship's hospitality and assistance."

He took a long swallow from the bottle of claret in his hand, his eyes moving over me with an intensity I found difficult to bear. His gaze flitted briefly to the other members of my party but quickly returned to me before I spoke."

"My lady," he drawled in a mocking tone, "how pleasant it is to see you again, even if it is in difficult circumstances. I notice that your sister isn't with you. How is it that you came to be separated?"

"Our carriage could not manage the road down the hill and I thought it best that I go ahead with this small party while she and the others waited with the carriage on the high road."

"Goodness. I hope that she won't encounter any misadventure. The Scots have been making attacks in these parts since midsummer and the anarchy they bring creates a haven for criminals."

"All the more reason, sir, why we are forced to place ourselves at your mercy."

At the word "mercy", a sneer spread over his features and I felt like the young man who had passed the summer with us had been devoured by this vicious creature. He paused before addressing himself to his guards, who had entered behind us.

"Geoffrey, convey the two gentlemen to the visitors' quarters and the Lady Estella to the chambers in the west tower. Her handmaiden can take the room adjacent."

A look passed between master and servant that made me want to tell him that we would find our own way, as madas that seemed. But Geoffrey and his men quickly herded James and Henry away, while another guard instructed Hannah and I to follow him.

"Will you be able to send your servants to find my sister and the others?"

"I shall make sure that they are brought here before you wake in the morning."

The chambers where I was brought were considerably rougher than I would have expected. The room was small with a tiny antechamber only large enough for a bench that allowed one to sit and look out the window. The bedding was thin and the mattress made of straw that smelled damp and old. It was some time before a maid even arrived to light the fire.

"I would like to see my companion," I told the woman as she furiously worked to get the fire to take.

She said nothing but gave me a suspicious look.

"If you can just direct me to her room, I shall go speak to her myself."

I rose to leave and immediately the woman gave a loud cry. Two guards rushed in to investigate and I repeated my request to them.

"The Master decides those things. It's up to him when you all see each other."

"Well then please tell the Master to come and speak to me right away."

The guards glanced at each other with a dry laugh.

"We shall do what we can, mistress."

Whether they even conveyed my request, I did not know. I know that I sat for hours on the bench in the window, watching the moon rise in the dark sky and wondering if White's men had reached Elizabeth and the others before they headed back to the town to seek shelter for the night. When everything seemed at its quietest, I thought to try to find Hannah’s room myself, only to discover that the door to my chamber was locked.

#jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #wayward wrestle writing #wrestling fanfic #wrestling imagine

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ofgoodmenarchive · 3 years

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The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

“You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

“Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

The Herald of Andraste...

…probably also does not speak to himself.

“Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

“You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

“Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

“Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

“For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

“I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

“MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

TALK-TALK-TALK-T

I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

“Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

“...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

“Me?” He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

Well, that answers that question...

But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

“That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

Oh, I like that.

So formal.

“Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

“You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

“Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

“Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

“Lavellan.”

“That would be a last name, no?”

“I do not tend to give my first.”

“You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

“Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

“Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

“Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

“...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

“I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

“We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

“...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

“I am fine!” He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

“Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

Absolutely wild.

He must be mad.

“...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

“I said I was not prepared!”

“I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dai #dorian pavus #blood mage dorian #blood mage #maleficar #pavellan #lavellan #m!lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #trying not to spam tags when all the content I make is dragon age rip #my writing #my aus

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atlafan · 4 years

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Tethered - Sneak Peek

Based off this ask.

a/n: this is going to be a doozy fam, the full thing is 27K. I really wanna take my time to proofread, so here’s the first few “pages” to hold you over. I’m hoping to post the full thing tomorrow if I can get it proofread tonight. Enjoy doctor!Harry!!

Becoming a pediatrician was no small feat. Four years for an undergraduate degree, perhaps in biology, or biochemistry, something of that nature, four years of medical school, and then five years of residency. Thirteen years total, and hundreds of thousands of dollars just so people will know you as doctor. But it was worth it, and not just because a person can get paid nearly $200K a year, although, that was pretty nice. No, it was worth it because a pediatrician got to spend the day with babies and kids, and even teenagers, who loved coming in for a checkup. Most kids loved going to the doctor. It was someone they knew well, someone they trusted, and someone to sneak them an extra piece of candy after a particularly difficult flu shot.

Dr. Harry Styles was just about thirty, and had gone into business with another doctor, Dr. Niall Horan, to open up their own pediatrics office. After their residency, they both agreed that smaller offices were better than working in a wing of a hospital. It was pretty easy to do, Harry had a friend from undergrad that he stayed close with who was a business major. She helped them with a business plan, with hiring, and even selecting a proper location for their practice. They wanted a space with a proper parking lot and all that.

It wasn’t difficult to keep patients, most of the parents that brought their kids to see Niall and Harry at the hospital followed them to their new practice. Word of mouth spread about the two handsome doctors with the accents, and the rest was history. They hired a couple of nurses, and a receptionist or two, and they were up and running with style. They had a nice little play area for kids, and a TV in the waiting area for everyone else.

Harry loved kids ever since he babysat them as a teenager. He knew from a young age he wanted to become a doctor of some kind, opting to take Latin in high school to get familiar with the terms earlier on. Pediatrics was guaranteed money, which was good because medical school is fucking expensive, and Harry had to take out loans to go to a good school. He sure as hell didn’t expect his mother to pay for it. Oh, and his mother was extremely proud of him, of course. As was his older sister, who, wasn’t doing so bad herself either, she was an Ecologist. Anne was amazed by both of her children, having zero idea where they got their brains from. The only thing she didn’t like about Harry’s career path was that he had to put so much on hold while he was in school. She felt like he didn’t really get to enjoy being young. Not that he would ever tell her, but he made plenty of time for fun when he was in school, even during his residency, he and Niall had plenty of fun.

“But when do you think you’ll find someone to settle down with?”

“Mum, I’m only going to be thirty, got plenty of time for that.”

“I’d like to be able to actually play with grand babies and not just be some old crone in a rocking chair.”

“You have two children, you know?”

“Funny, your sister says the same thing to me all the time.”

Harry was just happy he practiced his medicine in an entirely different country from where his mother lived. His sister wasn’t so lucky to be far away, she got the brunt of the married and kids talks. It’s not that Harry didn’t want those things, he did. It just wasn’t the right time. He finally felt like he could breathe. He only had to work four days a week, and he was finally getting his home in order. He just wanted to get settled before he started going out to try to meet someone.

* * *

It was an average Tuesday morning. Harry came in at 7:30AM, and said hello to his staff. It was Niall’s day off so he’d be holding down the fort, which he didn’t mind one bit. It was spring time which meant lots of kids had been coming in with sinus infections. Harry always felt horrible for them. He was alerted that his 10AM was in and waiting for him. He snags the chart and looks things over. It was a new patient, Michael Y/L/N, age two, both of his ears hurt. Harry sighs and goes into the room, putting on his best smile.

His eyes fall to the little boy sitting up straight on the bed, and then they fall to the woman sitting in the visitor’s chair next to the bed. She was wearing a white blouse, and a light pair of jeans, cuffed at the ankles. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and she had her hands folded in her lap. Her lips were painted red and her eyes were being illuminated by some faint eyeshadow and long lashes.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Styles.” He smiles at her.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, and this is Michael.”

The two shake hands. Harry extends his large hand out to Michael’s, and his little hand grasps it.

“Well, Michael.” Harry sits on the rolly chair and skootches closer to the bed. “What’s going on today?”

Michael looks at Y/N and then back to Harry.

“Go on, you can sort of speak.” She smiles at her son.

“My ears.”

“Both of them?” The boy nods at Harry.

“I think some water got in there during his last tubby, and we weren’t able to get it out.”

“Ah.” Harry stands up and grabs his otoscope. “Michael, may I check your ears?” Harry always liked to ask the kids if he could touch them before he did. It was a way to show them early on that their bodies were their own.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. He gently tilts Michael’s head so he can get a better look. He hums while he does so, and then steps to check his other ear. “Oh, yeah, they’re both infected.” He tells Y/N. “But not swimmer’s ear. Has he had ear infections before?”

“Yeah, a few. I think he has allergies. He gets them a lot in the spring.”

“The shape of his ear canal may have something to do with it as well. You may want to look into tubes down the line if this persists.”

“Aren’t those…” She looks at Michael and then back to Harry. “P-A-I-N-F-U-L?”

“They can be.” Harry chuckles. “They knock the kids out nowadays.”

Harry checks Michael’s nose and throat as well. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m going to write him a prescription, and then I’d like him to come in for a follow up so we can get his ears cleaned out. I’d do it now, but I don’t want him to get irritated. I’ll put a prescription for some ear drops too. That’ll loosen a lot of the wax up that he doesn’t need. He’ll need to lay on his side when you put them in, and then you’ll want to stick a tissue under his ear for run off. Get some cotton balls too, so when he stands it won’t all fall out.”

“Alright.”

“Michael, I know you don’t feel well, but if mum says it’s okay, I have some candy that may lift your spirts.”

“Mumma?”

“Sure.” You smile.

Harry opens a cabinet and reveals a bucket of different chocolates and lollipops. Michael sticks his little hand in and takes out a kit kat.

“His favorite.” She tells Harry.

“Anything for mum?”

“Oh, no thank you.” She scoops up Michael in her arms. “What do we say to Dr. Styles?”

“Thank you.” He beams up at Harry.

“You’re more than welcome. Here’s his prescription.”

“Thank you, Dr. Styles.” She takes the small slip from him, and he notices she’s not wearing a wedding ring. Just a simple ring on her middle finger in the shape of a sunflower. “We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Wait, uh, will I be expecting you or…another guardian?”

She stops short with Michael in her arms. She turns to look at him and she smirks.

“I’m home with him during the day, so it’ll be me.”

He lets her leave after that. He goes behind the receptionist desk, where Joyce was sitting, to look into her file.

“You only have a few minutes before your next appointment. You’re swamped without Niall here.”

“Eileen can handle it f’me.” He searches for Michael’s information in one of the spare computer’s. “Ah! Seems like they just moved to the area from a couple hours away.”

“Who?”

“That woman and her son.”

“You really shouldn’t shit where you eat.” She shakes her head.

“Oh, stop. I was just curious is all.” He stands up from the computer. “A man can’t know where his patient is from?”

“He can…but the patient’s mother…?” She smirks at him.

Harry rolls his eyes and walks away from her, going to wash his hands to get ready for his next appointment.

He tossed and turned when he first got into bed that night. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. She didn’t really answer his question about whether or not there was another person in the picture. A lot of people didn’t get married these days, but they at least still wore some type of ring, didn’t they? He thought to maybe see if she had any social media, but knowing her full name was confidential, and he didn’t want to abuse his power.

#tethered #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #doctor!Harry #doctorry #pediatrician!Harry #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

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thesimperiuscurse · 4 years

Note

FINE. All of them for EVA. Jerk

NO U. aight i’m gonna answer these for the start of chapter 6, two weeks from the end of chapter 5.

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

ready to kick ass, make the most of her work day, determined for upcoming regionals and exams. nothing is yet to trouble her.

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

the faces of her family. they are what she loves most in the world.

lemon; what’s your comfort food?

in winter, her mom makes rich and creamy soups with veggies from the garden. pair that with soft buns fresh from the oven, and it’s guaranteed to comfort eva on the coldest and dreariest days.

hansa yellow; what’s your guilty pleasure song?

classic justin timberlake songs, like cry me a river.

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

just yesterday i found a new one for eva, an electronic artist named kloud. there’s one song in particular, humans, the lyrics and intense beat of which she’s super vibing with.

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

the family villa in malibu. cherry and gabriel made sure to raise their children in a happy, secure, peaceful home. no repeat of their own turbulent and traumatic childhoods.

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

again, her family.

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

eva doesn’t have a best friend. all the people she’s really close to are members of her family. she’s always been far too ballet-focused to maintain deep relationships with anyone outside of her family. however, she’s now growing very comfortable with sasha, piper, misha, and mako. they’re all quite bantery with each other.

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

summer. always.

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

her day off is sunday. currently — she wakes up at 8:30, has a slow breakfast with piper in the cafe, checks in with the academy physiotherapist at 11:00, and the rest of the day is loosely scheduled for gym, procrastinating maths homework, kickboxing, visiting family, playing her guitar, or watching netflix.

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

she has a super strong support system in all her family members, but her mom in particular. cherry is always checking up by call whether her daughter is happy and healthy.

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

slow mornings. eva can’t wake up before eight, and if she’s forced to, she’ll get cranky. she wakes up when the sun does.

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

not binging, but she’s slowly working through sex education on netflix.

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

right-brained. she can’t analyse for shit, unless she’s working something out using empathy and emotional intelligence. like misha, in that sense.

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

she’s not one to enjoy the silent purity of art galleries. she prefers to explore nature and breathe in the ever-changing beauty of the earth. the sight of the sea always brings her peace.

english red; what animal do you relate to most?

probably a dumb but very cute and energetic dog.

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

scottish? she finds limmy’s show hilarious.

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

for summer boyfriends: hot surfer boys, tall and athletic, that have a big smile and laugh, laidback yet adventurous, sunkissed with messy sea-salted hair. in other words, mako ain’t it. for a significant other: she hasn’t thought about it. a serious romantic relationship is not in her interest for now.

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

no crushes. or at least, she hasn’t realised she has one yet. hehe.

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

eva doesn’t actually go on proper dates. she can’t be bothered with awkward conversations and formalities. she might grab an icecream with a guy, surf and play sports, or go to a bonfire beach party together.

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

hook up with him, i guess.

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

if it isn’t clear by now, eva gives absolutely zero fucks about traditions or ‘rules’ around dating. her relationships are in friend-with-benefits territory, and she goes straight for what she wants.

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

the family puppy, senor papperino. her siblings send her a million pictures of him as he grows up. a bittersweet joy.

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

her cousin amaya is getting married to amir next year, a spring wedding in the sonoran desert. eva’s helping her with the planning and dress design, which lilith is to create.

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

a simple beach house, warm with natural light, that sits gently in nature. small, because her time spent inside is minimal. she really isn’t impressed with flashy luxuries.

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

a place right by the beach. she loves malibu and would want to stay close to her family.

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

honestly, ‘settling down’ is something she’s barely thought about. she’s going to dance professionally as long as she can, maybe become a teacher like darcy, and explore her other passions, like surfing and environmental conservation. the traditional concept of marrying then having children is one that she feels may happen to her naturally, rather than she HAS to settle down at a specific point in her life. it’s just not on her priority list.

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

the most beautiful place in the world in eva’s mind is the garden at her family home, which blooms with dandelion clocks in summer, full of fruit trees, and is right by her favourite beach. her happiest childhood memories lie there.

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

at the moment, eva’s always in a good mood, because she’s in a place where she’s working at her greatest passion everyday. she’s friends with mako now, so the only person that could really put her in a bad mood is vicky.

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

she can’t remember any of her dreams.

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? how many of each?

since eva doesn’t really care about getting married, that hasn’t crossed her mind. she already has a broad, loving, ‘dream’ family, and her siblings are bound to have kids, so she doesn’t feel any pressure. she would be perfectly happy spending time with her nieces/nephews instead. a cute dog is a definite, though, probably another golden retriever.

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

evangeline’s named after one of the strongest women in her life. she’s proud to have inherited the name, and hopes to live up to it.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

grapefruit, sea salt.

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

she’s a coffee person, but in summer, her mom likes to brew iced tea with fruits and herbs from the garden, which eva loves.

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

lots of citrus trees. plants that can grow wild and thrive on their own.

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

i can picture eva vlogging, but in reality she’s too busy dancing for that shit. she prefers to live her life off screen, grounded in her reality.

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

“jacked as fuck”

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

a field of tiny wildflowers on the dry coastal hills of malibu. the sun is burning bright, the sea is crashing against the beaches below, the wind is pulling wild at her hair.

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

eva’s always striving to be more than just comfortable. her ambition means she’s already achieved an impressive amount in life, and she’s happy with how she’s moving along, but she’s forever shooting for the stars.

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

she can’t afford to travel at the moment but hawaii, spain, greece.

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

a tiny bit of spanish, korean, and german from gabriel, but nowhere near fluently. she would like to improve her skills in those languages if she has the time.

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

eva isn’t bookish. she just can’t sit still long enough. when she was a kid, she did love the magic slipper series, written by one of the prima ballerinas she idolises.

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

her calculus textbook. she wants to set it on fire.

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

she likes cheesy 90s era movies. she’s the man always makes her laugh.

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

an ice bath and self massage for her legs, if pointe work is particularly intense, treat any new blisters or bleeding on her feet. typical ballet things.

umber; have you drank enough water today?

eva is always mindful to drink eight cups of water per day.

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

amaya. she listens coolly, and provides helpful commentary. a few weeks ago, eva vented to her about mako and how much of an ‘arrogant ass’ her partner is. after she finished letting off steam, amaya asked her what the exact reasons for disliking him were, which helped eva realise her own stubbornness, haha.

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

perfect surf waves, a hug from her parents, adding a new piece of jewellery to her minimal gold collection, warm sunny weather, camping with her siblings.

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

she’s received a lot of ‘you’re pretty’ type compliments from guys over the years, but what makes her happiest is compliments about her dancing, particularly from professionals.

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

summer beach chick, relaxed shades of sea blue and white froth, minimalist, with a rough edge.

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

nah i’m too lazy to open the game at the moment. anyway, eva doesn’t really take selfies by herself, since she’s not that active on social media.

#wow this took ages #thanks jade #evangelinekingston #genfour #characterask

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axelxmartinez · 4 years

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(Hi I love to plot, hit me up and let’s chat!)

Introduction @redridgeimp

FULL NAME: Axel Jose Diego Martinez

NICKNAMES(S): Axe, Ax, Diablo

AGE: 33

DATE OF BIRTH: October 30th, 1986

PLACE OF BIRTH: Red Ridge, Nevada

CURRENT LOCATION: Red Ridge, Nevada.

ETHNICITY: Latino. Mexican primarily and his mother was partially Caucasian (European descent), as well as Mexican and Dominican.

GENDER: Cis male.

PRONOUNS: He/him/his.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: quoiromantic

RELIGION: Atheist.

OCCUPATION: Owner of Roberto's and Bone breaker for Valencia.

EDUCATION LEVEL: he dropped out of high school in the beginning of 11th grade.

EXTRACURRICULAR: Boxing, lifting weights, playing video games, occasionally reading

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Owns his parents house, a medium sized single family home with 4 bedrooms, an unfinished basement, nothing to brag about on the south side of redridge

SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT: Deep, smooth voice with a hint of a Spanish accent, especially when he's angry. Normally keeps a steady tone, unless he’s really upset about something.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

FACECLAIM: Manny Montana

HAIR COLOR AND STYLE: black, shaved short

COMPLEXION: Brown on the lighter side with neutral undertones

EYE COLOR: Brown.

EYESIGHT: 20/30 the last time he checked, he probably could use corrective lenses for driving or reading something but he doesn’t bother with it.

HEIGHT: 6’1” or 185cm

WEIGHT: 169lbs or 77kg

BODY AND BUILD: Muscular, lean, well-defined muscles.

TATTOOS: tons, he gets them at random and the only theme to them is that they are black and white. The obvious ones most people see are the skull on his throat and the ones on his fingers and hands. (See his pinterest linked at the bottom for more ideas in this area)

PIERCINGS: none, he fights too much to have piercings.

CLOTHING STYLE: jeans, hoodies, t-shirts, flannels, button down shirts, primarily black for everything.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: tattoos all over his body, small linear scar on his eyebrow where no hair grows, various scars all over his body - some covered with tattoos and some not. Also wears necklaces and rings, has a few random bracelets made by his nieces and nephews.

HEALTH.

MENTAL DISORDER(S): ADD is all he’s been diagnosed with, though he likely has an anxiety disorder as well.

PHYSICAL DISORDER(S): none

ALLERGIES: the pollen gets to him in the spring but he just ignores it

SLEEPING HABITS: insomniac, he sleeps in small shifts between work and whatever he’s doing during the day.

EATING HABITS: Axel has a high metabolism so he eats a lot and often, he tends to pick things up while he’s moving around town and keeps protein bars and snacks in his car for in between meals

SOCIABILITY: extroverted introvert, he tends to be around people but doesn’t go out of his way to strike up conversation unless he feels it necessary, knows the person already, or is spoken to first.

BODY TEMPERATURE: neutral.

ADDICTIONS: Nicotine, Caffeine, some would argue he drinks a little too much but he doesn’t think so.

DRUG USE: Depends on the drug. He smokes marijuana frequently, but anything else is occasionally and he refuses to touch needles or anything made purely from chemicals (i.e. Meth).

ALCOHOL USE: Frequently, usually has a drink or two everyday. Sometimes more, sometimes less. He prefers brandy and tequila but also enjoys beer and will always accept a free drink regardless of what it is.

PERSONALITY.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Hardworking, Efficient, Honest, Strong, Confident, Curious

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Callous, Insensitive, Secretive, Possessive, Withdrawn, Stubborn

LIKES: Fighting, good food, drinking, video games, smoking, sex, most things physical, some reading, fire

DISLIKES: Schools, authority (mainly police), drama, airplanes, inactivity

FEARS: His only fear that he could ever pinpoint was his father.

HABITS: Plays with his fingers, touches his face, staring without talking, smoking, rain

ASTROLOGY: Scorpio Sun, Sagittarius Rising, Libra Moon

PERSONALITY TYPE: INTJ

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin.

ELEMENT: Fire

WEATHER: Overcast or Sunny

COLOR: Black

MUSIC: Rock, Metal, 90’s hip hop

MOVIE: Documentaries or Action movies

SPORT: Baseball and Soccer

BEVERAGE: Brandy or Tequila

FOOD: Waffles

ANIMAL: Snake

SEASON: Summer

FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER: Antonia Martinez (Rodriguez)

FATHER: Roberto Martinez, deceased

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: none

SIBLING(S): 5 younger siblings, names and ages vague for future wc

CHILDREN: TBD

PET(S): Ball Python named Slinky

PROMPT.

“ROUTINE”: violence tw, death tw

Ever since he was a teenager, Axel has worked at Roberto’s. At his father’s insistence to teach him some responsibility, as the owner, it was common for him to hire his children and other relatives because he didn’t trust anyone. When Roberto, his father, went to prison and was simultaneously killed while there, his business was given to his eldest son. Axel wasn’t very torn up about losing his father, it made his life significantly easier and allowed him to take over the role as head of the Martinez family. Something he’d been well prepared for and while he wasn’t the nicest guy, he wasn’t the psychopath Roberto was. At least, he didn’t think he was.

With his father gone, his days started with the sun (if he even got to bed the night before). He opened the convenient store, put the money in the till for the starting shift and made sure everything was turned on and stocked from the night before. Once the first shift comes in, he usually heads to the back to double check that everything is locked up and set up for the next shift. After that is usually when he gets word of anything Valencia needs him to do that day. Even though he’s not a soldier anymore, he likes to keep busy so he picks up slack where he can. If not, he starts checking in on his younger siblings and making sure they are doing what they’re supposed to be doing and staying out of trouble. If he doesn’t have anything pressing to get done, he heads to the gym to do his usual workout and possibly some sparring to keep his endurance at peak along with his fighting technique. Afterwards, he hits up Ridge Roasters if he’s going to the North side of town and gets his coffee with a random pastry to go. Otherwise, he heads to Blue Hill Diner for a proper breakfast and chats with the staff there or scrolls through his phone. He heads back to the convenient store if they need him, otherwise he heads home for a nap or just to relax. Most days he can trust his shift supervisors or the manager to finish up the rest of the day at Roberto’s. Only on occasion does he have to cover a shift or go in to change the cash register for a shift.

By five or six in the evening, Axel crosses the threshold of St. Peters and takes a spot at the bar. If he feels like dinner, he gets something to eat. Otherwise he has a few drinks to pass the time and watches the environment. If he’s lucky, he catches something that isn’t supposed to be happening in Redridge without approval and brings it to a higher up. Otherwise, he wastes some time before Rogue’s opens and he can go watch the fights for the night. By the time it’s his turn to get in the ring, he’s usually itching to start fighting. He’s not one to get excited about much, but once he gets sight of his ‘opponent’ a wide shark-like smile will spread across his face. Axel loves the work he gets to do with Valencia and if he could do more he would. Fighting and getting rid of people was something he specialized in, he was damn good at it, too. If he was lucky, he brought someone home with him at the end of the night. If not, he has another drink and heads back to his house to watch something on the television or, if he’s even luckier, gets a few hours of sleep before he has to wake up and repeat it all the next day.

“REMINISCENCE”: violence tw, alcohol tw, blood tw, death tw

“Not everyone gets to just blurt out how the feel about whoever or whatever on a fuckin’ whim, dude.” Axel spoke into his glass, the third brandy making his voice hoarse. Stuck in the reverie that his best friend had pulled from him. That afternoon they’d gotten the news that his father was found dead in the showers that morning. He was out celebrating. That man had never done anything for anyone, nothing good at least and definitely not any of his kids. Axel looked at the brown liquid in his glass and swirled it around. “Remember back in high school, that kid Jake who used to hang around sometimes?” He asked, eyes still on the glass. “We used to mess around or whatever. I was young and stupid.” He shook his head, knowing at twenty-five he wasn’t exactly old but he was a lot older than he was then. “Anyways, it had been a few months and I started talkin’ a big game like I was the boss of my house. My papi didn’t give a shit what I did or who I was with and all that. We stopped at Roberto’s after school to get some snacks or whatever. You know, same shit different day.” Axel paused and let out a slow sigh. The alcohol was getting to his head and loosening his tongue to reveal shit he’d never talked about with anyone. Most people knew his father was a prick that was quick to correct his children with his hands rather than his words, but Axel didn’t ever make it seem like it bothered him. He sure as hell didn’t let on that he harbored a great fear of the man. “We were at the counter paying, right in front of my dad and Jake tried to lean in for a kiss or somethin’ to say thank you or some shit. I just freaked out, I didn’t know what to do because that shit wasn’t goin’ to fly with Roberto Martinez. Not one of his kids. So, I pushed him away and beat his ass bloody right there for all the world to see.” He didn’t want his dad to do it and if he thought for a second that Axel was into guys he would probably shoot him on the spot. Definitely would have gotten rid of him in one way or the other. Even if he still liked girls, too. “My brother had to pull me off of him. I was so fuckin’ scared man, I just kept hittin’ him. He had to go to the hospital and his parents didn’t even press charges, they straight pulled him out of school. I never even saw him again.” Axel finished off his glass and exhaled the burn it left in his throat and chest. “Out of all the people I’ve beat in my lifetime, all the shit I’ve done, man. That’s the only one I regret. But you know the sad part?” He let out a bitter laugh. “If I could go back and do it over, I’d still beat his ass. What the fuck does that say about me?” Axel shut up after that, didn’t even really pay attention to what his friend had to say about any of it. He drowned himself in a bottle and had no idea how he got home at the end of the night.

BACKGROUND. ( abuse tw, death tw, violence tw)

Born and raised in Redridge, oldest of six children. Some of his siblings still live in Redridge, others have left and spread around the country. He has a large extended family. They live all over the country, Mexico, and South America.

His father was a very strict man and ran his household with an iron fist. He believed his children should be seen and not heard. If one of them were to step out of line, show defiance, or generally make him angry in any way, he normally responded by correcting them physically instead of with words. He owned Roberto’s, which he started before Axel was born. Roberto was also a member of Valencia working up from street rat to lieutenant. He was arrested when Axel was twenty and died in prison when he was twenty-five.

Antonia, his mother, was a reserved woman. She was hard-working and loved her children. However, she listened to her husband and he was the head of the household. When Roberto went to prison, Axel took over the role of head of the household. His mother fell ill in his late twenties and currently lives in an assisted living facility in Redridge. Axel visits her regularly.

As for his siblings, he keeps up with all of them. One attends the community college and he is adamant that they keep up with their grades and continue their education. He keeps in almost daily touch with each and every one of them and adores his nieces and nephews. Whenever he can visit, he makes a point to but hates to fly so it is usually only once or twice a year at most for those who live outside of Nevada.

School wasn’t Axel’s strong suit. He could never focus and everything just made him feel like he was stupid when he knew he wasn’t stupid. He just wasn’t book smart. So he dropped out right before eleventh grade and worked at Roberto’s. As soon as he was able to, he joined Valencia as a street rat and moved up the ranks to Bone-breaker once he had proven himself. However, he enjoys doing soldier work still so he will pick up any spare jobs if they are available.

As far as romance goes, Axel has never been with anyone long. He enjoys both women and men and their company, but he has a hard time letting anyone past his walls. The few times he has tried, he fucked it up in one way or another. So, he stays single and just holds casual relationships.

He loves to fight and he is good at making people disappear, getting jobs done efficiently, and intimidation. Axel is very loyal to Valencia.

Currently, he is always on the move. He doesn’t like to be idle for long. So he is either doing work for Valencia or Roberto’s, moving around town, drinking at a bar, eating somewhere, fighting at Rogue’s, at the gym, watching fights, or sleeping in between any of those activities.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Friends With Benefits/One-night Stands (unlimited): He likes physical activity and touch, he tries to pick people up often and especially after a fight. This could have been happening for a long time or just a night or be brand new.

Best Friend (0/1): This person knows him better than anyone. They just get him and is likely the only person he’s ever opened up to.

Close Friends (0/6): These people know him better than most, but he probably has only opened up about one or two things to them. He trusts these people and likes to be around them.

Employees: Anyone who wants to work at Roberto’s

Budding Romance (0/1): could be a fwb that progresses, someone who’s always been around but neither of them made the move to advance it past anything.

Enemies: Self explanatory, but they always butt heads in one way or another. Possibly have fought in the past, but definitely never have anything nice to say about one another.

Past relationships (0/4): People who tried to break through his walls and didn’t get through. Or they just didn’t work out for any multitude of reasons.

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/kitmeowza/c-axel-martinez/

#redridgeimp #intro #; about #//have my child #//hope this is okay

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