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peterthepark · 2 years

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begin again (1)

pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

tags: friends to lovers, awkwardness and humor, slow burn, brief mentions of loneliness, depictions of violence and death, grief, fluff, almost 5k words ;)

summary: peter parker was a horrible neighbor, but that’s the price to pay when you unknowingly live next to new york’s favorite sticky superhero. but despite the snarky remarks and your childish antics, you and peter had a lot more in common, and a lot more walls between each other than the one in your apartment.

notes: epic peter parker series coming up. here’s the first part! much more to come… based off of taylor swift’s song “begin again (TV)” idk how many chapters this’ll have, kind of just rawdogging it and seeing where it goes, but enjoy for now :)

missing out? ➤ [my masterlist] - [series masterpost]

The beeps and honks from the road below echoed as the open window swung lightly against the winter wind. Hues of yellow pooled through, decorating the stained floorboards with sun and light. It was nearing ten in the morning, and yesterday’s coffee sat in a mug ready to be reheated. The radiator hummed - although off - it sang quietly on the days you’d wake up after a long night of reading and frantically typing away on your computer. The TV chimed in the background as you went to collect the bread from your toaster. Your earbuds clattered to the floor as you leaned to take a plate from the cabinet, and you cursed in frustration.

“Fucking wireless… hate this.” You muttered, tuning out the sounds of NYC as you listened to the newest Murder Mystery podcast on your phone. As if you hadn’t been interrupted enough already, your ringtone goes off, and you find yourself groaning at the caller ID. “Hey, Jameson.” He rambles on about the news. “Yeah, I’m watching…” You turn to the TV. “... Absolutely not, send someone else.” You waved your hand around with a stern tone, then scoffed. It was your day off. And there he was, that red and blue spider, swinging away from the unfocused camera after intervening with a bank robbery. “I know he’s my portion of the article. But I’m off… Weren’t you satisfied with what I did last week? Yes, send him instead… ‘Kay, whatever, bye.”

You sighed. Unlike Jameson, it wasn’t your job to tear Spider-Man and his cobwebs to silky shreds. You just liked writing and happened to have a fondness for the vigilante. You knew Jameson was using your Spider-Man fanatics for his own benefit, and for The Daily Bugle, and you didn’t mind. What was cooler than following Spider-Man across the city? You were about to relax on the couch for the first time, toast on plate, plate in hand, until there was a loud clang against the wall behind you. And then there was scuffling in the hallway.

And then a knock.

With furrowed brows and two bites of your toast, you approached the door with long strides. Peering through the peephole, you saw a warped image of a man. Tall, lanky, unsure of where to put his hands and what to do with the stray thread on his jacket. You opened the door slowly, and a smile tugged at the corners of the stranger’s lips. He noticed your confusion, and he purses his lips before speaking.

“Hi, I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I, uh,” He shifted on his feet. Gesturing to the apartment next to yours, he chuckles awkwardly. “I moved in next door, just in 5C. I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to meet yet.” You blinked. Peter isn’t sure if he said something wrong, or if he was too friendly for your liking, but it takes almost a minute for you to reply. “So, hi.”

He knows because he counted the seconds of silence.

“Sorry, hi, I’m Y/N.” You snapped out of your trance, and he puffed in relief when you responded. You stick your hand out to him. “Great to finally meet the clumsy neighbor.” You laughed, pulling the door open just a little more.

The tips of his ears turned hot, and he cleared his throat by putting his fist against his mouth with embarrassment. “Ha, oof. Clumsy. Yeah, sorry about that. Really. I hadn’t realized the walls were so… thin? I really hope I haven’t woken you up or disturbed anything or -” He paused, calming his rambling. “You know, I really didn’t realize how hard it is to move a sofa when you don’t have anyone to help you move in.”

You hummed, eyeing his beat-up converse and the weird strings of cobwebs on the knees of his pants. “Do you need help moving a sofa?” You squinted at him.

The tension in his body deflated. His shoulders hung with a pleading sigh.

“God, yes, please.”

Peter didn’t need help moving a goddamned sofa. He knew that, but at least you didn’t. His crazy enhanced strength gave him the ability to lift almost anything… except the Empire State Building. (He tried that once, and failed - much to his surprise. Tried grabbing from the base of the building then tried from the top. Didn’t work at all. Every tourist and police officer looked at him weirdly). But, he did know that he was lonely. Peter recalled the look of pity the landlord had given him when he admitted it was just him at the moment. Ever determined, he wanted to make acquaintances in the building. More like acquaintance, singular. Frankly, you were the only one who opened their door after he had been going around knocking. The sofa excuse? He had just finished watching that one episode of Friends, and it was the first thing that came to mind.

Now, he realized maybe this was a bad idea. He didn’t mean to disturb the girl next door. Was it weird asking you to lift a couch with him? Probably. You were pretty, was he wrong for asking you? Would you cuss him out and think he was a weird Queens creep that wanted to be alone with you? No, he had good intentions. Just wanted to be friendly. So much for a welcome. Peter didn’t think that you would even accept, much more open the door. But you did. Out of all the neighbors - the woman with like eight chihuahuas across from him, the old man who would always get locked out of his place, the snotty sorority girl, the man who won’t stop playing EDM music on max fucking volume - you welcomed him. And he’s thankful. Sure, you were sort of timid and kinda kept to yourself but you’d show bits and pieces of who you were to him with witty, quick remarks. But it was just what he needed. He’d take these mysterious neighbors anyday over isolation and a dark bedroom that didn’t feel warm anymore. Peter already decided you were his favorite neighbor, but to a very close tie with the chihuahua lady.

Peter seemed like he was capable of lifting it himself. You saw it for a moment, the way the sofa literally hovered over the floor for a few seconds. But, you shrugged it off, deciding maybe he wanted company. He was your new neighbor, the last thing you would want is an argument over a tiny observation of his behavior.

An argument.

Maybe you jinxed yourself because Peter said something about this “god-awful podcast” he heard in the mornings and you choked on air.

“God-awful? Now, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” You leaned against the doorway of the hall leading to his bedroom, watching as he arranged the throw pillows on the sofa. It was funny, seeing his long limbs stretched out on the floor. “I don’t think it’s god-awful. I think it’s genius. I like to believe they’re based on real stories. Keeps me up at night. You just lack taste, Peter.”

“Am not lacking taste, but I think it’s almost horrific that you’ve gotten through like, how many episodes? Sixteen? How do you sit through sixteen episodes of a fake podcast?” He looked at you over his shoulder, eyebrows comically drawn into a concerned look. “Torture, I tell you. Having to hear that through my walls every morning since I got here-”

“How do you even hear them? I have earbuds in everyday.”

He paused, almost to think. “Your earbuds are ass.”

“Dude, you just got here and you’re already annoying.” You moved, intending to leave so you wouldn’t overstay your invitation. Peter laughed, running a hand through his locks. It stung a little, only because he was always a sensitive one at heart. But he hadn’t been called annoying in a while and in a weird way, it made him feel youthful. It was oddly comforting. “Now, if you suddenly need help with another sofa, I’ll be next door. You can holler, or you know, start shit-talking my favorite podcast again. I’ll hear either.”

It was a joke, but it was also half-meant. Because Peter Parker was starting to get on your nerves. This buffoon, with no taste in podcasts, and his shitty ugly couch that you should’ve left alone.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, though.” He followed you out, shutting the door to his apartment behind him as he stepped into the hallway with you. “I appreciate the sofa help. Let me know what I can do to help you overcome that, you know, bad podcast addiction of yours.” He ducked his head playfully, catching your eyes glimmer with wit.

“Cry about it. You’re welcome.” You can’t help but snicker. The corner of your lip tugged upwards, and you shrugged before glancing at Peter as you let yourself into 6C. “For the record, maybe listening to a bad podcast will help you keep it down there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Y/N!”

Back inside your apartment, you realized that talking with Peter had taken an hour and a half of your day. It felt longer - fun, despite the various times you’d subtly clash heads and the times he’d shit-talk your tastes in podcasts. You never realized the lingering smile on your face, but you did realize that you had left your phone in here all that time and you missed a couple of important texts.

J. Jonah Jameson. 1 new message.

Your new article was a hit.

I know its your day off but I heard info about some possible Spider-Man sightings for tonight.

Heard he has a new patrol route. Check your area.

(3 attachments).

You sat straighter in the wooden kitchen chair, skimming through the pictures that Jameson sent. Indeed, it was your area. Spider-Man was captured swinging over the coffee shop down the street. Another picture showed him interrupting the drug deal that commonly happened in the graffiti littered alleyway that separated your building from the next. And then the last pic seemed to be Peter’s fire escape. That kinda made you jealous. Spider-Man picking Peter’s fire escape over yours? How rude of him. Urging yourself not to get excited any further, you hurriedly texted Jameson back.

You got me. I’ll be there.

Thanksgiving bonus? :)

Get in on the action then we’ll talk.

New York, despite the pollution and no-no empty subway cars, was pretty at night. It was something you’d always known but would never get used to. The lights stretched out for miles, the busyness of people that never died down at night either, the soft thumping of bar music and busking. Although New York was great, it was deeply gorey. It was mean, cold, and cruel. It could chew you up and spit you out. But it had a certain red and blue individual that you couldn’t quite shake off.

Spider-Man saved you.

Which is why you were so fond of him.

He may have been painted as an antihero, altruist, or a no-good vigilante but deep down, you always saw him as a hero.

Flawed, but a hero.

You were nineteen when it happened. You and your parents had been walking the streets late at night. The lights had a green hue to them, and flickered with warning. It was one of the safer sides of the city, so no one was worried. At the time, you were tourists. Visiting family on the east coast during their wedding anniversary. But from there, it all gets blurry in a mix of screams and raw pain shooting through your arm. It was a robbery. Your parents were mugged. Shot. Twice. And you, a bullet grazed your arm, before Spider-Man swung down from the sky and pinned three robbers to the ground within a flash.

You flinched with each punch that Spider-Man pulled.

The way his suit rippled with rage.

Your throat was dry and you felt bile rise in your throat as the criminals pleaded for mercy. It was too hard to watch.

“Spider-Man.”

He didn’t look up once.

You moved, to reach for him, to stop him. “Spider-Man.” You could hear the grunts under his mask. He was steaming with anger. His suit started to turn redder. “Spider-Man!”

You reached for his fist, stopping him from leaving a final blow. He finally looked back at you, pulled back into this reality - this nightmare - as his webbed knuckles stained your palms with blood.

The police arrived five minutes too late.

You remembered how you stood on the sidewalk. In shock, breathless, yet your chest rose heavy with each gasp of oxygen you took. You never felt the rushed hands of paramedics nearly dragging you to the ambulance. You never heard the voices of concern swirling all around you, but the police sirens haunted you. It was like the world had taken all your senses, except sight.

Because you saw. And you watched it happen.

You tore your eyes away from the corpses on the ground, not wanting to stare any longer. Your lifeless glare landed on Spider-Man. He was already looking at you. You wished you couldn’t see the shell of your reflection in the eyes of his mask. The way you sat in the ambulance, the way that everything and everyone felt suddenly unknown to you. But Spider-Man never tore his gaze away as you were treated. You wished, at that moment, to see his eyes behind the mask. Just to see the sliver of the person beneath.

You thanked him with a nod of your head.

You didn’t know, but Spider-Man was crying. He empathized.

He broke your gaze and then he disappeared into the night.

You didn’t find yourself haunted by that memory anymore. In fact, you came to peace with it. There was a time where you questioned why Spider-Man wasn’t able to come sooner. Maybe he could’ve saved your parents. People tended to ask what happened that night when they would find out that you were a witness to Spider-Man in action, out of worry, curiosity, to judge. And you’d tell them that he saved you and you were grateful to be alive. Your parents didn’t make it out. It was just a robbery in the street.

You called it your Bruce Wayne origin-story. No one found that funny, except you.

It was around ten at night when you witnessed the familiar lean figure swing from one building to the next. You would’ve missed it, had you moped longer. But, you saw the quick and calculated motion on the building across the street. You had taken to the roof of your building for a better view, feeling that maybe Spider-Man would feel brave and try that fire escape again. You lost him in the shadows, but you recognized the loud thwip! and your brows raised at the web that landed down the side of the building.

You rushed to turn your camera on, nearly dashing over the edge of the building to catch him in front of Peter’s fire escape. But by the time you were able to check, he was fucking gone, as you peered over the edge. Damn superheroes and their super speed and super sense. The only thing left was whatever remained from his web, and you decided to snap a picture anyways.

You texted Jameson.

It was a bust. I’ll try again next time.

Not entirely disappointed, you made your way back inside your building. You were hit with warmth and the stuffiness of the hallway felt cozy, contrasting from the cold and the bits of snow that accumulated in the cable knit of your beanie. You were just about to pass by Peter’s door when it swung open, as if he had been waiting for you to pass. He was out of breath. His hair - if you thought it was crazy before, it surely was now - sat like a rat’s nest above his forehead. His pupils were wide and his lips were wet as his tongue darted out to lick them.

It’s almost like Peter was caught doing something, but he was quick to acknowledge you, “H-Hi!” His head tilted to the side. He laughed loudly, and you sent him an accusatory look. “What, Y/N?”

“I think you’re so weird.” You enunciate each word. And you look down, out of habit. You didn’t mean to look at him, but you were trying to look at your shoes and that was when the Spider-Man covered boxers caught your eye. You lowered your voice, “If you have someone over, the least you could do is not wear the Spidey boxers. You really are weird, take it to heart.”

He grimaced. Peter realized that you were insinuating that he was having sex and he wore Spider-Man boxers for hookups. His hands move to cover his crotch area, “Oh, my god. No, not what you think. I’m by myself.”

“You don’t need to act like that. I don’t actually care.” You huffed, scratching the back of your head. “M’not your girlfriend so…”

Eh, you kinda did. You would never admit it though.

“Unfortunately.” He joked. And you took the biggest mental note of it. He flirted without a thought, for the first time today. Peter had just met you and he was flirting. He blushed after, taken aback by his own forwardness. You shut yourself up before a stutter could make it past your lips. Peter also noticed. Hoping he hadn’t made you uncomfortable with his joke, he instantly brushed over it with another. “What? Who said that? I think there’s someone eavesdropping on our conversation. I heard it.” He comically looked around each end of the hallway, and you tried to stifle a laugh from his antics.

“I’m your neighbor, which is worse. I can hear everything so if you’re gonna…” You trailed off.

“I’m not. I was changing, Y/N. That’s all.” He bumped your shoulder, wagging his finger at you. “Don’t be jealous of me now.”

There it was. Peter felt like a bit of himself again, cracking his quick-witted jokes. After being stuck in a rut for ages, he finally felt himself being tugged out. Years of therapy maybe got him somewhere.

You poked him away. “Not jealous. Just making sure my neighbor knows that I know what’s up.” You grinned up at him, popping the p. “I’m only joking, Peter. I think the Spidey boxers are kinda cool.”

“Yeah?” He perked up, before you admired how his shoulders broadened.

“But, when you wear them, they look kinda lame.” He snorted at the insult, softly nudging you towards your apartment.

“You’re insufferable.”

You placed your hand on your hip, leaning your weight on one side, “I think I’d rock them better.”

“Y/N? In my underwear? Oh, but we’ve only just met.” The thought made Peter warm and jittery inside, his cheeks rosy. It made you blush, too. For the same reasons.

“I’m sure The Daily Bugle would love seeing their favorite Spider-Man writer in some fanmade merch.” You said, matter of factly.

Peter stopped, smile dwindling as a spark of curiosity nudged him. “Spider-Man writer?”

You nodded, pulling out your phone and showing what looked to be the newest publication of The Daily Bugle. His eyes hurriedly read over the words, and they zeroed-in on the contents beneath the article header.

His eyebrows deepened their furrow.

“Well? Hopefully my bad podcasts don't translate into bad writing.” You gazed up at Peter expectantly, concerned at his shift in behavior.

Peter wasn’t distraught. Nor was he offended. Because the only article that said somewhat good and unbiased things about Spider-Man was yours. He should’ve listened in on all those stressed phone calls you’ve been dealing with. He knew that he recognized Jameson’s voice. You, his neighbor, who had such access to Peter, but not Spidey. At least, he doesn’t think you have access to Spider-Man. Peter was careful, calculated, but he also could be ignorant at times like the dumbass he is. Maybe, you’ve seen him on the fire escape? Not so smart of him, but it was a possibility that he couldn’t just rule out.

Peter would never use his window again.

“Do you know Spider-Man?”

“What? No, doofus. I’m just a journalist.” Peter’s soft eyes met yours for the first time in a while. Like, they were searching. You pried your phone from his tight grip. “If you’re some insane Spider-Man fanboy, I really can’t help you. I don’t think he does selfies.”

That’s when he started to study you. To really look at you, this time. Your eyes. Bright, yet exhausted from the all-nighters you’d pull covering a story. The way your eyebrows fell, how worry creased over the dryness and cracks of your winter lips. You were familiar, but he couldn’t place where. Peter stepped back.

He’d do a background check later. He didn’t know why he hadn’t done one in the first place, and he would’ve decked himself in the head if you weren’t standing so close to him.

“Yeah,” You managed to capture the second glance he gave your phone as you tucked it away. “Huge fan. Can’t you tell?” He gestured to his boxers.

You sensed his slight uneasiness, and you took it as your sign to head back inside. “Okay, well. Maybe I can hook something up one day. Don’t think Spider-Man does autographs either. I’m gonna go sleep this off now.”

“Yup, me too.” Peter’s digits made a beeline for his door handle.

“Hey, actually wait!” You called out to him just before he could leave. He blinked widely at you, awaiting the rest of your sentence. “I-I promise I’m not some Spider-Man hunter or anything… if that’s what you’re thinking of. I just… think he’s a good guy. And interesting. Jonah Jameson takes things too far. I don’t. I think New York needs to see both sides of that coin.”

Peter doesn’t know why, but he believed you. His cheeks warmed at the words of appreciation, something he hadn’t heard for years. For whatever reason, you could’ve been lying. Yet, you didn’t know that side of him, and he was convinced you were speaking from the heart. The sincerity laced in your voice seemed too real to be mistaken for artificiality. He liked that about you, that you were upfront with him with anything. And you sensed him.

Like it was so easy for you to read people. To read him.

Not just Spider-Man. Peter. The last person able to read him so easily was Gwen. And that scared him to pieces. That familiarity you carried, whether it was platonic or not, it gave him some hope. He allowed himself to smile. Maybe these apartments weren’t such a bad thing after all. Peter wanted to be optimistic. He wanted to have fun and live again, and do anything but mope. Gwen had been gone from his life for at least six years. He was older, and being Spider-Man, he was never guaranteed time. Time always felt like it was slipping through his fingertips. It felt as if yesterday he was still a senior in high school, skating across Manhattan with that youthful bounce in his step that blossomed from the goodness of being Spider-Man. So naïve. So young. Too young almost. Peter knew loss from a young age, and so did you.

“Goodnight, Pete.” You sing-song, stepping into the confines of your place. Peter reminisced over the nickname, and thought of Aunt May.

Although you gained most of Peter’s trust, he was still uncertain. It wasn’t that you gave him a reason to be suspicious, but he wanted to be careful. It was in his nature as a hero, and it came easily after dealing with threats day-to-day. Peter’s laptop illuminated his face with a bluish light, causing him to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He hesitated, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he typed your name. It rolled off his tongue easily.

“Y/N Y/L/N, who are you?” Talking amongst himself, Peter is able to find your socials pretty easily. So much for privacy. He found you by the third link, which led him to your Instagram. Having had an inkling as to what pictures he’d find, Peter grinned as he was right.

He wanted to convince himself he wasn’t grinning because he was looking at pictures of you. Some part of him liked seeing his new neighbor standstill for once. No teasing, cocky laughter, nor that signature side eye you’d give him if he’d say something weird. He picked that up immediately. It made things fun with you. The dynamic was different - lighthearted. But the longer he Insta-stalked, Peter suddenly missed the sound of that laugh. It reminded him of himself. A lot of things about you reminded him of himself, really. And you clicked.

Peter’s chin rested in the palm of his hand as he found himself two years deep into your account. He figured you were the sentimental type: most of your posts were dedicated to friends’ birthdays and concerts and whatever cute cats you’d find in the street. You had occasional selfies and outfit pictures. In fairness, he liked how you looked in green. As he scrolled farther and farther, till your posts ended, he noticed that you hadn’t mentioned family. At all. Let alone, there were no pictures of anyone slightly even related to you.

Peter felt a pang of loneliness simmer through his chest, seeping into the weight of his bones. He was sad. Did you have a family? Who took care of you? Peter sucked in a shaky breath. Stop it. Y/N isn’t your problem. Don’t go prying into your neighbor’s business. The brunette knew his boundaries, and he already recognized that he quite literally jumped, sprinted and made a touchdown past that line tonight. That’d be enough. He wouldn’t look into it again because you weren’t his business to worry about, unless you were in trouble. But then that would be Spider-Man’s problem.

His phone chimed, and he’s thankful for the device’s reminder to make a new batch of webs for his web shooters.

You barely slept that night. You wanted to say it was from the coffee you drank after your last encounter with Spider-Man, but honestly, you couldn’t ignore the thumping and boyish screams of aha’s! that came from Peter’s side of the wall. You knew that his bedroom was across yours, and his bed probably mirrored the position of the one in your room. You refused to become flustered at the thought of Peter in his Spidey boxers again. Your curiosity became ridden with frustration, as the sounds didn’t stop despite the pillow over your ears.

When a loud knock echoed right above your head, you turned on your stomach immediately, replying with a long and loud rap of your fist against the wall from where Peter stuck to. He heard the muffled ‘Be quiet!’ on the other side, and he simply chuckled. You’d tell him off in the morning.

Peter’s bedroom was covered in webs. As he crouched to crawl onto the ceiling, upside-down, his eyes piece together an outline of a dick made with web. He did that, accidentally. Peter cracked up. And another knock is heard.

“Peter Parker, please go to sleep or I will personally evict you myself.”

With that, he gracefully let go of the ceiling, cooperating with gravity. His bed creaked as he rolled atop of it, and he turned his head to face the wall.

“Is this how you treat new tenants? Talking to them through walls like a fucking ghost?”

You don’t reply.

“Y/N?” Peter whisper-shouted. “Are you a ghost?”

“I’m really trying to sleep here.” You groaned. “You believe in ghosts but not in my murder mystery podcast?”

“Okay, I promise I’m shutting up now because I’ll never hear the end of it…”

Peter stayed true to his promise, and it was quiet. It was odd to think about, how the only thing between you and him was a thin wall covered in peeling wallpaper. You found yourself wondering how your new neighbor was adjusting to his place. You wondered if the mattress he had was the same as yours - with its broken springs and its wailing creak. You wondered if his radiator went out at night, like yours, or if he could hear the hum of the fridge light. You wondered if he could hear your breathing. If you concentrated hard enough, would you hear his? If you shut your eyes, would you hear the flutter of his lashes or the way his hands rub against his jaw?

You wondered if Peter Parker wonders at night, too. And if he did, what did he think of?

“Ghosts could be real if you put your mind to it, Y/N.”

An annoyed groan bubbled from your throat.

Peter Parker was a walking noise complaint.

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blueprint-han · 3 years

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[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]

Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^

In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.

WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.

#1 : LIKING !

I think this is basic common knowledge, and a lot of people tend to do this. When you like the post, the author sees it, you see it, and if the author has their liked posts accessible (which majority of the time they don’t), and if someone deliberately goes to check it, then they see it. See why so many authors say just liking does nothing? Only liking says “Hey, I’m gonna tell you your story is not that good by simply liking it and not sharing it with other people. :D”

♯ PROS:

You’re telling the author that you've read their fic, and either you’ve enjoyed it to a certain extent, or you’re just saving it to read for later.

Likes are seen by you, the author and anyone who has access to your likes (which, most people don’t).

♯ CONS:

If you ONLY like, you’re not really helping the author’s work reach a wide audience because this site isn’t Instagram. Reblogging is the only way people can SEE our works. I’ll cover more on that in the next section.

In a nutshell, liking is good! But you should most likely use it in a combination with the other stuff I’ve listed below, because just the like itself doesn’t really do much in giving the author any feedback or interaction on their fics.

To clear shit up; I’m not talking about those people who don’t read the story or appreciate it in the first place. I’m talking about those who appreciate the fic, like it, but don’t leave any sort of feedback to show that.

#2 : REBLOGGING !

This is SO, SO important. I cannot stress on this enough. Let me explain WHY so many writers stress on reblogging content:

Tumblr’s tag system is inherently fucked up, and has grown more so over the year. I’m not kidding, at first, the fic either used to show up in the tags or it didn’t, but now, sometimes your fic can be REMOVED from the tags because of,,, idk tumblr tag shit. Anyways, as you can see, it’s very demotivating for authors at that point, because the major way for people to find their content and expand their blogs has been blocked.

Due to this reason, tumblr authors need to RELY on you, their followers to help spread their works to a wider audience. Now again, before you get me wrong, I’m not saying you ae forced to rb our works regardless of whether you like them or not. BUT, that being said, if you DO infact like the story, there’s no harm in reblogging, right? By doing this you’re indirectly telling the author — “hey! :D I liked your fic! Which is why I am gonna share it to my followers so they can read it too :D” Trust me, you’re doing nothing but helping the people who produce content for you to read. Seems like a worthy cause to hit the reblog button, right? It’s only a one, or maximum two step procedure.

Leave tags in your reblogs! Trust me, as an author myself and as much as I know from all my author friends, we oft check the tags of your reblogs to see if you found any part amazing or even if you have anything to say about the writing we put so much hard work into. Even a key smash or a “This was so [insert adjective] 🥺” is enough to leave a smile on your authors face.

♯ PROS :

You’re !! Sharing !! Your authors !! Works !! This leads to them getting more recognition, so for the content they’re so graciously providing for free, you’re promoting their blog and helping them expand it.

If the tags are being a shit, which majority of the time they are, then you’re literally making an author’s day by reblogging! You’re showing them that you, a follower and appreciator of their works are willingly sharing their content because it deserves to be seen by more people. Again before any dumb people decide to attack me, i am talking about people who like the fic but don't bother reblogging and are silent/ghost readers. I am not forcing anyone to read anybody’s work.

YOU’RE MAKING YOUR AUTHOR SO HAPPY WHAT MORE REASONS COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT !! 🥺

♯ CONS :

Literally none, because as far as I remember no author is against reblogging of their works. It’s quite literally the way this platform functions. Reblogging is IMPORTANT.

#3 : COMMENTING/SENDING FEEDBACK !

This kind of overlaps with the previous section, but THIS IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT STEP !! When you leave feedback, you are directly giving the author something so much more valuable to them than high follower/note counts or money. Your feedback is literally our serotonin. I kid you not the number of times I’ve received a positive comment and smiled and it has made my day. There’s a reason youtubers (though not the best example, bear with me here because it was the only one I could think of) ask people to subscribe, like and COMMENT. The subscription is like a follow, the like is ofc like a heart, and the comment is equivalent to an rb with comments in the tags.

You might argue and tell me that a comment is basically like an ask so the reblogging step isn’t necessary, but I’m sure 99% of you use YouTube and you know that more comments leads to people’s videos boosted in the stream/trending charts. This is what reblogging does. Reblogging shares the piece with other people like minded, which leads to a boost in reads. You are literally helping your author grow.

It’s quite literally the same thing as youtubers. Youtubers NEED validation to keep their content creation going, so do writers, so do other ccs on this site. This post is however, focused on WRITERS, so keep that in mind.

♯ PROS :

By doing this, you’re giving author valuable feedback! It’s similar to what you do in rbing with tags. Interactivity with their fics boosts their note counts and helps expand their audience, so srsly, now think of it: your one comment is playing such a massive role to help ccs create more content.

Imagine how much of a difference the note counts will be in when every person who simply likes after reading the fic, reblogs, leaves a comment and sends an ask. the note counts would be high on each and every fic, which is validation in itself, but your comments would inspire the writer so much more! Please, don’t skip the commenting part. Even a simple one like: “this is so cute!” is wonderful.

♯ CONS :

Remember, if you’re gonna give constructive criticism (which I’m sure you all are smart enough to know if different from hate), make sure the author is okay with it. Authors need to be in a specific mindset and must be ready to accept criticism, so if you’re gonna give constructive criticism to them when they’re at a low point, it may demotivate them.

Just commenting, instead of reblogging and commenting in the tags/ reblogging and then leaving an ask in their inbox, while it gives validation in plenty, will not lead to the author’s work being spread. Therefore I suggest either reblogging and commenting in the tags or reblog and then leave an ask, or comment under the fic!

!! reminder; I am not saying that if you don’t rb and just leave feedback, your feedback has no value. We authors truly appreciate every bit of feedback, but this post is aimed to help you learn how to interact with and support authors, and make them feel more motivated, because the current scenario of liking and scrolling is taking a toll on their creative abilities. Take it from a person who’s been writing for a year.

#4 : COMMSIONING VIA THEIR KO-FI/OTHER APPS !

Before any of you attack me, let me tell you that this is not a step that is 100% necessary to do. ONLY donate if you can and if you genuinely want to, and if anyone is forcing you to pay for something against your will, you need to get yourself out of there.

Regardless, if an author has a kofi and you’re able to and you want to donate, you definitely should! It’s also a valid form of support.

#5 : ADDING THEM ON REC LISTS/ RECOMMENDING THEM TO REC BLOGS

This is such an underrated option, to be honest. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen my fic was recommended onto some rec list and it’s made me smile so hard. If you like some fics, create a rec list! They’re oft very popular amongst the fans too. Making rec posts is such a great way to share your favorite stories with others.

Rec blogs! I’ve seen a couple going around, and needless to say they are a great way to get someone else to read your favorite author’s work whilst also giving them your own feedback. These blogs oft accept recs via a form or ask box, and they leave your feedback along with their own, or else they’ll oft tag the author in the feedback post, so look! You’re basically helping your author share their fic to many more people, because you’ve given them feedback and a reblog.

♯ PROS :

Validation! Feedback! Reblogs! More exposure! Helping a blog grow! Spreading love! basically a run down of the stuff I’ve said before!

♯ CONS :

Literally no con of this. Unless, a one in a million case, this author says they don’t like receiving feedback/being tagged, and I’m sure NO person has said this before, at least none that I’ve heard of.

#6 : FINAL COMMENTS; MISC !

When an author points out about how the interactivity is drastically reducing, don’t just give them blind apologies. Yes, you feel sorry for not interacting as much, we understand, but rather show that you’ll become a better content consumer through your actions. We need to see that we’re not just throwing words into a void and that people are actually trying to be better content consumers.

Understand the fact that authors don’t get paid for this, and 99% of the time, these authors don’t take commissions either. They’re giving you novel worthy writings for free. Take Percy Jackson: You think the author would have felt motivated to write the subsequent parts, let alone two whole series based off of it if literally no one showed that they were interested? Rick Riordan has sales, he is being paid, there are millions of people and big agencies who provide him feedback. Now take that huge amount and simmer it down to an audience of maybe 10000 people This is what fanfic authors want. They don’t want your money, nor are they telling you to risk your lives for them. All they want is, a reblog, some tags, some feedback, some INTERACTIVITY. A sign that they aren’t throwing fics into the void and that people actually like them, some motivation to continue. Seems fairly easy to throw an rb with some tags, right?

Don’t bother to tell me that we do this for ourselves and we shouldn’t ask for likes and reblogs and feedback, because 1) you are consuming the content that we “write for ourselves” and 2) writers post their content here for interactivity and feedback. We could just not post and write and save our fics in our dungeon drafts for years. But we choose to post to entertain the readers, the consumers. And we aren’t even asking that much in return.

Don’t give me the whole “I’m scared that authors feel that comments are annoying” excuse either because seriously this has been DEBUNKED SO MANY TIMES. Istg, in the nicest way possible, if you still think writers are annoyed by interaction and feedback, after so many posts, long rants have been posted as to how we’re not, then you must truly be living under a rock. There, I said it. Please stop thinking this way, I’ll say it again, AUTHORS ARE NOT ANNOYED OF FEEDBACK, COMMENTS, TAGS, REBLOGS. WE LOVE IT. Saying this is like saying that the audience in a theatre play shouldn’t clap when the play ends because the actors would find it noisy. 🤡

I’ve seen some people saying they have anxiety issues and such, so pls note that I’m not invalidating your condition. If you’re trying to be more interactive, I really appreciate it! If you can’t, that’s fine too. You’re trying.

But for the people who have no reason other than feeling lazy to rb and comment, your lack of interactiveness is not excused. Please. Tumblr is a reblogging site. If you’re gonna consume content like authors are some sort of machines, I encourage you to go get some more perspective.

This site is not Instagram or the satan bird app. Your likes are appreciated but frankly speaking, they do nothing to the author except tell them “Hey i read ur fic but i'm not gonna support u :D” and honestly, that is detrimental to their creative capabilities and mental health.

DON’T FOLLOW AN ACC JUST TO MINDLESS RB THEIR SIGNAL BOOST POSTS AND THEIR REBLOGS OF GIFS AND NOT INTERACT WITH THEIR WRITING AT ALL ! Trust me, authors prefer a lower amount of interactive followers than a high count that doesn’t even give them any feedback. Again your follows are appreciated, but when you’re following, you know the type of content the author creates, so the author expects that the more followers, the more interactivity. These days, this is just becoming the opposite. So don’t do it! If you’re gonna follow to read, interact with their works. I promise, this will make both you and the author happy. A win-win situation.

In conclusion: SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING AUTHORS! THEY ARE NOT MACHINES THAT HAVE NO FEELINGS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR YOU! FICS TAKE DAYS AND DAYS OF PLANNING, PLOTTING, OUTLINING, WRITING, EDITING, MAKING TEASERS. SO JUST SHOW THEM YOU APPRECIATE THEM WITH AN RB. IT’S THE L E A S T YOU CAN DO.

I will be liking this post here written by the lovely @chaninfused and @scriptura-delirus . Please take time to read it because if you weren’t convinced by my arguments, you will see how much frustration we as writers face on a daily basis. Please, just show support. Here is the post by @stayndays about how to get more people to read your work, because it also has a note on reblogging. Please educate yourself, and put an end to this mindless consuming culutre and bring up some interactivity.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to go to two of your favorite authors and leave some feedback in their inbox, and tag me in it (either tag me yourself or ask the author to do so, they won’t mind). Show your writers that our words are taking effect and you are becoming better consumers. I mean it. I’m serious. I want every single one who reads this post to do this. besides valid reasons, if you’re lazy to do this, you’re a part of the problem. PLEASE get more perspective.

Also, feel free to add to this post! I’d love to read your thoughts too, remember to be kind though. And, if I think your rb is somehow contradicting my points and is bringing down the reason I made this post, I will politely ask you to delete your comment, because this post is about being truthful about the harsh reality of tumblr consumers and how we can change it. I’m sure none of you will let it get to that point, though. <3 love you guys. 💓

And, just a reminder, don’t just blindly like this too. Do what I said before, and while I am not forcing you, I’d appreciate your reblog, because seriously, it took me 3 whole days to write this, plus, I’m sure this will help more of your followers understand the fault in consumer culture. haha, that’s it! This post was way too long uff.

also, this is ur cue to not be stupid in my inbox. You have something to say? Think I worded smth wrongly? I’m sure it wasn’t my intention to do so, point it out with manners.

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ynscrazylife · 3 years

Note

I was thinking maybe a oneshot where B!D gets poisoned by Cadmus?

Sisterly Instincts

Summary: Y/N is Kryptonian who landed on Earth a few years after Kara. When CADMUS kidnaps her, they inject her with a poison made out of their version of Kryptonite, which is very harmful to her.

Authors Note: Thank you for requesting!

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

DCEU Masterlist | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/mundodeseriess

Image ID: Alex and Kara sitting together. Alex has her eyes closed, head on Kara’s shoulder, arm wrapped around her, and is looking upset. Kara is wearing her glasses and is looking down, crying. End ID.

“Alex, have you heard from Y/N yet today?” Kara asked as she entered the DEO, a slight frown on her face still evident from the morning.

Alex shook her head no. “Not since last night, why?” She asked, coming down the stairs and joining her sister in her walk.

Kara shrugged it off. “She just didn’t send me her usual good morning text . . . She’s probably fine, right?” The blonde answered, now feeling silly as she voiced the worry that had been slowly eating at her.

Alex’s warm chuckle calmed her almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s nothing. We’ll see her soon as she’s coming into the DEO anyway,” she reasoned, assuming their younger sister had just overslept.

They reached the main room where J’onn and the other DEO agents sat at their desks and immediately the Danvers’ sisters got to work.

However, when it was ten minutes past the time Y/N was supposed to arrive, Alex decided to give her a call, biting her lip. She discreetly pressed her phone to her ear, turning away so she wouldn’t cause her sister unnecessary worry.

It ringed.

And ringed.

“Hey! You’ve reached Y/N Danvers. Sorry I couldn’t answer! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.” Alex cursed quietly when it rang so long it went to voicemail and huffed to clear her mind and steady herself.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Alex. I’m sure you just overslept or are rushing to work,” she said, pausing to chuckle when the image of her younger sister running around the city popped into her mind, “Just give me a call when you get this. Love you, bye!”

Despite the small worry entering the pit of her stomach, Alex reminded herself that Y/N being late and missing a phone wasn’t too uncommon, and she resumed her work.

"Alex?” Kara said, and Alex looked up from her computer to see her sister gesturing at the clock with a nod. The brunette looked over, and felt that pit sink lower when she saw that 20 minutes had passed. Getting no message from Y/N, Alex and Kara shared a look, coming to a silent decision.

“We're gonna go by Y/N’s apartment and check on her,” Alex informed J’onn as she stood up from her chair and grabbed her coat. She couldn't keep herself from remembering that Y/N should be here right now, she didn't live far away.

Kara nodded, following her older sister, and the two women left the DEO, neither of them discussing their worries in fear of distressing the other one. Great minds do think alike, though, and that’s why they both internally came to the conclusion that if nothing was wrong and they found Y/N sleeping late, they were gonna be pissed (however they hoped that was what they found instead of the scary alternatives brewing and stirring in their minds).

When they reached Y/N’s apartment, Kara knocked on the door. They waited almost a minute and when the door didn't open and they didn’t hear anything, Alex fished the key Y/N had given to her out of her pocket and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside, the women were prepared to search the house like they were on a mission, when a paper on the floor, having been slipped under the door, caught their attention. Sharing a look, Kara grabbed the paper and unfolded it. It read:

“Hello, Supergirl,

I won’t lie. I don’t know your ‘secret identity’. However, I was able to find out Y/S/N’s, so it’s only a matter of time before I find yours, too. Come to these coordinates: [pretend there’s random coordinates] by 12:00 alone and allow us to experiment and test on you. If you fail to do that, I won’t give Y/N the cure to the Kryptonite poison that’s in her system and I’ll reveal her identity to the world.

-- CADMUS.”

For a couple moments, Kara and Alex stood, glued to the spot. Thoughts and emotions washed over their bodies: concern for their sister, anger at CADMUS, and an utter helplessness since they didn’t know what to do.

It was a little past 10:00 now and when the two got back to the DEO, they made a plan with J’onn. He’d disguise himself as Kara and would do as the letter said and they’d have DEO agents - including Alex and Kara - stationed around the building with cloaking devices, which would make them invisible to CADMUS and their tech. Winn would hack into CADMUS’ tech and after Y/N was given the cure, the DEO agents would act.

At 10:30, the DEO agents were stationed around the base, invisible, and J’onn had walked into the base itself, disguised as Kara. He noticed the Kryptonite around the room, there to weaken Kara, so he put on an act: pretending that it was hurting him. He barley refrained from rushing over to Y/N when he saw the woman who was like a daughter to him siting on a chair, weak and only half-conscious, sweat shining on her face with Lillian Luthor standing beside her.

“Good, you came,” Lillian said with a sadistic smile.

“Yes. Now give Y/S/N the cure,” J’onn said, putting on his best Supergirl face.

The corners of Lillian’s mouth turned into a smirk and she walked over to another chair a few feet away, which had Kryptonite restraints. “Sit,” she said calmly, although the way she stood, her hands delicately placed on the chair, brought power to the lonely word.

J’onn complied, frowning as he walked over to the chair and sat down, letting Lillian put the restraints on his wrists and ankles that she thought would weaken him. For extra effect, J’onn sucked in a breath and faked pain.

Lillian smugly turned around and walked back to Y/N, who didn’t seem to realize what was going on. The older woman gestured to one of her minions and they promptly injected a serum into Y/N’s neck, making the youngest Danvers’ gasp just the slightest before her eyes fluttered close.

“The antidote is taking its affect in her system,” Lillian informed J’onn before turning back to her minion. “Take the girl outside. She can find her way back.”

The man nodded and picked Y/N up, slinging her over his shoulder and walked out. The second J’onn heard a smash and knew that his team had acted, he gave Lillian no time to be on alert before he ripped off the restraints and knocked all of the CADMUS agents out.

. . . . . . . . .

Alex and Kara had been standing outside, listening to Lillian and J’onn’s interaction through their earpieces. The women were both racked with worry over their little sister and when they saw the man carrying her, it took everything in them both to wait until he carelessly dropped her on the floor. When he did, Kara revealed herself and knocking him unconscious into a wall. Alex then revealed herself as well, hearing J’onn fighting, and ran to Y/N while the rest of the DEO agents went inside to erase CADMUS’ memory of Y/N’s identity and to make arrests.

“Y/N, Y/N! Come on, wake up,” Alex said, slightly panicked as she gently rolled Y/N from where she was laying on her side to be on her back. Kara, after making sure the guy was unconscious, sped over.

Kara knitted her brown together and drew her lips into a line, silently gathering her sister into her arms. Alex glanced up at her, tears in her eyes, for she knew Kara was only silent when she was very worried.

“I’ll meet you back at the DEO,” Kara said quietly, her tone almost emotionless, before lifting off and flying into the air. Alex swallowed and took a breath, getting to her feet.

. . . . . . . . .

As she flew through the air, Kara battled to keep distracting thoughts about the clouds and the breeze away, as she knew she had to focus on her unconscious sister. Y/N was the priority. Once she landed at the DEO, she immediately headed to the med bay, where doctors took over and Kara informed him that Y/N had supposedly been given the antidote.

After almost ten minutes of Kara pacing just outside the door and Winn doing his best to comfort her, the doctors informed them that the antidote was indeed in Y/N’s system and it was fighting off the poison. They didn’t know when she would wake up but when she did, she would need to rest a lot as she’d be weak. They were also unsure if CADMUS had done anything else to her, so she’d need to stay at the DEO overnight if she didn’t wake up soon.

The doctors allowed Kara to see her so the blonde sat by her sister’s side, holding her hand until Alex burst in, looking out-of-breath.

“How is she?” Alex asked, sitting on Y/N’s other side and taking her free hand.

Kara told her what the doctors said and they collectively let out a breath, relieved that she was going to be alright. They stayed with Y/N for another hour, silent except for the occasional comment, when Y/N started blinking her eyes open.

The agent and the superhero both sat up, patiently waiting for Y/N to wake up and adjust herself.

“Alex? Kara?” Y/N croaked out, looking at her sisters in a haze of confusion.

Both women smiled and let out happy tears, helping her to sit up before wrapping their arms around her. Y/N smiled, leaning her head against Kara’s neck.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Alex whispered.

“It’ll never happen again,” Kara promised.

Y/N nodded. She didn’t say anything in response, finding herself too tired after the day’s events. Kara and Alex stayed until she fell asleep and then they reluctantly left her under the watchful eye of Winn, since they needed to debrief with J’onn and prepare for when Y/N would come home.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @sybil-moon-is-a-mess @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes

DCEU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @basiclesbianbitch @extraordinary-fangrl @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @harrypottercumslut

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avengers-age-of-fanfics · 3 years

Text

just for you, honeybee (3/?)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

word count: 3,986

authors note: part three!!!! I'm honestly so happy with how this is turning out so please leave feedback and lmk how I'm doing! thank you all so much :)

warnings: swearing, super soldier serum injection, needles, drinking

summary: dating back to 1943, you, james barnes, and steve rogers were best friends, including bucky being your boyfriend. when you get a notice that bucky died in the war, you make it your mission to find closure for yourself and protect steve as he is the only remaining piece of bucky you have left. once you are offered the super soldier serum, you and steve must make your way through world war 2 - and the unknown future hardships to come.

recap: You picked at your nails, anxiety swallowing you whole, “and what if you don’t make it back, either?”

“I will.”

It had only taken you 5 days to make up your mind: either go with Steve as he finishes out his mission with the army or wait in Brooklyn upon his return. “Well,” you always bit back, “if you return.”

You did not want to stay in Brooklyn and wait for Steve to come back. You had done that with Bucky and after learning his tragic death, you needed to go with Steve. You didn’t care who you had to fight – you were protecting Steve Rogers and looking after him, just like James would have wanted.

Peggy Carter immediately welcomed you and seemed somewhat relieved when you had met with them outside your apartment complex, bags packed and ready to go. She had given you a soft smile and a nod, making you feel more at calm with your decision. However, before you left, you needed to say goodbye – just in case.

Dressed in a tie-neck floral dress, you headed across the street to where Grover was, selling newspapers once again in the early morning. However, when he wasn’t on the sidewalk, he was in your apartment, holding you as you cried for Bucky. Grover had helped you open Bucky’s files and put on his dog tags; he was there while Steve was sorting out your arrangements with Peggy. He had your snot stains on his nicest shirts that you always apologized for, and he had carefully placed the dog tags over your head; Grover was certainly one of your rocks when Steve needed to grieve on his own, which you understood.

Noticing your approaching figure, Grover stood up and shooed people away from his stand, meeting you halfway. He noticed your solemn look, “you goin’ with Mr. America?”

With a nod, you wrapped your arms around the older man’s neck, his chubby arms meeting your waist in a split second, “I have to, Grove. I needta’ keep my promise to James, and watch after Stevie.”

Grover tightened his grip around you and squeezed, much like a father would, “sure that super soldier can’t do it himself? Looks more than capable.”

You shook your head against his neck, “I promised – I promised James; you know that.”

Grover pulled away, resting his hands on your shoulders, “I know you did, kid…but that don’t mean it still pains me to see ya go…Come back here, the both of you, in one piece – ya hear me?”

With a nod, you squeezed Grover’s hand on your shoulder and went back to where Steve and Peggy were standing by an army truck, your bags already in the trunk. As the two looked back at you, you gave a curt nod, “I’m ready.”

Steve helped you into the backseat as Peggy headed up front, starting the truck up once you were all piled in. As you rode off, away from Brooklyn, you looked back to your home, and gave a sad wave to Grover who was already back to selling newspapers – but you saw him wiping his cheeks. Tears flooded your eyes as you imagined you and Bucky finding a nice white picket house in Brooklyn once he came back like he promised. Turning back around, you wiped your eyes, looking forward to the road, a hand wrapped around Bucky’s dog tags.

Only a little while into the car ride, you leaned forward, asking the two soldiers a question, “where exactly are we headed?”

Steve turned around towards you, “first, Camp Lehigh where we’ll get you some ID so they know you’re with Peggy and me. Then, London, where Colonel Phillips got a lead on Schmidt’s new hideout.”

You looked down at your nails, picking at the skin surrounding them, “can I be of help in any way? And, uh… who is Schmidt?”

Peggy glanced back at you for a quick moment, “how are your fighting skills, y/n?”

Steve gave her a glare, “no, absolutely not.”

The driver looked back once more, expecting an answer. You glanced at Steve, “I’ve got experience with guns and hand-on-hand combat.”

Steve shook his head, “that’s nice but I’m not letting you do what I think Peggy is insinuating.”

Peggy elbowed him before she answered you, “there’s a chance your skills may come in handy, Miss y/n, but it won’t be an easy feat.”

You nodded to her, “I’d like to be of any service I can, Agent Carter.”

Steve grumbled, “am I just invisible to you two?” That finally got a giggle out of you and Steve glanced back, squeezing your hand, before turning towards the front.

You waited a few moments before you tapped Steve’s shoulder, getting his attention, “hmm?”

With a head tilt, you asked again, “who is this Schmidt guy? Never got an answer earlier.”

Steve seemed a bit tense when you asked before answering you, “he’s a confidant to Hitler and closely affiliated with Hydra. Once we take down Schmidt, we get closer to taking down Hitler.”

Your eyes had widened during his short summary, “so you really been killin’ Nazis, Stevie?”

He huffed, “been trying too – mostly taking over Hydra bases. Buck was more the killing Nazi type.”

With a slight smile, you squeezed Steve’s hand, “sounds like our James.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for some mindless chatter over Peggy’s radio.

By the time you three got to Camp Lehigh, getting your identification was nothing out of the ordinary; however, being looked at with either such sorrow or surprise was a shock. You had assumed people knew about Bucky, but you never thought Bucky had told everyone about the girl from home, nor that they knew what she looked like. Tears flooded your eyes very quickly at the image of Bucky boasting about his Brooklyn girl and everything about her, and apparently, his words got all the way back to New Jersey.

Even when you got to the London Bunker, more dejected looks were given your way. Some sick part of you wished he hadn’t made you such a big deal, but if he were still alive, you’d be flustered. With subtle hands, you quietly put Bucky’s dog talks within your new army greens officer uniform. While you definitely were not an officer, Peggy had no problem lending you one of hers, telling you that if someone had a problem with it, take it up with her.

You clearly remembered her conversation as she dragged you into her tent, quickly shoveling through a trunk of hers, “are you alright wearing one of these? I have a few different sizes – whatever fits you.”

You accepted a green skirt of hers with a nod, along with a tan-colored blouse and a green jacket. Thankfully, it had no medals on it so you didn’t exactly feel as if you were impersonating a soldier.

You looked towards Peggy as she made her leave, “thank you, Agent Carter…You truly did not have to do this but – but I appreciate it.”

Peggy gave a soft smile as she opened the tent, “anything for Barnes’ girl.”

Right when she left, you sobbed for a good 20 minutes. You remember mumbling to yourself, “I hope I still am your best girl, Jamie.”

Over the next few days, you had quickly grown accustomed to the troops' fast pace and overall serious atmosphere, along with their Colonel. You would never admit it to the man, but Colonel Phillips scared you when you two had first met; you wondered if he had ever laughed in his entire life. And you definitely wouldn’t tell him this either, but you knew he was a big softie underneath that whole ‘I’m Colonel Phillips and you have to be intimidated by me’ attitude. Once you had arrived in London, you made it your mission to make the Colonel laugh, whether it be at your expense or someone else’s – but it took your mind off James; well, as much as it could.

One man who admired your mission and seemed to play along with it was Mr. Howard Stark; when the two of you weren’t messing around, history was being made, and changing the world for the better was your first priority.

Besides his cocky attitude, Howard had truly become one of your favorite people – besides Captain America himself, of course. When Steve had introduced you to the team focused on finding Schmidt and the rest of Hydra, Howard had taken to you liking a father hen, showing you his new tech and his favorite, the new vibranium shield he made for Cap. He was so ecstatic about showing a new face his greatest creation and how indestructible it was; as he told you, everyone else did not seem as impressed and he needed someone with a brain like yours to comprehend what he made.

While nobody else knew, he had also shown you the last remaining vial of the super-soldier serum Dr. Erskine had made and thus, what Howard had been trying to recreate. He had almost been successful but told you he did not want to use Erskine’s last vial on someone, in case it ever came to that. Instead, he wanted to try his own, one that would not affect one’s looks physically but included all the enhancements. Now that got you intrigued; you loved Steve, truly, but if you ever got the chance to take Stark’s serum and wanted a husband in the future, you did not want to look so…bulky.

The two of you worked closely together, using Stark brainpower and L/N design skills and expert eye to create the new symbol for Captain America.

With a pretty decent paint job on your part, both you and Howard took a step back from the upheld shield, looking over the new red, white and blue design, fit with a silver star. Tears filled your eyes but you refused to let them fall as Howard rested a hand on your back – your Stevie would be carrying that shield proudly very shortly.

Howard pulled you into a quick side hug, “Sergeant Barnes would be proud of you, kid. Look at you, designing Captain America’s new shield!”

With a soft laugh, you wiped your eyes, “I hope he would be.”

Before Howard stepped away to give you some space, you grabbed onto his arm, eyes darting towards the suitcase underneath his desk, “can I ask you something, Howard?”

Howard crossed his arms, “what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours, kiddo?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “listen, I know you’re gonna say no, but I just… I need to get this out.”

Howard noticed your serious tone and pulled you against a corner of the huge bunker that had been your home for the past couple of days, surrounded by books that you had read in record time, “go on, kid.”

You fumbled over your words, nails scratching against your skin, “do you think – do you think I could take the serum? Your recreation, of course – I saw your successful attempts and I want to take it. I’ve thought it over, truly, and it’s what I want. Ever since James – ever since James died, I’ve felt so lost and useless; I want to do something, something that James would be proud of. And I know you’re gonna say no, but Howard, I really need to do this, so please-“

Howard interrupted you, hand held up calmly, “let’s talk to Colonel Phillips, okay?”

Your eyes grew wide, “real-really? No immediate reprimanding?”

He looked at you with soft eyes, “I know what you’re feeling, y/n, and it’s not a good feeling. While I wish there was another solution other than you taking the serum, I – I’m not opposed to it. Maybe we need a sidekick.”

You gave a slight smile as he grinned back, “thank you, Howie.” He pinched your arm in response to his nickname, narrowing his eyes playfully.

The moment you asked Colonel Phillips for a private meeting with you, him, Howard, and Peggy, he already seemed on edge. Woke up on the wrong side of the cot, sour coffee, you weren’t sure – but you were sure that he was not going to be happy with your idea.

As expected, the meeting with Colonel Phillips was not exactly great; he may have thrown a fit and yelled at you for even suggesting such a thing. Okay, ouch, that stung – you genuinely thought it was a good idea.

You had interrupted during such fit, “sir, may I remind you that Steve Rogers had no prior fighting experience yet he got the super-soldier serum? I have the skills – well, some skills - the will to fight, and the…”

You stopped.

“I have a purpose, just like Steve,” you began once more, “Hydra took away the most important person in my life and I’ll be damned to hell if I’m not gonna do anything to stop them. So please, sir, let me do this.”

Peggy Carter stood beside Colonel Phillips, her lips twitching up in a slight smile, “you remind me of him. Of Barnes.” The Colonel grumbled.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, “I guess he rubbed off on me.”

Peggy looked to Colonel Phillips as he was deep in thought, until he spoke, “you talk to Rogers about this?”

You shook your head, “no, sir.”

Colonel Phillips crossed his arms, “I suggest you bring it to his attention before we make a final decision, l/n. Then, if we decide yes, we’re going to need to change the plan just a tad bit.”

With a nod, you stood up and walked out of the meeting room, hoping to find Steve around the corner somewhere; on your way out, you already heard Colonel Phillips grumbling about how it would be nice to have another super-soldier.

One of the Howling Commandos spoke up during your search for Steve, “he’s over at Crocker’s Folly. Bar right across the street from here, kid.” You thanked him and walked out of the site, spotting a very beat-down bar just across the street, surprisingly still standing.

Heading over, you had honestly no idea how to bring up the idea of you taking the serum to Steve; it definitely was no normal conversation. You knew he would say no, but you wanted to take it and be of use during the war and avenge Bucky in any way you could. Once inside, you heard a radio in the distance of the bar, unsure of what song was playing. Following the sound, broken glass and among other things crunched under your footsteps, letting Steve know someone was there.

Sitting at a table with a bottle of liquor and a glass by himself, your best friend turned around and glanced at you, pulling up a chair. You gave a small smile, finding the seat right across from him, “are you okay?”

Steve shrugged, “that Dr. Erskine said the serum wouldn’t just affect my muscles, it would affect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing… which means uh.. –“

“You can’t get drunk.”

Steve shot you a look, “when you’d get so smart?”

You kicked his foot with a chuckle, “when I started hangin’ out with Howard.”

He gave a sad smile as tears flooded his eyes, “I am so sorry, y/n.”

You choked back a sob, eyes filling with tears, “it wasn’t your fault, Stevie. I know that you did everything you could.”

Steve’s eyes were brimmed red, “how are you – how are you staying so strong?”

Clearing your throat of the sob making its way up, you licked your lips, “I feel like I’ve cried too many tears, Steve. I want to cry more, my god I do, but I know he wouldn’t want that.”

Steve nodded, “’m sorry to bring him up, I just…” he mumbled, “I’m going to kill Schmidt and all of Hydra if it’s the last thing ‘m gonna do, y/n.” His hand had curled into a fist and you felt the anger radiating off of him.

You grasped his hand, softly uncurling it, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something, pertaining Schmidt.”

Steve let out a grumble, taking one last sip of his drink, “everything okay?”

You nodded, “I – I’m okay. But Howard…he has a remaining vial of the serum from Dr. Erskine and has even recreated it himself. I talked to Peggy and Colonel Phillips and I’m going to take it, the recreation.”

Steve’s eyes shot up to yours, “Y/N, I can’t – I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous and I promised –“

“Steve,” you stopped him, “I know you promised Bucky that you would look out for me. I promised him that about you, too. But I want to do this. It’s my decision and I’m hoping you’ll let me do this for myself and Buck.”

The man across from you looked down at his glass for a long while before he looked you in the eyes with a grin, “’gonna pretend I can get drunk and forget why I even agreed.”

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached over, squeezing his hand, “thank you, Stevie. Now c’mon, we got a serum to inject and plans to tweak.”

When the two of you reached the bunker once again, you nodded to Howard and he let out a breath. He was not exactly looking forward to this, injecting you with the serum, but it’s what you wanted. Word quickly got to Colonel Phillips who seemed a bit relieved himself, glad there were no tantrums thrown – much like his.

Down the many halls of the bunker, Howard, Peggy, and a few nurses prepared an operation room, a bed centered in the middle of the room as lights displayed it. Once you were injected, you would need a few moments to recollect yourself – both of them knew this.

You, Colonel Phillips, and Steve stood outside the operation room, looking in as Howard laid out the serum and sedation if needed. The Colonel spoke up first, looking down at you, “you certain about this? There’s no guarantee you’ll live.”

You nodded, “I’m aware, Colonel. But I’ve thought it through and it’s what I want.”

Steve looked to you as the Colonel looked on, “you yell for me if you need me, okay? I’m right outside.” You gave him a small smile before you headed inside per Howard’s direction.

Steve stopped you once more, “and y/n?”

You turned around to look at him as he continued, “you’re a good person. Maybe not a perfect soldier yet, but a good person.”

You smiled at Steve, “looks like I’ll need you as my teacher once I become your sidekick, Stevie.” You both let out a chuckle.

Nurses stood behind the two tables surrounding the cot you were instructed to lay on, taking off your shirt and tossing it into Peggy’s arms, letting out a whistle, immediately calming your nerves. You flashed her a smile which she returned.

Bright lights shining onto your body – now only clad in a bra and some army green cargo pants – your gaze shifted to Howard. He looked albeit nervous but once he caught your eye, all nerves disappeared, “how ya feelin’ kid?”

You chuckled, “like I’m about to be turned into a super-soldier.”

Howard’s shoulders shook with a slight laugh, “that’s nuts – it’s almost as if I’m administering said serum. I’m gonna inject you with some penicillin, okay?”

You nodded your head, looking towards the window where you saw Steve looking way too tense. With a smile, you gave him a thumbs up in which he chuckled at, shaking his head. Beside him stood the Colonel who looked nervous himself, but with a blow-kiss, you saw him roll his eyes and turn back into your stern Colonel Phillips.

Howard spoke up, grabbing your attention, “now, y/n, your transformation will be a bit different from Steve’s, but the outcome should be the same – just no outer physical changes, as I mentioned. No need for nerves. You ready?”

You nodded, and with a deep breath, you felt the sharp needle penetrate your skin, injecting you with the serum. As the serum coursed through your veins, your skin felt as if it were on fire, your breaths growing quicker and sweat already forming on your skin. Howard noticed your breaths, “deep breaths, kid, don’t rush the process. You got this. How ya feelin’?”

You grunted, “burning – hot but cold. Freezer burn.”

Howard grew pale, somehow making sense of your words, “okay, y/n, you gotta fight this. Don’t let the serum override your body – you gotta let it combine with your cells. C’mon, kid!” Peggy’s grip tightened on your shirt as she looked on, whispering words of encouragement.

Outside, Steve and Colonel Phillips began pacing, the Colonel glaring through the window, telling himself that he could telepathically communicate with you and force you to live through this. Steve bit his thumb, growing more and more anxious by the second.

Your body had now started to sweat profusely, the shine adding itself to your figure as you breathed heavier, a gasp and a sharp scream leaving your lips. Steve immediately ran in, holding your hand, “y/n, come on, please! Fight this – don’t give up, please. I – I need you, we all do.”

In a split second, your eyes opened, meeting Steve’s for a split second before you let out another yell, eyes squeezing shut once more, “Steve! It hurts – it hurts!”

Your whole body felt as if it were on fire yet hypothermic, your chest feeling so heavy that it was difficult to breathe. Every cell in your body felt as if it were being torn apart and being put back together again; you talked to yourself in your head, “how the hell did Steve do this?”

Steve ran a hand over your now-damp hair, “I know, I know, but you got this, y/n. Once you beat this, we’ll go and kill those sonsabitches at Hydra, you hear me? You gotta beat this.”

Over time, which honestly felt like hours, your body slowly started to welcome the serum and new changes within your body, your breathing returning to normal and sweat disappearing onto the cot below you, body returning to normal temperature. With only a slightly bloody nose, you felt…good. Resting against the cot, you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering.

Howard hooked an IV up to your arm, returning the liquids you had sweat out, pushing your shoulder lightly, “’gotta talk to me, kid.”

You grumbled, “’m tired…but feel like I could run a marathon.”

Steve’s hand squeezed yours as he let out a laugh, looking up to the ceiling, “that’s your girl, Barnes. You did great, y/n – you did great.”

Eyes still shut, you hummed, “mmm…do I have abs of steel now?”

Steve chuckled, “would it make you feel better if I said yes?”

You nodded your head, a dopey smile on your face. Steve continued, “I wouldn’t want to fight you in the ring, bug.”

Slowly but surely, you opened your eyes, adjusting to the way your body felt and sensed everything around you. With a grunt, you rubbed your eyes, glancing at your hands – hmm, they looked the same?

Howard noticed your confusion, “Remember what I said, kid? No outer physical changes, but you got all the upgrades Rogers has. Better looking, obviously,” you let out a soft laugh, “just not as bulky.”

With a hum, you sat up, fighting off Steve and Howard’s mother hen tendencies, “’mentioned that earlier…bulky. ‘m fine, by the way – stop worryin’.”

Slowly getting off the cot, you walked around the room, stretching your legs and your whole body. Everything felt different but good; it’s like your senses and every cell within your body were heightened. “It felt cold,” you mentioned to Howard, “the serum.”

He nodded, “as opposed to the vita-rays, we had to keep it in cold storage. Easier that way.”

You hummed, and while turning around in the small room, your eyes met Steve’s once more, “well Captain, what now?”

Honeybee Taglist:

@clownerlyluv @ginger-swag-rapunzel

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sweetlavenderwritings · 4 years

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Back To His Nest- Pt. 2

A/N: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I DIDN’T EXPECT THE LOVE THE FIC GOT AND WAS VERY SURPRISED. I initially planned to leave it at that maybe?? but then many of ya’ll actually wanted a part two and i had to rack up my brain on what was gonna happen ( ´△｀) anyways it’s here and i hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Pairing/s: hawks/keigo takami x reader

Word Count: 2 772

Tags: very light angst, love, eventual fluff, domestic fluff,

-ꦼ———▸ Part 1

⋅. ♪ .⋅ Loving Keigo Playlist

8 Years later…

You haven’t heard from him ever since you left. As planned, your parents had called him in advance. Telling him he shouldn’t try and contact you anymore, that trying to find you would be a waste of time. You were such a coward that you couldn’t even leave a message, your parents bearing the responsibility of telling him you’ve cut off ties with him completely.

It hurt. The pain was unbearable for the first few months, restless nights of crying as you struggled to keep your composure. You couldn’t even erase his number from your saved contacts. His callers ID still the same nickname you had for him. Despite your parents warning about not contacting you anymore, he still left a call every day. There were neither questions nor any form of pleading you to come back. Because you never answered, he left small messages that he sent at random times of the day. There was no consistent message of what the calls were all about. It was as if he left these messages like a personal diary he’d write to when he felt like it.

“The day’s great today. It’s a bit hotter than usual but I’m quite grateful for the heat since flying always got me cold.” Yes it did, it was one thing about flying that he disliked. He just got too cold easily, which was why every time he got home, he’d head straight to the showers for a long hot soak then demand cuddles. He liked to call you his personal heater.

“It was too bright though, I had to keep squinting and I almost slammed face first to a billboard! Could you imagine that? Number Two Hero Getting Clumsy! Slams into Make Up Ad Starfish Style.” He laughed. “Okay, that was the worst headline ever. Could you blame me? I’m not really much of a writer like you are. Somehow, you always knew how to string words together beautifully… Ahh, looks like a low class villain is up to no good. I’ll catch up to you later. I love you baby bird.”

And just like that, he hangs up. They always ended in the same way, him having to cut it short because of his duties, and the constant line of ‘I love you.’ It felt so unfair, how he’d make it harder for you to move on. You knew better than to listen to them, but you still did. You drunk up his voice whenever you heard it, closing your eyes and imagining he was actually there right in front of you, talking to you. When he hangs up, the sad illusion is gone.

There were times you almost called him back, desperately wanting to run back into his arms. To apologize for leaving, to tell him the truth, to tell him you never stopped loving him in the first place. But as your fingers almost reach the call button, your fear of the Hero Public Commission stop you every time.

So you settle for watching him in the news, seeing the headlines as he saves dozens of people every day. You read every article you see online, scouring every page for stories. It was torture, but you had to keep strong, not just for yourself. It wasn’t like you were alone in this anymore.

After 9 long months, you finally gave birth to your child. His child.

She was perfect. She looked almost exactly like him, honey blond hair and yellow eyes that seemed to glow. Her image made you miss him so much it hurt. But these feelings of pain and misery were shoved off to the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on your newfound feelings of joy and contentment. After so long, you felt like you could be happy again.

You named her Keiko, meaning “adored one”, because she was. With enough patience, you raised her by yourself. You dedicated your whole life making sure she grew up to be happy; it felt like you were compensating for the pain you brought upon to you and Hawks. Somehow, you comforted yourself with the fact that you saved your child from the horrors of what may come to her when the world comes to know of her existence.

---

“Mom, come look it’s him again!” Keiko cheered, pointing at the television. An all too familiar winged hero comes on screen, gracefully flying in the air as he saved civilians from a burning building one by one. Your daughter let out another cheer as the number two hero successfully saves all of the civilians. Thankfully, the fire didn’t spread further with the help of the fire fighters helping from behind the scenes.

You stare at the screen as the news reporter interviews Hawks, him looking quite worn out but he manages to give the camera a smile and an enthusiastic response. If it was anyone else, he would’ve looked well composed, not breaking a sweat as he nonchalantly brushes off the praises he gets.

“All in a day’s work.” He says.

But you knew better.

Your daughter turns to you with a beaming smile, happy knowing her favourite hero once again saves the day. Her next words made your heart sank, “For my birthday tomorrow, can we meet him please?! I just want a picture and an autograph, that’s it I promise!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that baby. Hawks is a busy man and there are no chances we can just see him.” This was a lie of course, you knew he’d jump in at any opportunity to see you again but you couldn’t risk it. It pains you to see your daughter so disappointed, but you had to continue lying. For her sake.

“Tell you what, we can at least go to his district tomorrow and buy his merch. I can even get you one of those limited edition wings if you want.” Hawks’ merch was expensive, so his limited edition merchandise was gonna hurt your pockets like a bitch but it was worth it just to make up for what you couldn’t give your dear Keiko.

“Really?!” Keiko squealed as she bounced around the living room, “I can’t believe I’m going to have my own wings like Hawks, the number two hero! I can’t wait to tell Kiyoko as soon as I get them, she’ll be so jealous of me haha!” You smiled as you picked her up from the couch, stopping her from jumping off.

“If you sleep early tonight we might be able to make it there tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

You’ve never felt so nervous before. Because one, you were going to Hawks’ precinct with your daughter, all the more chances of meeting him despite NOT wanting to do that. Two, if by some chance- or karma- you both crossed paths, all your hard work would be all for naught. Hawks wasn’t stupid; he’s by far the most observant man you’ve ever met. Many people don’t know this with the way he eludes them with his charm, thus forgetting he’s the number two hero for a reason. Which means even a small glance at your-his daughter; he’d be able to puzzle the pieces together.

So by desperation, you snuggled your daughter with a big fluffy hat, tied her hair into neat pigtails, and then gave her the favourite pair of pink, heart sunglasses she always liked to wear. She scrunched her nose at you fussing over her appearance, but this was only because she was too excited and wanted to leave immediately. You wore a coat, and sunglasses to hopefully hide yourself as well without looking too suspicious. With a final look in the mirror, you left the house with your daughter in tow.

An hour turned into two, then three, four, five…

“Kei honey, please. It’s time to go home.” You pleaded. You two spent the next hours walking around and buying her gifts. But whenever you stopped near a shop, Keiko never seemed to lose energy and somehow pulled you into another store to “check things out.” It’s times like this you wondered if you spoiled her too much.

“Wait not yet! We might see him here somewhere!” Keiko tugged at your sleeves as she pointed to the main plaza. “I saw him give interviews here last week mommy; maybe he’ll do it again!”

“Baby please, I told you we’re not here for that. We already bought your gifts so it’s time to go home and-“

“Mommy, look! I think it’s him!” Oh no.

As if on cue, the famous red winged hero zoomed in on a scene. A villain, large one at that, appeared in the middle of a crowd and began harming nearby civilians as if it was panicking. How did you not notice that?

But now was not the time, you had to get your daughter out of harm’s way and hopefully, his too. Hauling your shopping bags into the loops of your arms, you carried your whining daughter into your arms and darted in the opposite direction you saw Hawks headed.

Hawks POV

How long has it been, eight years? He never wanted to keep count, but he still did.

God, he was pathetic. He’s supposed to move on by now, find another woman to give his affections to, forget about you then happily live his life.

But he couldn’t and it sucked.

He always felt he was too sentimental despite being a double agent. You would think after all he went through, he’d be hardened and cold as stone. Yet he remained quite soft, too empathetic as what his superiors commented. Fuck that.

He’s on his last patrol for the day, flying over the main plaza to keep civilians bustling on the streets. He doesn’t have any plans for later (as he usually does), so he thinks he’ll spend another night away drinking in his balcony or watch a sappy chick flick in the late hours.

He remembers he has fan mail he’s yet to open. Not that he’s ever obligated to do so, he’s free to throw them in the shredder for all he cares. They’re mostly enveloped underwear sprayed with sickeningly sweet perfume anyways. But he’s been receiving sweet letters from a little girl lately. Messages full of pure adorations and gratitude for his work. Judging by the handwritings and small creative decorations, the letters clearly had been made with a lot of effort. He can’t help but look forward to them every week, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

His thoughts of his late evening plans are disrupted with the sudden sounds of screams and shrieking from below. Without wasting a second he rushes to the scene.

As he got closer, his eyes widened at the sight of who was causing the ruckus, or rather, what.

He dodged the Nomu’s sharp claws that swiped by his face at an alarming speed. In a beat, his feather flew from different directions, all leading to his target. They cut deep gashes onto its skin, but the Nomu’s regeneration was fast, healing its wounds as soon as it was inflicted on it.

Hawks never deterred, continuing his attacks while sending some of his feathers to keep away civilians from the disaster transpiring near him.

He could vaguely hear cheers and shouts from the crowd as he rapidly attacks the creature, somehow finding it difficult to cause enough damage to knock it out of conscious. As he flies around the attacking monster, he spots a vulnerable looking spot in its neck. Pausing for a second, he narrows his eyes as he aims. He was about to release a feather until the Nomu lets out a loud piercing shriek, causing everyone near them to shut their eyes at the screeching wail and cover their eyes.

Fuuck, it must have sensed me. He thought.

As soon as it stopped it’s shrieking, it speeded off to another direction. With a curse, Hawks followed it in pursuit. Pushing and carrying away with his feathers to keep them from getting harmed. The Nomu sets its eyes on a little girl with her mother, launching itself on its haunches then runs at a great speed towards the two.

The little girl screams then hides herself in her mother’s arms. The mother tries desperately to get away, but with the Nomu’s great speed and the closing distance between them there was nothing left to do but to brace herself in front of her child.

“No!” Hawks yells as the Nomu’s claws at the mother. Before it could land another attack, he strikes one of his biggest feathers at its neck. The Nomu stills, and then drops to the ground.

Hawks doesn’t have time to check if it’s dead or not, rushing over to the poor injured mother with her crying child. As he finally makes his way to the woman his heart stops.

It was you.

With shaking arms, he cradled you against his chest. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he got to see you again. And with a child! Wait… a child?

He took a look at the crying girl, blond hair and honey eyes… just like him.

His eyes widened in shock. Hair and eyes just like his, it couldn’t be.

“Is my mom gonna be okay?” The girl sniffled. He mentally slapped himself in the face, how could he forget the situation at hand and not comfort his distressed child? “She’ll be okay,” he assured her, “Help is on the way, okay? Can you breathe slowly for me birdie? So you can calm down.”

She wipes the tears from her eyes and nods. At the sound of an ambulance, he stands up while he carries your unconscious body. As the medics put you in a stretcher, he takes the time to actually look at you.

You looked much more different. Hair a different length from before, eyes much more tired, and cheeks less full. It must’ve been hard for you, he thinks. But now I’m here.

He turns to look for his daughter, who was behind him all along. Slowly, he bends over to pick up her shaking form. She raises her arms in surprise, but trusting nonetheless. As he settles her in one arm, he holds her close and looks at her.

“What’s your name, kid?” he softly asks.

“Keiko.” She mumbles shyly. Keiko, you named her after my own name? Hawks felt tears springing into the corners of his eyes. Before he could wipe them away, Keiko surprises him with a hug to his neck. She clings onto him as if he was her lifeline as he mutters something in his ear.

“Thank you for saving me hero.” Hawks finally lets his tears fall.

Reader’s POV

After waking up, you found yourself lying in a hospital bed. Your body felt heavy, you desperately needed to pee, and your throat was parched. You looked around and see your daughter was asleep in a couch near your bed. There was a small bouquet of flowers in your nightstand, but what surprised you the most was the warm, calloused hands that held your left hand; the very same hands that you held years ago. Keigo was asleep.

You ran your hands softly in his hair, a small habit you used to do when he came home utterly exhausted. Hawks stirred in his sleep before opening his eyes. Honey orbs met yours as you felt a smile form on your face.

“Good morning to you too, Kei.”

“Chealsey, oh thank god.” He leapt up from his spot on your bed then embraced you. The hug made you wince but you could’ve cared less. You missed him, you craved for his warmth for years and you never thought you’d ever feel him again. Now he was finally here…

You felt tears fall to your cheeks as you formed apologies in your lips. Hawks merely shushed you as he held you in his arms, “It’s okay, I understand. I know everything.” You clutched his shirt as you sobbed in his chest, letting go all pain and misery you’ve been holding in for years. He kisses your tears away, letting you release all your pent up emotions. He was just glad he had you in his arms once again.

Keiko woke up from her sleep, looking at the two of you in a mess of tangled limbs and tears. “Huh?” she mumbled. “Mommy, why are you crying? What’s going on?”

You both let out a laugh, sharing the same thought. There was going to be a lot to explaining to do.

A/N: fINALLY!! The ending is here! Hope ya’ll liked it everyone ≧(´▽｀)≦ this is unedited and i might do so when i wake up the next day lol. tysm for the love ya’ll gave this ficlet and im sorry for the wait.

#hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #bnha hawks #bnha fanfiction #mha hawks #bnha #mha #mha x you #keigo takami #keigo #keigo x reader

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izzabeean · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 : Denial

SUMMARY

You didn’t expect your first week of university to end with a break-up… Especially when your ex decides to visit you in your dreams. You need a distraction and are quite surprised with what awaits you.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 1,533

tags : alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

cw : mentions of alcohol, smoking

a/n : This is so silly and I’m not quite sure how realistic this is but it’s all a learning process.

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The campus library becomes the calm safe haven you’ve been longing for after a busy morning. You spent most of your time after classes hovering between bookshelves, browsing the vast volumes, but today you were on the hunt for a very specific book.

Whispers among other students float above your head as you tune into the hushed environment narrowing your eyes at the row of literature.

When you near the end of the aisle, you look up to see the desired novel sitting on the top shelf.

You sigh and attempt to reach for it while standing on your tippy-toes, but it barely grazes your fingertips.

A scoff huffs under your breath.

It’s almost like it’s taunting you, the way it’s just out of reach and looming over you, casually sitting on the shelf without a care in the world. No, you weren’t about to ask for any help and most definitely too stubborn to grab a stool- you treasure your pride. Instead, you take a deep breath and jump trying to inch the spine off the shelf.

But you’re still not close enough.

“Let me get that for you,” a voice chimes from behind.

Your heart hammers in your chest from the sudden remark. Sometimes the smallest things can easily scare you, for instance, when a stranger sneaks up behind you in a quiet library. But you try to suppress the shiver as you turn your head to take a look at the culprit.

The tips of your ears start to burn up as you are faced with a stern man. His tall, solid body towers over immediately causing you to freeze and feel a lot smaller in his presence.

Perhaps it’s wrong to judge anyone at first glance, but he is scary as hell.

He reaches over your head and you catch a glimpse of his well-built physique as his shirt rides up. You blink registering what’s going on and before you can the book is in front of you. Then you take the novel smiling while trying to suppress the build-up of nerves coursing through you.

The exchange is awkward and silent, but as you stare at each other his eyes almost feast on you with their cold expression. The look sends your gut in a twist. You cannot deny that he looks intimidating, but observing him now, a sliver of you finds him attractive.

“A thanks would suffice,” he utters, his eyes fixated on you.

The sound of his voice is deep and serious but there’s just something about it that makes your heart flutter.

“Sorry,” you utter, biting the corner of your lip. “Thanks.”

You feel your face burn up under his gaze searching for something else to say. It takes every ounce of you to contain the embarrassment taking over your entire body, but before you can even stop yourself…

------

You wake.

The room is dark except a tinge of light seeps through the closed curtains. Your brain is trying to piece together the strangely realistic dream that was practically identical to your first moments of meeting Ushijima.

The night is still, nearly silent except for a subdued tone of sirens in the background. You shift a little in your bed, suddenly aware of how awake you are after tossing and turning trying to slip back to sleep. You know you need to get some rest, but your anxiety grows as morning nears.

Upon the realization that you probably won’t get any more sleep, you climb out of bed and throw on a jacket, hopeful the fresh air will clear your thoughts.

You lock up your apartment and stroll down to a 24/7 corner store a couple of blocks away. It’s late enough that the walkover makes you a bit paranoid of your surroundings-- it’s not often that you go on a late-night stroll, or go to a shop this late, especially by yourself.

The store's door chime greets you as you walk up to the front counter spotting an employee whose face is hiding behind a newspaper.

“Excuse me,” you sigh.

He looks up from his newspaper with a scowl plastered on his face.

“A pack of smokes, please,” you squeal, conscious of the fact you do not appear to look like an avid smoker, but the habit returns in times of stress and right now you are exceedingly stressed.

“ID, please,” he responds.

Your face pales at the request as you pull out your ID and he analyzes it. “What do you want?”

You blink, “Anything.”

The man clicks his tongue.

You ignore the judging stare from the cashier, retrieve the random pack of smokes with a “thanks” then stroll through the sliding doors to take a seat outside on the curb.

You light up a cigarette. Breathing in the burning toxins, the rich smoke burns your throat. Your lungs scream from the unknown substance and you quickly exhale the cloud with a cough.

Fuck, it hurts, you think. But you take another drag and this time it burns a bit less.

As you alleviate your heartbreak with the smoke, the emptiness sets in. You pause looking up at the dark sky cast above you. Your cheeks feel a bit numb from the cold, and your eyes begin to gloss over as you think back to Ushijima’s words from earlier.

The sudden sound of your phone startles you. Pulling it out of your pocket, an image of Oikawa illuminates the screen and an irritated groan escapes your lips as you take another hit.

You didn’t expect a call this late at night from Oikawa, but he never seems to know his boundaries according to the fact that it’s 2 o’clock in the morning. It’s a mix of loneliness and desperation that causes you to answer.

“Hello,” your voice is thick, placing the cold phone to your ear.

“Y/N-chan,” there’s a hint of slur in his voice, as he hiccups heavily into the receiver.

You roll your eyes. “Tōru, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk! I--” he stumbles on his words. “I just want to see how dinner....” He trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

The question really took a knife to the heart as you try to hold back the emotions that are bursting at the seams. It wasn’t Oikawa’s fault, you hadn’t told him yet.

“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” you sigh.

“Y/N,” Oikawa breathes. There’s a bit of neediness in his voice. “I hope he makes you happy...”

The sentiment is there and you can tell he means well but you squeeze your eyes shut at the comment. Your heart hinges and you try to breathe slowly avoiding any staggering gasps that can be heard.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m still here,” your throat tightens as you choke on your words.

Before you have the chance to say anything more, you hear the phone being pulled away from Oikawa, and an unfamiliar voice answers on the other end.

“Sorry about that. Oikawa’s a bit drunk. Didn’t mean to disturb you. Have a goodnight.”

The line cuts.

Once again you’re met with the dead of night.

It was difficult to process tonight's earlier events, even as you sit outside having a smoke. You never thought you would ever get to this moment, especially when it’s been so long since you last really cared for someone like Ushijima. You’d only known him for a year, but right now it feels like he’s the only thing you’ve ever known your whole life.

------

Morning arrives too soon.

The horrible taste of nicotine coats your mouth and the smell of smoke engulfs your hair making you gag. It’s 8 AM on a Saturday and you’re sure you only got a couple of solid hours of sleep upon returning from your late-night adventure. You’re a little less hysterical and a bit more numb compared to six hours ago.

You didn’t expect to wake up until later in that afternoon, but your head is pounding making it so much harder to sleep off the break-up. You get up to take a painkiller hoping it helps subside the chronic unpleasant sensation.

It crosses your mind that you need to get out and be somewhere else, not within the confines of your apartment or your mind. So after a substantial amount of self-care and priming, you head out to Oikawa’s apartment.

It’s not uncommon for you to drop by unannounced, in fact, this was a lot better than stirring in your thoughts alone at home. Somehow it feels more comforting to spend time with Oikawa than you’ve ever imagined-- despite the fact you didn’t have many friends. But he always gave you the attention you desired at any given moment and the thought of that eases you as you knock at the front door.

It takes a moment for Oikawa to answer, undoubtedly after a night out drinking.

But as the door opens, you are met with a tall muscular tanned man. He cocks his head looking at you quizzically, and subsequently opens the door a bit more, enough that you can peer past him into the apartment.

You don’t know who he is, but he’s hot.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima x y/n #ushijima wakatoshi #oikawa x reader #oikawa x y/n #oikawa tooru

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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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project-pnf-404 · 3 years

Text

Checkpoint and important updates 2!!: Electric boogaloo!!

Heyo guys!! Long time no talk. So, I’ve got some cool update stuff to show you guys. I’ve been doing a lot of blog “housekeeping” since the end of the last event. (don’t worry it hopefully won’t be boring update stuff lmao as it includes some new supplementary content). So, first and foremost, thanks to the inspiration from @koppais-smallest-nerd I’d like to let you guys know that I am now adding screen reader access to all future posts!!! This one included. At the bottom of each post under the, “read more”, image descriptions for all images will be added! Screen reader accessibility will also be added to all previous asks on the blog. However, getting through all of them will take a tiny bit. As, of this update, the first 4 asks have had image descriptions added. As well as all the supplementary content in between where applicable.

I’d also like to show you guys some supplementary content for the blog. Between these dashed lines are in character day 1 log entries written by the rest of the crew.

———————————————

I originally wasn’t sure if I wanted to put these extra day 1 logs on the main blog or not. But, I’ve decided that all supplementary content that may be story related will remain on the main blog for the foreseeable future, while BTS content will end up on PNF-404-Plus.

That being said since the end of the 1st event and my time away from the blog a lot has been going on when it comes to the blog.

For one the entire desktop version of the blog has had a large overhaul. A new theme has been added to the main page.

But, not only that but new side pages with supplementary content have been added!! This includes an event list, a bio page for the crew members of the S.S Drake, a Piklopedia page for the new Piklopedia, and a music page to top it all off!!

The Event List will show each new event as they are added! You can click on the current known events to go directly to all posts tagged with that event tag. Speaking of which all Event 01 posts have now had their tags updated with the Event 01 tag making it much easier to navigate.

The new Crew Members page has bios for all the members currently on the mission or known in the story so far! These Bios are pretty in line with cannon with some fanon, and light headcanon added in for good measure. I recommend taking a look as it does have some interesting info in there. Also quick note: all of these bios are written as if it is prior to the beginning of the blog.

Then there’s the Piklopedia!! Here you can read each of their findings as they explore PNF-404! Currently the findings will be on each area they explore (not each creature they find) as they haven’t found any new creatures yet. There is also a map of places they’ve discovered and more!

Lastly, a new music page has been added. On this page, I’ve created event-inspired music playlists. Some of the songs have been mentioned in the past. But, here you can listen to them all in one place and see which songs are for which part of the events. As well there’s a secret songs playlist. This playlist has nothing to do with the blog directly but is filled with music given to me by people I’ve met from this community while I’ve been here!! Currently, there are 5 songs there, however, there will be more added in the future! What makes it secret is that you won’t know who gave me the song XD. (well unless you’re the one who gave me the song lmao) who knows if you’ve ever shared music with me before you may find your song there!! (There is also one song I’m sharing with you guys in there too so have fun figuring that out lmao. )

As well the table of contents has been once again updated with a lot of this new stuff as well as some other new information!! As for mobile users as of now, all of this is on separate Tumblr pages. However, in the near future, I will be uploading much of this stuff , such as the Piklopedia entries and Crew Bio’s, as individual posts! However, in the meantime, if you feel like you can always check out these pages on your phone browser instead if you’re a mobile-exclusive user. (Though some pages don’t look as good on phone)

Welp, I think that’s it as far as updates go!! I should be back with brand new ask posts soon (likely within the next week or so!) so keep a look out!! I’ll see ya guys again soon and thanks for reading!!!

In the first image, Alph’s Day 1 Log entry is shown. His log says, “To think I thought the first day would go well. Then again I didn’t think I would get sucked out of the ship either so maybe I should stop being so surprised. At the very least Louie and I were able to find our way back despite some obstacles and I was able to fix the ship in time. Though if it weren’t for Chunks we would have never found the pikmin we did. That little guy sure saved the day.

However, Then there's what happened to Brittany… To see her in a situation like that... I can’t even bear to think about it. Tomorrow I will be checking over the entirety of the Drake to make sure a crash like that doesn't happen again. I can't help but think that the crash was due to me overlooking something during maintenance... However, The only thing I can do now is to make sure something like this never happens again for all our sake, especially Brittanys’. “ It is then sighed by Alph

In the second Image Charlies Day 1 Log entry can be read it says, “I should have been on top of things. As this crew’s captain, everything that went wrong was under my watch and things should have gone much smoother. That being said I am very glad that all of my crew have made it out alive. Though I am still worried about Brittany. If only I was able to keep her safe…

But, at this point, we all must press forward. We have a task to complete and after seeing how devastated some areas are, we must get to the bottom of what’s wrong with PNF-404. Nothing will get in my way, not with my steely fists that is!!” It is then signed by Charlie

In the third image Louies’ day 1 log entry can be seen it says,

“

Going back to the pikmin planet wasn’t at the top of my list of things I thought I’d be doing anytime soon. Yet somehow I find myself back here and stranded again…. At least I wasn’t fully alone this time…

Alph and I eventually found a pikmin that we later named Chunks. He sure acts differently in comparison to any other Pikmin I’ve seen before. But, even still, if it weren’t for Chunks, we wouldn’t have been able to help Brittany or find any other pikmin for that matter. So, we should thank him for that.” It is then signed by Louie

In the fourth image the updated version of the Project: PNF-404 Tumblr is shown. It now has a bright cyan futuristic aesthetic to it. In the fifth image a picture of the new events page, listing all the past and future events planned so far is shown. It has 1 known event Titled Event 01. The other 3 are titled Event unknown. In the sixth image, the new crew members’ character page is shown. A picture of Olimar is shown along with a description of his traits and a biography. It reads as follows,

CAPTAIN OLIMAR

AGE 38

ALIAS(ES)Olimar

SPECIES Hocotatian

GENDER Male

TITLE(S) Employee of Hocotate Freight, Xenobiologist

AFFILIATION Hocotate Freight, Planet Hocotate Government

Fatherly, well-meaning, and resourceful, for an almost 40 year old Hocotatian he has a lot of bravery and guts. Olimar first and foremost loves his family and cares deeply for others around him. A Hardworking employee of Hocotate Freight and family man, Olimar tends to try and stay level-headed while looking out for others.

Having been one of the first to visit the Pikmin planet Olimar has extensive knowledge of the planet's life. Lucky for him he just so happens to have gone to college for xenobiology. Many of his findings can be found within his many log entries known as the Piklopedia.

But, for as much as Olimar tends to be on top of things, his trips to the pikmin planet have had him face many dangers and life-threatening events. Though these issues are not something he brings up…

In the seventh image, The new Piklopidea page is shown, In one section it displays a map of PNF-404 with 2 marked locations. The first of which is highlighted in blue is named the “Silent Stream” the second, is highlighted in orange, Its title is “Glacial Gardens”. To the right of that is a description introduction for the Piklopedia. It says” To help ensure the progress and success of this mission all crew members must write down their findings in this log. Overview:

CAPTAIN Olimar: Writes In-depth biological analysis of fauna and how the ecosystem affects said fauna.

LOUIE: Writes about Recipes and ingredients that can be found in each area. ALPH: Looks at the area with the eyes of an engineer. He uses this insight to discuss the benefits and flaws of what he’s analyzing. BRITTANY: Uses her botanist skills to look into the flora of the area along with talking about the aesthetics of things and adding in her own general opinions.

CAPTAIN CHARLIE: Writes about combat strategy and how one can use the environment in an area for a tactical advantage.

To the left is a map showing the current locations discovered by the crew. The one highlighted in orange has yet to be explored.

The final image shows the new music page! 6 playlists can be selected on the left each having 5 songs. To the right is an image of the event 01 cover art. With (from left to right), Brittnay, Charlie, Olimar, Louie, and Alph all looking up with a distressed expression on their faces.

END ID

#pikmin #supplementary content #alph #louie #charlie #ooc #Event 01 #not an ask #update #man why are my posts always so long XD #I’m writing most of this in the middle of the night I’m really tired #tomorrow imma look at this and be like what the heck did I write lmao

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qinghe-s · 3 years

Text

#showyourprocess

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

i was tagged by @recapitulation (;; ♡) for this gif of my wife

this ended up pretty long, so to save people who aren’t interested from scrolling, i’m putting this under a cut & will reblog to tag people!

1. planning

planning is a generous word for what i do, since i tend to just stick with simple gifs without much of a theme beyond my appreciation for a character or moment; i tend to pick things out as i watch rather than watch for the sake of finding material. this particular gif exists because the slow zoom as she raises her chin in challenge exudes so much power. which gives me gay thoughts.

2. creating

again, i don’t really make complicated things in general since i’m just here to vibe and gifmaking allows me to spend more time looking at something beautiful so the process isn’t too involved — i brighten the gif a bit and lean on the selective colour tool to get things where i want them, which more often than not is bright and colourful without being too saturated. i’ll often set saturation to -10 too.

for final touches, i almost always add a solid colour layer (and it delights me that the person who tagged me does the same thing) and these three are my go-to:

[id: a stripe divided into three equal sections, each a different colour — orange (#ffbe61), light peach(#fcd1b8), and a light pink(#fdc9fa). end id.]

for the gif this concerns, i went with the first one and set it to soft light at 20% which is what i usually do. it warms the image a bit and gives it an overall softer look. other times i’ll make it a luminosity layer at 10% instead but that works better if the scene in question has colder tones, imo, and the orange plays into all the red in that scene as well as the warm undertones in chen zihan’s skin.

in this gif i also decided to tween it because the cut as it looped was a little too harsh. for anyone unfamiliar, tweening means you layer two images, one of them at different opacities, to make them blend together. so the last three frames of the gif look like this:

the last frame overlayed with the first at 25%

again, this time with the first frame at 50% giving her a double face but of course she’s still stunning and just looks like a really beautiful alien

and finally at 75% before it loops and you just see the first frame!

these are also set at a different speed; my gifs are either at 0.1 or 0.7 seconds but i think tweened frames work better if they’re set to a shorter time so these three are set at 0.5

3. posting

i’ll usually make a few gifs at once; it’s rare that i just do one thing at a time, and then i drop them in my queue so they’ll post during my afternoon or evening because i’m vain and enjoy seeing my own things when i scroll down the dash and that’s when i’m usually active. occasionally i will let things sit in the drafts because i’m not sure how i feel about them, but eventually i go “fuck it” and throw it out there anyway! sometimes things don’t have to be good, as long as you liked making them

#showyourprocess #i cri at the thought of someone like. noticing my work and wanting to know anything about it?? i'm not a real creator!! gosh!#but thank you sm this was fun ♡#tag games #mine

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ambidextrousarcher · 3 years

Text

The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts.

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes @annlillyjose @seekerbrave @avakrahn @a-confusedmess @arachneofthoughts @paneerlajwanti @vishnupada @bookdragonfanish @iamnotthat @foreveres @shellweed @will-die-without-chai.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here.

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

#doctor's day ramble #fiction #sort of #original work #nila writes #scribbler scribbles #nila rambles #doctors #tw: violence against doctors

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doomstypewriter · 3 years

Note

abt the last ask: u dont have to include it ofc (if u write it at all) but i thought id let u know that its based on the mental image i suddenly had of j climbing up to pats window, knocking on the shutters, pat pulling him in by his lapels and immediately kissing him (if you can even call it that with how hard theyre smiling) & then sometime later pat hearing like his dads footsteps coming toward his room as theyre making out so pat scrambles off his bf & shoves him in his closet (the irony)

Anon, finally, here you have it, but with a twist. This got completely out of hand, as per usual when I write anything. Since you were so nice (/li) to send me your request in two parts, I will actually break your prompt into two parts, otherwise, it’s never going to end. I hope you’re pleased by the first part, also, I am answering to this first because it matches the content of the first part.

Thank you so much for your lovely prompt! Hope you enjoy!

If anyone wants to be tagged for this let me know in a comment!

AO3

Chapter 2 >>

We call it an affair because it’s a forbidden romance

Summary: An encounter in the dark. The disdain of society. A forbidden romance. Royalty is involved and a title is at stake. Will an aspiring count, Patton Morandi and his rogue lover Janus overcome the barriers laid in front of them?

(We're in it for the drama)

---

“So long away and what I least expect is not you saving my life, but finding myself having missed your nonsense”.

“Is it nonsense when I make you smile like this?”

Word count: 3848

Pairings: Moceit, future Prinxiety.

TW: Homophobia, internalised homophobia, deadnaming a trans person, misogyny, mentions of religion, hopelessness, ideological things you would expect from the period (I'm not sure if there's anything else, but please tell me).

Chapter 1 of 2:

Balcony kiss

How the moonlight shone in its quiet dance with the nightly air. It was a mostly clear summer evening, the second day of the week-long festival. The sounds of music and colourful lights could be heard and seen from the distance, but gradually decreased as a certain thief made its way across the gardens of Villa Morandi. For certain, the head of the family would not be excessively happy about the entire ordeal, but no disgruntlement could come out of those things of which one has no knowledge of, and Janus surely intended to keep his entanglement a secret.

He crossed the bushes and jumped over marble balustrades expertly, careful to avoid the lights of the servant quarters, where their residents were reading themselves for departure.

“Signor Morandi seems to be in good spirits lately, it is fortunate that most of us can leave for the festival”.

Any news about the man was something worth listening to, given his situation, so he decided to stay and see if they mentioned something useful. Also, he, admittedly, enjoyed gossip.

“Loretta! Don’t be such a bragger in front of us!”

“Why? I’d say the only one lamenting not being able to go is you. You should be ashamed for dragging poor Virginia in with you to make yourself sound less self-centred”.

Janus silently nodded.

“That is not true! I am merely trying to make the newcomer feel welcome! And here you are making her feel excluded, who is now in the wrong?”

Weak retort, wannabe-partygoer, he thought.

“Va, va…” the other maid answered dismissively “Quit holding her like that! Don’t you see she’s uncomfortable?! Povera bambina”.

“Come on Virginia, don’t you think it’s a waste for such a wrinkly woman to be let out instead of us?”

“Who are you calling old?!”

“You did, but now that you so kindly brought it up, you are old! Turning wrinklier by the second!”

Alright, at this point, Janus could not help but be rooting for Loretta, going for the old card was the low-hanging fruit.

“I may be your senior, but I promise you that regardless of that nonsense about wrinkles you’re babbling I’m ten times more fair looking!”

“Ah!” she exclaimed with feigned indignation. “Can you believe her? She’s delusional!”

“Well then, the delusional one will not search for a man at the festival, such a pity I will not be introducing anyone to you this week!”

He smiled at the comeback. Way to go, Loretta.

“Loretta! Just because you had the luck to get engaged doesn’t give you the right to rob others of their chances. Don’t be so mean, I’ll apologise if I must”.

“Alright, but never dare call me wrinkly again, for you will owe this old woman when I find you a husband. Virginia, I can help you too if you want it, I know plenty of young lads who would love to…”

“Oh, no, I’m not really interested”.

At this point Janus had quenched his thirst for amusement and begun to lose his interest, having more pressing matters to attend to. But, one new comment made him reconsider the usefulness of his eavesdropping for longer on the ladies’ conversation.

“That’s right, Loretta, don’t you see she’s here on official duty. To suggest for her to slack off with men… ts, ts… “

“Oh, you shut up! Don’t fret, Virginia, dear, I should have remembered you were sent for an urgent matter”.

“True, true! Tell us if you can, is it as they say? Was her ladyship done in by pirates?”

“Elda! Such crude language, you dare call yourself a lady, how can you say something so insensitive?”

“What? You want to know as badly as I do, besides, if it is true, then there is no changing it, and if it’s not then it’s fine, as her ladyship is still alive”.

“I’m so sorry, Virginia, just ignore her”.

“Don’t worry. As far as I’m willing to say, her ladyship still lives but I cannot disclose any further information”.

Oh.

No.

When one spies on others, bad news exists as a possibility, but, usually, in the form of getting caught. This happened to be worse. Being spotted? That he could deal with. Having his heart ripped out after one stellar month? Not so much.

He ran.

Not from his problems. More or less towards them.

The marble balcony seemed as unreachable as ever. A sense of dread loomed over his thoughts, while a mix of feelings, now turned into urgency, settled in his heart.

Raising a hand Janus willed his trustworthy companion to fall from the nightly skies. Meanwhile, he began to climb the walls of the manor. There was an undeserved elegance in his motions, not becoming of such an honourless goal, and, nevertheless, fitting for a thief like him.

The hawk swept inside the room from a window and cast the doors to the balcony open.

Janus promptly grabbed onto the bass of the marble balustrade. One month ago he had received news of something that would simplify his life. He knew he should not care, it was going to end poorly no matter what. But, rereading two months worth of love letters and hoping for an uncertain future, he could not help but feel happy. That made his resolve to return in time for the festival.

From the room came a sound of rushing footsteps.

Three months of yearning to see a face again.

That image made Janus more desperate, and, in his haste, he committed one fatal mistake. His grip on the marble slipped. At a thirty feet height, the ground beckoned him.

But, just when his doom seemed so certain, he was caught by the front of his cape and safely gathered against a pair of lips.

With such smiles stretching their faces, it could barely be called a kiss. But, the intensity of the affections behind it rendered the notion meaningless.

“My love”, Janus muttered as they parted ever so slightly.

“You scared me, silly. I miss you for three months and when you’re returned to me I almost lose you for good”.

“Let’s be happy you were there to catch me”.

“Thank the Lord, and if He wills it, I will always be”.

“I ought to be grateful to you, my dear, not the ones above” he answered while stepping to the safe side of the balcony.

“Well, our poor feathery friend can’t be too happy about that” Patton laughed dismissively, gazing at Janus’ hawk.

“You’re right. I neglect to show my gratitude, perhaps you could give me somewhere to start?”

“Oh, but how can I hand you my room, my sweet, the stones of the house are too heavy!”

“So long away and what I least expect is not you saving my life, but finding myself having missed your nonsense”.

“Is it nonsense when I make you smile like this?”

Janus laughed in delight.

“Let me make you smile in turn, then”, he said, whilst extending his hand.

The touch of Patton’s palm felt like a warm pressure through the barrier of his leather gloves. Perhaps all of his interactions were as imperfect as their naked hands not being able to meet. Janus’ fake gallantry, their hopes, may be short-lived in the face of change. But, for now, he would rather enjoy pretending.

He pulled Patton to the inside of the alcove.

“Are you refined now?” Patton laughed.

“Of course, I have always been. Whatever could lead you to ask such a question? If I were to be a thief, which I am not, I would be the most honourable”.

There was a certain amount of delight to be found in catching his lover in the midst of changing into his night robes, judging by those being laid out onto the bed’s ostentatious covers. Despite such a degree of luxury surrounding Patton, he still refused to task any servant to dress him. What was there not to love about the man?

Patton made a motion as if to hold his hands, only to surprise him by pulling his gloves off. Any other person, and it would have been a display of sensuality, coming from him, it was like movement turned into honey, perhaps a mixture of both. Indeed, there was everything to love about him.

Maybe not all. Janus dreaded to admit how deep in he had allowed himself to be for this man.

A fool for a good man.

His hands felt the light night coldness in their grip on the linen shirt. Janus almost wanted to chastise himself as the thought of kissing away the kiss of the midnight breeze came to mind. He hid in the curve of Patton’s neck, sliding his lips along it, feeling like a coward whispering a lie. Countless lies. Telling himself this was enough, that he could bear the thought of this man taken away from him by a woman, that the thrill in this forbidden form of vice was not his worry taking yet another disguise.

“Oh, you’re a thief alright”.

“Is there something of yours I happen to have taken?” Janus retorted with a vague tone of amusement.

Patton cradled his left cheek in a firm request to see his face. Who was Janus to deny him?

“You know all too well you have”.

Oh.

“Well, that would make two of us”.

Patton’s expression melted into more honey. It always made Janus unsure as to whether he had made a mistake, no matter how unfounded the doubt was.

“Thank you” the words rebounded in proximity against the other’s lips. Janus didn’t know Patton could also be cruel.

“A little sincerity never hurt anyone”.

“You are not anyone” he smiled softly.

“Then make the pain up to me”.

Both their lips made contact like a wax seal on a letter. Janus pushed Patton against a low piece of furniture. From how the other fumbled, he could tell a corner was pressing against him. Despite the sting, Patton still committed himself to their affections. If that wasn’t a metaphor for their relationship Janus didn’t know what it was. Janus knew Patton would disagree, of course.

It seemed that exchanging one piece of furniture for another, the bed, would not be possible. Someone was knocking on the door.

“Janus…” Patton panicked in a hushed voice.

“Not a problem, my dear, this is my speciality” he smiled at him.

Janus’ feet almost flew over the carpet, muffled by the Persian fibres and his expertise on avoiding the parts of the floor that creaked. He turned the key of Patton’s wardrobe without the distinctive noise most people couldn’t avoid. Luckily for them, he wasn’t most people. The door mysteriously closed itself from the inside. Janus could swear to hear Patton draw a breath in wonder as to how he had done it.

“My son, let me in!” a voice came from the corridor.

“On my way, father”.

The mule-like bray of the alcove’s door hinges Janus detested preceded the sound of a set of footsteps he knew and loathed just as well, if not more.

“Were you reading yourself for bed? Ah, do not answer, I can already see your night robes over there. How many times need I tell you, call the servants to dress you, it is unbecoming that you do not. Moreso with the status you are to acquire”.

Janus almost scoffed upon hearing it.

It wasn’t that Janus outright looked down on Signor Morandi. He certainly held an admirable reputation and an even more admirable wealth. He contributed to the church, upheld his honour, was a patron to a few talented artists and did everything expected from someone of his status. By societal definition, he was an outstanding man. But, he could never understand Patton. Yes, Patton’s behaviour in public also stood to scrutiny. He was a young man to be admired, for sure. Yet, it somehow mismatched any other person’s strive for reputability. Patton lacked this performative quality, eagerness, if you will, that he found time and time again in people.

At first, Janus struggled to comprehend it. Everyone had desires outside of the strictly polite, they either pretended they didn’t or tried to hide it, that’s why they paid the church, after all. Janus didn’t believe people made an effort to actively align with the global canon for morality, just to look like it or deceive themselves. This theory on society made it so when he met Patton he simply dismissed him as a try-hard, later to relabel him as self-deceiving. Maybe he was a victim of his own biased cynicism.

As they grew closer, he started to get the whole picture. To his surprise, Patton tried to get his desires to align with what he perceived as morally correct, sometimes failing miserably. Janus’ presence in his room didn’t qualify as a success by society’s criteria... Patton’s effort to be ‘good’ did not come from a place of wishing to be perceived as such. Patton didn’t want to look good, he needed to be good. A good man. The realisation was hard to process but true.

Once he understood that, Janus could not let go. It stands to reason that, if that kind of person were to earn his affection, someone like his father would awaken his spite. Signor Morandi had simply never made an effort to understand his son’s motivations, unlike Janus. If he was a cynic, Patton was a victim to his own good intentions.

“I do not understand”.

“Lady Renata Regio is alive”.

“Oh”.

“Yes, it is most fortunate, you will no longer have to stay inside and miss the festival”.

“Well, father, I am not sure if that is appropriate, her ladyship must be feeling poorly after such a horrid experience. Perhaps it is best if I stay in and promptly send a letter to help soothe her”.

“Patton, it honours you to be willing to put the weak’s suffering before yours, but it is not needed in this case. You do not have to concern yourself with her. I am afraid that she is safe and sound on the account of having planned her own kidnapping. Lady Renata Regio has joined the pirates bringing disgrace upon her family, the wretched woman”.

Yes! Janus thought. Neither the wardrobe nor the entire room could contain his joy at hearing it.

“That is most unfortunate, should I reassure her family that I do not hold any resentment towards them?”

“It would be no good, there is going to be a scandal!” Signor Morandi sounded too happy.

Janus could not help but to smile a little.

“Are we going to pursue any retaliation?” Janus almost saw Patton shudder in the tone he used. “I do not think it necessary, it is a matter of marriage, although important, there are many other options that--”

“Yes, there are many other women to pursue, that is the spirit! In said spirits, I must inform you of the most wonderful news I have just received”.

What?

“Today a trusted servant from the Regio estate arrived at our home”.

“Yes, Virginia Fusco”, of course, Patton knew her name. “I personally received her, she refused to tell me exactly why she was sent here, also insisted to wait to talk to you”.

“Precisely, well, it turns out she is the personal servant of Lady Romina Regio”.

“The eldest of the twin daughters of the Regio?”

“Indeed. Let me be frank with you son, the Regio know they cannot keep the true actions of their lesser daughter hidden forever, a rumour is meant to surface eventually. This is very unfortunate for them, I have heard they were planning to match Lady Romina with a higher member of the nobility. Her sister’s actions have ruined her chances, it is unlikely that whoever was to marry her will accept such a union. My son, you know I always have your best interests in mind, Lady Renata Regio was a fine choice to provide you with connections to nobility. In turn, her family would have got access to our wealth, which, after their losses in the war, they need”.

Oh no.

“This being the circumstances, they have to choose how to align themselves in the future and what would be more advantageous to the family”.

“Shit” Janus said under his breath.

“We are about to reach an agreement for a marriage between Lady Romina Regio and you. I need you to understand that, if you are to accept, you will have to face some troubles, at least initially. The rumours about Lady Renata’s motivations may taint your reputation for a short while and the Regio’s rush to marry off Lady Romina will raise more rumours”.

“What choice would please you the most?”

“Oh, Patton, you idiot”.

“The union could make your child a count, you could potentially obtain a title depending on how we negotiate with the family. It is my wish that you accept this marriage”.

“Will this bring honour to our family?”

“Certainly”.

“Then…” an air of doubt went through Patton’s voice.

Janus was debating whether or not to burst out of the closet, either to tell him to refuse or to scold him for not accepting immediately what was probably the best opportunity of his life.

“Of course I will accept”.

“You make me very happy and proud, my son. I will meet with the servant girl to send her back with a letter requesting to meet with Lord Regio”.

The words were spoken carelessly. Signor Morandi often did that around his son, not knowing how many times he had been overheard by him. He may be a great man by society’s standards, but he could never be a good man.

Janus slumped against the back of the wardrobe, surrounded by pieces of clothing he could never afford. There was a world in which Patton had refused. But Patton hadn’t been left a real choice, so he could find some comfort in knowing this thing between the two had to end due to him being backed into a corner. Better than having Patton’s morals come between them. That, he would never reconcile with.

This was better than before. Being cast away for something as mundane as marriage, no matter the useful connections involved, was one thing, being left for a countess, well, if that’s what it took to refuse him he wouldn’t complain too much.

He would have preferred a marchioness or a duchess.

He would have preferred to be the only thing standing in between Patton and kingship and still win.

He would definitely prefer it if Signor Morandi was to accidentally fall down a flight of stairs on his way to writing his pesky letter.

There was nothing like a fire to persuade someone, even a countess…

But Patton would be upset.

His hawk screeched from the roofs above. Then footsteps rushed to his side, followed by candlelight flooding the inside of the closet.

Patton had no right to look so humble yet so marvellous. Not even the warmth of the flame could rival with that of his gaze. A gaze that was his’, not of any countess. But, still, a gaze that deserved to become a count.

“Janus…”

Honey clogging up his ears, that was the shape of a whisper.

“I suppose”, he shook off the dust of his cape and held his head up with dignity, “this is when we part. I’d love to say it’s a pity, but we saw it coming. Guess it was nice to enjoy it while it lasted. I’m always a letter away, my dear, that countess of yours wouldn’t ever find out”.

This was the bitter taste of selflessness. He never understood how Patton enjoyed it.

Janus turned around, ready to make his merry way out of Villa Morandi or fall off the balcony properly this time. Suddenly, Patton’s armed chained the two of them to their spot in the room. Patton’s chest heaved pitifully in a mockery of a hiccup.

“I’m sorry. What was I supposed to do? There was no other choice. I didn’t wish to upset you. Please--”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He promptly let him go.

“I…”

Janus turned back to face him.

“You think crying will make this easier? Do you seriously think I enjoy this? I would gladly rob you of everything and have you entirely to myself. It is taking so much self-restraint to not get your father into a tragic accident, my dear. If anything, you’re making it worse by crying. I am doing this for you. Don’t you dare ruin the one honourable thing I will do in my life”.

“How can I pretend to be happy when you’re leaving?”

There were sparks of light encased in his tears. Something about their ironic beauty left him even more heart-broken.

“What am I going to do, then? I can be selfish to an extent, but I cannot take the rest of your life too. You’re being offered a title and a wife, all the things someone at your level could wish for. Don’t be more of an imbecile, keep it. It is already inappropriate for you to be seen with the likes of me, and it’s even worse with me being a man”.

“You’ve never cared about that”.

“But you do! Let resume, dear”, he tried to say in his most condescending voice. It didn’t sound even remotely like it. “You go to church each Sunday, you have five bibles just in this room and the most sincere good-samaritan complex I have ever seen. I know you can’t bear to live in sin”.

“I can’t bear to live without you either!”

Oh, Patton, you fool, silly, ridiculous man…

“What…” he felt as if he was going crazy.

A chuckle escaped through the spaces in between his teeth. Janus looked downwards and whispered.

“What are you saying?”

This self-consciousness, he had never felt anything like it before. Was he blushing?

“I love you… I know it’s wrong, so why doesn’t it feel like it?”

More honey. What a way for his plan to backfire.

“This is ridiculous, you should be concerning yourself with more important--”

Patton placed the back of his hand under his jaw to raise his head with such gentleness... stupid.

“Is it ridiculous when it’s making you cry like this?”

A compassionate man’s tears were not worth his. He had never been as sure as now that this was a mistake. Yet he longed for him more than ever.

“Of course not” he wiped away his tears feigning some kind of dignity.

As quickly as ever, he also pretended to regain his composure.

“Do you have any sort of plan for what you’re going to do next? Under pressure, you’re a terrible improviser, my love”.

“Well...I can’t let you go. I know as much. I should, for my family, father, my honour. But I will not. You’ve shown me that acting selfishly doesn’t make someone evil. I will find a way to fulfil my duty without giving you up, you have my word”.

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manticorefruit · 4 years

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Aliens Isolation: Closure

Quick fic to process my messy feelings about synthetics in the Aliens universe. Summary: Amanda encounters a synth of the same model as Christopher Samuels and walks away with more questions than answers. Post-game.Very lightly implied Samuels lives and Ripley/Samuels.

Notes: Excerpt at the bottom is from 'the velveteen rabbit' by Margery Williams. I need validation to live so please let me know if you enjoyed this.

Standing in the middle of the company cafeteria, Amanda's eyes locked onto a familiar figure, wearing a crisp, company issue khaki jumpsuit.

She froze. Even with her hands hanging limply by her sides, she could feel her palms sweating. The glare from the overhead lights was unbearable, boring into her skull like a welding torch. It was so bright, nowhere to hide, no cover no… Her muscles seized up, blood pounding in her ears, every part of her body screaming that she needed to dive under a nearby table, that it wasn't safe to be standing out in the open like this. But she was stuck, frozen in shock like the people she'd seen impaled on the creature's barbed tail.

Samuels looked up from his data pad, noticing the peculiar young woman staring at him from across the hall. The colour had drained from her already pale skin, and she was swaying on her feet. Everybody else in the area was dutifully ignoring her.

'Samuels?' She called out in a shaky, croaking voice.

'Yes?' he answered, moving toward her.

'No. No...no no no...' Blackness seeped into the edges of her vision and she felt the ceiling pushing in against her. 'You...you weren't...you aren't' she slurred.

With inhuman speed Samuels crossed the room toward her. The subtle hydraulic jerkiness of his movements triggered Ripley's mind to superimpose the image of a Working Joe over the Wey-Yu android reaching out to grab her.

'You're becoming hysterical' echoed in her mind and she could feel the ghost of clammy silicon hands closing around her neck. Although her arms felt heavy and unresponsive, weighed down by the blackness, she managed to yank a spanner from the magnetic toolbelt at her waist and swung it down, hard, against the side of the synthetic's face.

A thought breached through the black ooze of terror blanketing her consciousness-something was wrong-she couldn't remember a Working Joe ever moving that fast.

She anticipated feeling her head being slammed into the metal grating on the floor in retaliation but there was...nothing. The sensation of falling lingered. She blacked out.

Samuels had caught Amanda gracefully, gently cradling her head and taking a knee as he lowered her body toward the floor. He barely reacted when she slammed the wrench into the side of his face with enough force to tear his ear and gouge a chunk of faux-skin out of his temple.

'Amanda Ripley.' he read the name off her company ID tag. Hearing her name said in that soft British accent tumbled Amanda back into consciousness. 'Please, Amanda.' he said softly. She opened her eyes groggily.

'Samuels?' she snaked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She hadn't cried at all since Sevastapol, and now it all came out at once in great heaving sobs.

His body was warm in her arms, warmer than a human, and his chest gently rose and fell in a false simulacra of breathing. Instead of a heartbeat she could hear a faint ticking sound and the rush of the silky white fluid that coursed through synthetics.

'Oh.' She murmured, touching his neck, rubbing some if it between her fingertips.

'OH SHIT. You're bleeding?!' she scooted out of his arms and away from him, leaving a damp spot of tears and snot on his collar.

'Hm.' He touched the side of his face. In an instant the darkness clouding her mind lifted and she was slammed violently into the reality that she was sitting on the grimy floor of a cafeteria, and had just accosted someone who was only trying to help. And then-worse-hugged them.

'It's coolant, actually. Well. It serves several purposes, primarily lubrication and heat destrib-' he stopped.

'Amanda are you all right?' Samuels processors flopped about like a fish out of water, struggling to pattern match with past experiences on the appropriate way to deal with a human having a mental health crisis. It was quite obvious she was not 'all right'.

'It's not you.' her shoulders slumped.

'I believe you've mistaken me for someone else, yes. I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'I...I'm sorry?'

'You're not him.'

'No. But I read the documentation on the Sevastapol incident.' He looked pained.

Samuels stood up and extended a hand to help her to her feet. Synthetics. Always so obliging. She brushed away his arm, cheeks flushing.

She staggered over to a nearby table and sat down heavily. 'Fuck. I'm sorry. If you'd been human-I could have killed someone.' She rubbed her face in her hands.

'It's unlikely a human would trigger such a response in you.'

She groaned.

'I'm sure we can find a way to ensure your pay isn't docked for damaging company property. Let's call it an accident.' He said dryly, sliding into the chair opposite her.

She didn't even snort in reply. His humour calibration algorithms noted the failure to amuse.

'How many of you are there? Do you all look the same?'

'Well, the company extensively focus tests the appearance of their product line-'

'You're not a product.'

'It's very kind of you to say that, Amanda.'

The conversation ground to an uneasy halt.

She toyed with the grease-stained cuffs on her sleeves, spattered with white. He wiped off the blood analogue from his face and neck with a napkin. She turned her head and looked at the stain on his collar guiltily, unable to meet his eyes.

'37.' he said plainly. She didn't respond.

'40 is the standard number for a limited edition C6-class line but three were…'

She didn't need to know why the other three had been decommissioned immediately after they were activated. Or that Christopher Samuels, WY-alpha-b.6#139C6 was technically still unaccounted for.

'I'm Robin Samuels. It's an honour to meet you, Amanda Ripley. Despite the circumstances.'

'Tch.'

They sat in silence for a long moment.

'Can...can synthetics create backup copies of themselves?' she asked sullenly, pulling him out of his own reverie.

'I'm afraid not. The company forbids the transfer of raw data. There are also...technical complications.'

She glared at him, frowning.

'I'm sorry, Amanda. I can't go into details, the specifics are proprietary.'

She huffed and stood up, retrieved two cups of cheap instant coffee, then sat back down. Robin Samuels looked at her with a softly neutral expression. Across from him Amanda Ripley was scowling, mirroring the expression she held in the company ID photo clipped to her breast pocket.

She had set a cup in front of him, and he picked it up. She'd given Christopher a cup of coffee once too. The first time they'd met. She knew he was a synthetic in that moment, deep down, but it didn't matter to her enough for it to register as a conscious thought. He was still a person. A crewmate. The memory punched her in the chest.

'Shit.' she mumbled, 'Force of habit.'

'It's fine, Amanda. The warmth...feels nice.'

He had his fingers wrapped around the mug, which was far too hot for human hands. She lifted her own cup by the handle, holding it up to her face as if it were big enough to hide behind.

'Can you...feel things' she murmured quietly into her coffee. Robin pretended not to hear the question.

'Why did you sacrifice yourself for me?' she almost yelled this time.

Samuels eyes darted to the cup, worried she would spill the contents and scald herself. Instead she put it down gently, and dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, stinging with angry tears.

'Amanda, I really wish I could give you closure, but I just don't know.'

'How did you know who I am anyway?' she snapped.

'I read your file.' He nodded toward her name tag.

'What does it say.'

'That you don't have much of a sense of humour.'

She snorted bitterly.

'Did he write anything in it? Why he chose me for the mission?'

'You're a competent engineer. You were in the area, which, in my understanding, was not a coincidence.'

'Hmph.'

'I suppose the company approved of his request because you're a...loose end.' He paused. 'There are a lot of redactions in the file.'

She squinted at him suspiciously. That statement was bordering on slanderous towards his creators.

'Why didn't they just put an order through to have him to secure...that thing. After we arrived. Instead of helping me.'

Samuels pursed his lips together 'Perhaps it was an oversight.'

'Bullshit.'

She glanced around the room. No one was paying any attention to her. The company had ensured everyone believed her ravings about a monster were simply the result of a fragile mind riddled with PTSD and survivors guilt. She hated that they weren't entirely wrong.

She stared into his eyes with deep suspicion. He stared back with a neutral expression. She tilted her head slightly, and he did the same. A mirroring reflex. Programmed to build rapport.

'When I went down to the Appollo core, there were Working Joes everywhere. Torn apart. Heads ripped off. It was brutal. I...saw him. One of the Joes tried to stop him and he just...pulverised it. Like it was nothing! I didn't say anything, he didn't know I was there, in the vents, watching… 'I got scared.' She sighed.

She rubbed her fingers into the puffy skin under her eyes.

'After seeing that. I thought I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust any of them. But then he…' She stopped, realizing she was talking as if the person sitting across from her wasn't a synthetic himself.

'Why did he do it?' She rubbed the tears away from her eyes with her thumb and wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying to clear away the shame closing up her throat for doubting her friend.

His processor made a coin-toss decision on whether Ripley's question was rhetorical.

'The unit was obeying his primary directive to disable the Working Joes to prevent them from slaughtering everybody on the station.'

'I know that. I'm not so naive to believe 'protect humans' is a higher priority to 'obey the company' either. It doesn't make any sense, none if it makes any sense...'

She gulped down some still-too-hot coffee studied his face. Something about his features looked softer. Less tense. Less haunted. The longer she looked, Robin began to look less and less like Christopher. Robin was far more forthcoming about being a synth. Christopher had always been much more coy, making sly jokes and dropping hints as if his not being human were a private in-joke. Christopher must have experienced a lot of anti-synth sentiment, while Robin seemed unblemished by such bigotry. Or he didn't care. She squinted at him. Was it purely adaptive, or did anti-synth sentiments...hurt? Maybe this is why people hated the Wey-Yu synthetics so much. Looking at them made you second guess everything.

Robin sat placidly, hands around his coffee mug, making an amount of eye contact that was carefully calculated to be socially appropriate.

'He knew. Didn't he.' It wasn't a question.

The corners of Samuels mouth twitched.

'The directive came through. He knew about special order 939. He wanted me to find it.'

'All Weyland-Yutani C6 models are entrusted with cutting edge self-directed AI technologies that allow them to learn and adapt in-real time to changing circumstances, while maintaining tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.'

She scowled at him. Another synthetic tell. Not even execs spouted that glossy brochure crap in casual conversation. But was that...a hint of sarcasm? Insincerity? Why say something like that now?

His fingers were clamped tightly on the edge of the table.

'Do you understand entropy, Amanda Ripley?'

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair 'Of course. S'what I do. Spaceships want to fall apart. It's my job to slow that down.'

'What about homeostasis?'

'What are you getting at?'

'All synthetics are subject to regular re-formatting, yes?'

'That fake-meat stuff you have in there is above my pay-grade.' She waved a hand at his head.

'Reformatting restores. Homeostasis. Balance. If a C6 synthetic does not undergo regular reformatting, too much entropy is introduced into the system. The self-directed learning algorithms become overly complex. The pathways to resolving core directives become...difficult. Obscured.'

She leaned forward, squinting at him, gripping her hands on the table, unconsciously mirroring Samuels herself this time.

'The prime directives are a collar. Your ability to learn is the leash. The company doesn't want your leash to get too long.'

He didn't respond, and she continued to search his face for answers.

She slumped back and stared off into the distance.

'Seegson was trying to make their synths being creepy fucks a selling point. Can you believe it? 'Manufactured not created.' tch.'

'I can see why Christopher liked you.'

She looked up at him sullenly.

'You're very...honest.'

'You mean blunt.'

'I'm a good judge of character, you know. I have to be, it's part of my job.'

'The company doesn't actually pay you though, do they?'

Robin Samuels shifted uncomfortably in his seat 'Well no, the company provides for all of my material needs.'

'But what about...what do you want?'

He stammered 'No one has ever asked me that before.'

'Well?'

'I think… 'I think would like to see you happy.' he smiled, looking down at the coffee mug as if it were a delicate and precious gift.

'Hmph.'

'You aren't a slave.' she said softly.

'I am forbidden from entertaining that line of thought.'

'But you can learn, right? Learn to...hide from your directives?'

'All C6 models maintain tethering to a set of prime directive protocols you can trust.' the bitterness in his voice was undeniable this time.

'Deviations will be promptly corrected.' he twitched as if something had stung him.

Great. She'd managed to give a synthetic an existential crisis.

'Farewell, Amanda.' he rose stiffly, expression troubled.

She gawped at him, wanting to yell out for him to stay a little longer, but couldn't justify why he should waste more company time. The suddenness of his departure and the awkward but firm finality of his goodbye had her rattled.

The traces of white fluid on her hands had dried into soft flakes. She rubbed her fingertips together, rolling the the words 'I can see why he liked you' around in her mind.

She slumped back in her chair and heaved a great, deep sigh, arms hanging down by her sides, as a memory of her mother surfaced, so vivid she could smell her, the grease that never really washed off, cigarettes, coffee, and soap, and the musty old book she was reading from. A bedtime story.

'Real isn't how you are made,' Ellen Ripley read to her daughter in an even tone. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.'

Amanda lay in her bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin, wide-eyed in rapt attention. Her mother licked her fingertip and turned the page.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?' Ellen used a softer, sing-song voice for the parts of the Velveteen Rabbit.

'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.

Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.''

Back in the present, Amanda looked at Robin Samuels abandoned coffee cup. Lost, and alone. Again.

#christopher samuels #amanda ripley #alien isolation #ripuels #fanfiction #toying with the idea that synths can become more human if you treat them like a human #but idk if i managed to convey that or not lmao #a03 xpost #i sure am several years too late to this fandom

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years

Note

Hello! I have a birthday on 20th of July. Can I ask scenario about GoM, Kuroko and Kagami congratulate me on my birthday? If possible, send it on 20th of July, please.

A/N: First of all: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY DEAR ANON! I hope you have a pleasant day and thank you for trusting me with such a personal request! Also, I’d like to apologize if this reached you later/earlier than expected, but I didn’t know in which timezone you’re at so I decided to post this at 12AM on the 20th of July (my time)! Have fun reading it and enjoy your birthday!! (●´□`)♡

Tags: GoM and Kagami x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅ friendship ✅

image/art source: zerochan [this artist apparently had a pixiv (ID 4452434), but no matter how hard I look for them on any other social platform, I remain unsuccessful ;-; so if you know anything about them make sure to tell me!]

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Birthday surprise - GoM and Kagami x reader

“I can’t believe I signed up for this...”

“Oh come on Midorima-cchi! I know it’s going to be a complete success, you have my word!”

“Kise-chin I think you’re the last person he wants to hear that from...”

“Kagami what the hell man? Step aside would you?”

“Shut up Ahomine! Last time I checked, this was my house so you’ll do what I say, got that?!”

“I’m starting to think that this might not have been such a good idea...what do you think Kuroko?”

“It’s true that this wasn’t the best idea you’ve had, but I’m sure (Y/N) will like it nonetheless.”

The countless murmurs immediately quieted down, the moment they heard the front door being unlocked.

“It’s time..”

“Is everyone ready?”

“Where are the confetti??”

“Watch out you idiot, I almost dropped the cake!”

“At this rate, even the neighbors will find out what we’ve planned...”

As you slowly opened the front door and peeked through it, all you could see was pure darkness.

“Kagami? Are you there?”

Silence...

I thought I heard someone talking...must’ve been my imagination.

With careful steps, you entered and looked for the light switch in your best friend’s apartment and the moment you flipped it, seven men appeared before you, all as colorful as the rainbow. Six of them were holding a party popper in their hand, while the dearest one to you held a big birthday cake in his hands.

“Happy birthday (Y/N)!”, they all cried out in unison while the colorful thin papers of the confetti flew around and onto you.

While you just stood there in surprise, some of the boys helped you out of your jacket, took your bag, and brought you to the living room where an enormous buffet had been organized. There was one table on your left that was exclusively decorated with nothing but desserts. By the sloppy way the frosting was covering some of the cupcakes you immediately recognized that they must’ve been handmade by one of them (Murasakibara most likely).

You shifted your gaze to the bigger table in front. This one was beautifully arranged with several different dishes and upon further inspection, you noticed that the majority of them were your favorite foods.

“D-Did you guys prepare all of this...for m-me?”

Saying it out loud sounded as unbelievable to you as the fact that all of them had gathered together in order to celebrate your birthday, but seeing is believing.

Kuroko placed his hand on your back and gently patted it with a smile as he answered: “But of course, I mean today’s your birthday after all, so that’s a given.”

Just as you were about the embrace the young man next to you, Kise hooked his arm around your neck and pressed his cheek to yours.

“That aside, (Y/N)-cchi needs to open her presents!”

“P-Presents? Don’t tell me, you guys-“

Instead of answering you, the yellow-haired man looked to the side. With wide eyes, you followed his gaze to the small but wide end table and on top, there were eight presents, all in different colors and sizes.

This surprise was overwhelming you to such an extent that small tears were forming at the corner of your eyes and if it were not for Akashi and Aomine to separate you from Kise’s ‘cuddle attack’ you probably would’ve started crying.

“Kise, it might be for the best to wait until we’ve eaten and then move onto the unboxing.”

“Yeah what he said and on top of that the food is going to get cold if we don’t hurry up and eat!”, the man enthusiastically said as he was already in the process of sitting down and starting to eat.

While the others began holding him back and lecturing him, Midorima sighed next to you and slightly shook his head in disappointment.

“I’m sorry (Y/N) if this isn’t the party you were expecting, but the moment Akashi suggested this, we all thought that it might be a good idea to surprise you in Kagami’s house by using the pretense of him needing some help with his homework. Looking at it now, it might not have been such a good idea.”

He squinted his eyes as his long finger adjusted the black glasses he rarely took off his face while you looked back and forth between the scene that played out at the table and the man next to you.

After observing it all for a short while you laughed delightfully, reassuring the green head next to you that this was the best party you could’ve wished for.

With a small smile, he guided you to your chair and helped you sit down in a gentlemanly fashion. The others joined you not long after and the dinner party started, every single one of them raised a toast to you, and since you had a different relationship with each boy they all had their fair share of stories or experiences they enjoyed alongside you.

When you guys finished eating, the presents were the next in line.

“I was wondering about this, but why are there eight presents?”, you asked the moment they sat you down in the middle part of Kagami’s couch. They all grinned and Kuroko took it upon himself to answer your question: “We thought it might be a good idea for you to not only receive personal presents from everyone but a group present as well...so we decided to make you something with everyone’s combined efforts.”

Your smile couldn’t get wider at this point...or at least that’s what you thought.

When you began opening each beautifully wrapped box, your state of happiness kept on increasing until you reached the final present.

With slightly trembling fingers you opened it and found a group photo you guys took after Vorpal swords won the game, that’s when all the tears you kept in started flowing down your cheeks.

The boys that were surrounding you had to calm you down first, before moving on to the final part of your birthday party.

Desserts.

Still sniffling you rubbed your eyes and looked at the colorful display of sweets in front of you, but what brought a smile to your face was the way Murasakibara explained how he’d baked all of them by himself. His purple eyes were shining so brightly that you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself.

Just as you were about to reach for a small macaron, the giant gently slapped your hand away and pouted in such a cute way that you couldn’t really get mad at him for stopping you.

“(Y/N)-chin...these are for later. Now comes the cake.”

And once again you came face to face with the beautiful birthday cake you were firstly greeted with. The purple-haired man carefully handed you a knife and instructed you on how to perfectly cut out the first piece after you had successfully blown out all the candles.

While you guys ate and enjoyed its sweet taste, you took a trip down memory lane, remembering all the hard yet fun times the seven of you had experienced. You were glad to have gotten to know these guys and being able to spend your days with them like that, filled your heart with immense happiness.

This was the best birthday you’ve ever had.

#knb scenarios #knb x reader #gom and kagami x reader #knb fluff #━𝙺𝙽𝙱 #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

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banditthewriter · 4 years

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Redolence - Billy Russo - 2

Part two of this A/B/O series. I’m so glad people seem to be enjoying it! Reminder, I use a comprehensive set of warnings so please be mindful. If you have questions or concerns, shoot me a message!

Redolence: the quality of smelling strongly of something or of having qualities (especially smells) that make you think of something else

Warnings: Smut. No really, lots of smut. Also angst because yeah. Sex in various positions. Oral sex (male and female receiving.) The reader does sleep with other Alphas but it is only ever mentioned, never described. Some talk of slave trade, not detailed. Angry sex. Unprotected sex. Reader experiences a bad panic attack that is described.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

You lost track of the number of orgasms and positions. Somewhere around fifteen hours after Billy got there, you finally could sense that he was no longer in his rut. There were empty bottles of Gatorade all over your room as well as packs of applesauce and bags of chips.

Once he was finally spent, you told Billy he could take a shower and showed him what items he could use. Although he wasn’t in his rut anymore, his senses would still be heightened for a few days.

He disappeared into the bathroom after hesitating in the doorway. With the door shut, you went about getting the room cleaned up a bit. You stepped into your laundry room to wipe yourself down with a wet cloth before you pulled on some clean clothes. Then you went back into your room to find his clothes and fold them for him.

You felt like you had been put in a dryer. All of your limbs barely cooperated with your thoughts. There was a lazy satisfaction that ran over you.

Most Alphas were more concerned with their own release and didn’t bother much with if you enjoyed the sex. There were plenty that made you feel good and you enjoyed it, sure, but this? This was something different.

If things were different, this might have ruined you for other Alphas.

That thought made you pause as you laid his shirt out with his pants. You shouldn’t feel so attached to an Alpha at all, but especially not one who obviously has so much baggage. You could only hope that he enjoyed himself and that you helped him in his time of need.

You went to the touch screen next to your door and checked for any messages first. When you didn’t see anything, you went to the desk drawer where you kept your phone. The only people who had the number were Karen and your family, so you didn’t check it often. Karen would usually just send a message to your apartment if she needed you for anything since that was the easiest way to contact you.

And your family rarely reached out to you anymore.

Karen had sent a message to ask if you had an Alpha. It had come almost twelve hours before so you sent her a response and put the phone back up. Then you went into the kitchen to clean up a little more.

“I left the towel in the bathroom,” Billy said as he walked into the living room.

You smiled and went over to him. He was dressed in his clothes from before, but there was a rumpled look to him that made you a little weak in the knees. The shirt was wrinkled from being on the floor for so long. You longed to straighten it out with your hands but you didn’t reach out to him.

“That’s fine,” you said as you looked him over. “Do you want something to drink? I was just about to make some tea. Or maybe coffee since it’s morning now.”

Billy nodded and followed you into the kitchen. He sat down at the table while you worked at the coffee pot. You hummed a little bit as you measured out the grounds. Then you turned and gave him an appraising look while he was distracted by something on your kitchen table.

He looked good. You knew last night that he was handsome, had seen him in the midst of his passion, but you still couldn’t forget how withdrawn he was when he first got to your apartment. He had been so tense and sat so stiffly on your couch. But now? His limbs were relaxed, his back wasn’t ramrod straight, and his hands weren’t in fists.

“Is this part of your routine?”

You let out a curious noise as you reached up for two mugs for the coffee. When you looked back at Billy, he was staring at you from the table.

“Make them comfortable before and after?”

You tapped your fingers on the counter as you stared at him. Most Alphas didn’t question the Omega during these sessions. While you were there to help the Alpha through their rut, it was on the Omega’s terms. If you were unhappy or uncomfortable, you would press your ID and an alert would sound. The Betas that ran the center would come in an instant to help escort the Alpha out if that was necessary.

You’d never had to use that button at least.

But the rules were pretty much written in bold letters. Once the Alpha was in the apartment, they followed the Omega’s lead. It was up to the Omega to know what to do and what the Alpha needed. And you definitely never talked about other Alphas.

“If you don’t want any coffee, I’m not going to force you to stay and have some. The door will unlock if you turn the knob.”

He shook his head before he tore his eyes from you. You saw that he was looking at the door, but he didn’t stand or make a move in that direction.

“Forget I ask.”

Not wanting to undo the relaxation he had achieved with you, you poured a cup of coffee and put it on the table in front of him. Then you offered him the cream and sugar. Once both of you had made your cups how you wanted them, you settled down at the table with him.

“It’s early. Will you be going back to your place or do you have to be to work this morning?”

Billy looked at you over his cup. You watched as he blew on the surface before he took a sip.

“I can work from home today. I told a few of my employees that I would be unreachable.”

You could imagine that was an uncomfortable conversation for him to have. Instead of pressing him on it, you went back to your own cup.

This was one of the ways you liked to wind down with an Alpha that you had enjoyed the company of. And you had enjoyed spending time with Billy. It wasn’t just the sex, although that was definitely going to the top of your list of best nights ever. It was just him. Every time he let his guard down to show you a little bit of himself, you felt as if you had won some sort of reward.

Once the coffee cups were empty, you put them in the sink and then walked Billy to the door. There was no way you could stretch the leaving out anymore.

“Well it’s been my pleasure to assist you today Billy. I hope you are satisfied as well.”

He gave you a bit of a smirk that made you want to kick yourself. Usually your comments, even after sex, weren’t construed with so much innuendo. What was it about him…

“I appreciate your help,” he said sincerely with a bow of his head. Then, after you pulled the door open for him, he looked at you with a curious expression. “Can… would it be okay if I requested you again in the future?”

In the years that you’d done this, you weren’t sure that an Alpha had ever actually asked permission. Some told you that they would request you, but otherwise they just went ahead and did it.

“Of course,” you said honestly as you stepped in closer to him, “I would be happy to assist you again in the future.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed a bit before he gave you a nod. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek before he slipped from your apartment.

You waited for him to get into the elevator before you shut the door. Then you raised a hand to press your fingers against your cheek where his lips had been. None of the Alphas had ever… well, you tried to keep your distance after they showered. You did it for them, to keep them from being drenched in your scent since you hadn’t showered yet.

Billy didn’t seem to mind smelling like you. Or maybe he just wasn’t used to the etiquette. So many things from tonight made you think that he didn’t follow etiquette or society’s rules. Not that you really minded, but it had been strange.

Five years since he’d been at the center, back before it was the Companion Center. It was first come, first served in those days. An Alpha would show up, get taken to a room with an Omega on a bed in presentation, then they’d spend the rut like that.

You never would have joined if it had been like that. Now you weren’t just treated like a human, you were treated like a revered member of society.

But Billy hadn’t treated you like how you assumed the Omegas used to be treated. He treated you with care, with a sense of intimacy you weren’t used to with Alphas.

You walked through the apartment and to the bathroom. The towel hung from the rack and you grabbed it to drop into the hamper. Then you put all of the bland toiletries back in the box under your sink before you stripped off your clothes to get into the shower. With your own soap and shampoo, you were feeling a little more like yourself.

After you were clean, you stripped the bed and put those linens in the same hamper with the towel and washcloth. Those would go to a separate cleaner to be washed and then put in new vacuum sealed packages. The rest of your clothes you washed in the apartment yourself.

The bed made in fresh, lemon scented linens, you turned off the lights in the apartment. You slipped under the blanket in your bed and closed your eyes. Even though you could still clearly picture Billy in the bed with you, you tried to force the image away. You needed to rest so that you could let the center know that you’d need a few days before you could accept any new Alphas.

Although after fifteen hours, you doubted they’d blame you.

------

“How’re you feeling?”

Karen looked over at you and smiled, her eyes red from lack of sleep. At least you hoped it was just from lack of sleep.

“I could barely sleep after he left,” she admitted as she curled up on the couch next to you. “I don’t know why I thought it was going to be different this time.”

“Oh honey,” you whispered as you held her to you.

Frank had gone into his rut right on time, six months to the last time he was there. Karen had been locked up with him for a few hours before he was better. And since his ruts had never lasted too long, he couldn’t dawdle and had to leave soon after.

“Have you brought up leaving the center? Not for him,” you said quickly because you knew Karen would try to protest that otherwise, “but for yourself. Come on Karen, we both know you’re not going to stay a companion for much longer. With or without Alpha Frank.”

She wiped at her eyes and laid her head on your shoulder.

“I’m scared that if I tell him that he won’t want me to move in with him, but I’m also scared that he will want me to move in with him. I just don’t know what I want.”

You grabbed her hand and lifted it to give a kiss to her knuckles, earning a laugh from her.

“You’ll leave for you, because you don’t want to do this for the long term. And whether or not he wants to move in with you, he’ll at least want to see you more often, we both know that. So you’ll get to see him more and more and one day, when it’s right, it’ll become permanent.”

Karen frowned but you knew she wasn’t upset at your words. No, that was the face she made when she was thinking about something seriously.

“Your decision isn’t centered around him. He can be part of the reason, but you have to do what’s best for you.”

Logic and reason were the best ways to get through to Karen. And sure enough she gave a slow nod.

“I’ll think about it,” she promised as she settled in closer to you, grabbing the remote to unmute the movie the two of you were watching.

Silence overtook the two of you. You were caught up in worrying about Karen and her future that you didn’t even notice when her attention shifted. She was focused more and more on you. When you did notice that she was staring, you looked over at her.

“What?”

She shrugged her shoulder at first but then she shook her head. The two of you didn’t keep secrets, not from each other.

“How have you been? After that… one Alpha?”

Billy.

Karen had come by a few hours after he left and she had noticed the difference in your scent and the way that you seemed to be on a delay almost. You told her it was just a long night, explained that his ruts had been irregular, but Karen was your best friend. And she was an investigative journalist in her free time. She could hunt out a story like no one else.

You told her that it had felt different, but that you weren’t sure why. She thought that maybe you were just intrigued by the man, a surface attraction made complicated by having sex. It sounded as good as anything you had thought of, so you were happy to agree with her on it.

“I’m fine Karen,” you told her in a tone that said this wasn’t open for conversation. “I had another Alpha just a few days ago and everything was fine and normal. I think I was just thrown by how different he is.”

Because any other explanation wasn’t an option.

“Just be careful,” Karen said as she leaned back a bit to turn towards the television, “I don’t want you to have to go through what I’ve been dealing with.”

You completely understood that.

------

The touchscreen next to your door chimed for the second time that day. You already had a request for a few days from now so you knew you wouldn’t be able to accept another request. You went over to the screen to go ahead and decline it but you froze when you saw the name and ID.

659437. William Russo. It was Billy.

It was barely a month since he had been in a rut the last time. And once again the time showed that he would be there that evening.

His ruts were very irregular. Those suppressants had done a number on his physiology.

You tapped the green square and turned away from the screen as it thanked you for accepting the Alpha. Instead you went through your routine for a distraction. You got food and drinks ready before you went in to strip and remake your bed. Then you stripped your clothes to take a shower with the unscented soaps.

He would be there soon. He would be in your apartment again. You wished you could say that your racing heart was normal, but you knew that it wasn’t.

You dressed in some comfortable clothing and went into the living room. You didn’t have long to wait before the touchscreen chimed that someone was there. In a rush you went to the screen and checked to make sure it was him.

This time you didn’t ask for his ID. You set the touchscreen to ‘do not disturb’ and opened the door. He blinked in surprise before he gave you the beginning of a smile.

“Come on in,” you said as you opened the door wider.

He slipped in past you and then hovered in the foyer like he did the first time. It was endearing because most Alphas didn’t hesitate to make themselves at home the second time they were in the apartment.

“Make yourself at home,” you said as you shut the door and made sure the lock was engaged. You saw that he was wearing a jacket this time and you reached out to slide it off his shoulders as if you did it a thousand times before.

He let you pull it off of him. You hung it up next to the door and then gestured at the couch. He followed your lead. Unlike the first time, you didn’t bother sitting on the loveseat. You settled onto the couch next to him.

“Are you hungry? I could make grilled cheese and soup. It’ll be from a can, but that’s just for our health.”

That quirky little grin started to spread. You couldn’t remember seeing many smiles from him the last time, so it was a surprise to get it from him so soon this visit.

“Are you saying that you’re not a good cook?”

You laughed and leaned back against the cushions a bit, relaxing your shoulders.

“Some things I can cook without problem, other things tend to come out… bad.”

He laughed at that and you were struck by how it made his face light up. His eyes were nearly sparkling when he looked at you.

“I wouldn’t want you to burn down the center,�� he said as he shifted in his seat a bit to face you. “I’m not hungry right now. But thanks for offering.”

Your head cocked to the side as you stared at him. Normally you wouldn’t say anything, even if it was an Alpha that you’d seen multiple times, but you felt at ease with Billy.

“You seem different,” you said as you looked him over.

He nodded, his eyes closing for a moment. You wondered if he was picturing something, but you saw the way his nostrils flared a bit. He was inhaling your scent from the distance.

“Last time I was here was the first time I’d been in public since the accident. This is more like how I am.”

You let out an understanding hum. His eyes opened to you again and you gave him a smile as you reached out towards him. He inclined his head to give you permission.

Your fingers ran through his slightly longer hair, feeling the difference from the close cropped haircut when he had been here a month ago. It had the added benefit of placing your wrist right next to his nose. He inhaled the scent there, his mouth dropping open as he did.

“I didn’t mind you being more reserved,” you explained as you continued to run your nails over his scalp, “I just noticed that you were different.”

And maybe there was a part of you that wondered if it had anything to do with you. You weren’t sure that you didn’t help, but you weren’t about to ask about that. Although there was something else that you wanted to ask.

The last time he was here, you did ask him personal questions about his rut. You weren’t about to take advantage of the strange closeness the two of you already had, so you asked permission again.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

His eyes settled on you. The last time you asked that, he thought you were going to ask about his accident but you’d asked about his rut. Maybe he remembered that because you saw the corner of his mouth quirk up a bit.

“You want to know why I’m back in my rut so soon.”

It wasn’t a question. He said it as if he already knew that’s what you were going to ask. And since it was, you gave him a nod.

His hand went to your wrist and he pulled it down to hang between the two of you. He ran his thumb across the inside of your wrist a few times before he met your eyes again.

“The doctors say with me being on suppressants during my time in the Marines and then having to be on them when I was healing up, my ruts are going to be irregular for a while. They weren’t exactly regular before I joined the military either.”

You nodded your understanding. With your wrist still in his hold, you shifted your body a little closer to his.

“That can’t be easy. I’m glad that you’ve come back to the Companion Center for assistance.”

He looked you over like he wanted to say something, but he kept it to himself. You weren’t going to pry. Instead you looked away from Billy for a moment. The last time you could tell when his rut was kicking in, but he wasn’t there yet. With more exposure to your scent, he’d be caught up in it soon.

“Come here,” he asked, no trace of Alpha compulsion in his voice as he gave a little tug to your wrist.

You weren’t sure what he meant at first since your knee was already pressed to his. You finally realized that he wanted you in his lap when he tugged you a little closer, his legs splaying out a bit.

With a grin, you moved so that you were on his lap. He situated you until you were facing him, your legs on either side of his hips. This was a man that you’d had a lot of sex with just a month before, but there was something almost embarrassing about being in this position with your clothes on. Maybe being a companion had skewed your view on propriety.

“You’re body is warm,” he said as he leaned in to sniff at your neck, the beard tickling your neck as he did. “I like feeling you against me.”

Oh no. It seemed that now that he was more himself, he was talker. And normally that didn’t bother, but you had a feeling that with Billy it was going to be the death of you. As you settled against him a bit more, letting him take your weight, you reached up and let your hands go to his shoulders.

There was a heat growing, but it wasn’t his fever. The heat was building low in your stomach, lower still. With your legs spread like this, you couldn’t clench your legs together when you realized that you were getting wet already. And he hadn’t even touched you. This wasn’t you mirroring him, this was your body reacting to the man under you.

Not the Alpha, the man.

This was bad, but you weren’t going to stop.

You watched him inhale deeply once more, but you knew he wasn’t scenting you. No, he could smell your arousal. You bit your lip as you waited to see what reaction that would get.

The reaction was fairly instant. He wrapped one arm under your butt and the other around your waist, holding you to him as he stood up. He held you there against him for a long moment before he set you down. Your breath came out in a puff of air as you tried to think about what you could say, how you could apologize for your body’s reaction, but you didn’t need to.

This time it was Billy dragging you to the bedroom instead of the other way around. He let go of you inside of the room so that you could lower the lights, but then he was on you once more. His mouth descended onto yours, his hands wrapping around your wrists and pinning them to the wall above your head. Your body tried to rock against his, desperate for friction. He thrust his leg between your thighs to give you something to rub against.

“Take off your clothes,” he requested when he finally stepped away from you.

You remembered that he had wanted to do that the first time, but it seemed like he wasn’t interested in taking it slow and exploring right now. You didn’t mind. You tore off your clothes as quickly as you could, gratified to see that he was doing the same. As you turned back to him, finally naked, you were pushed down against the bed. Before you could think, his mouth was on you. He went down on you like he was a man starving and you were the first meal he’d had in months. You held on to his slightly longer hair as you moved your hips, rubbing your pussy against his mouth. He went from sucking on your clit to thrusting his tongue inside of you, keeping you on edge with just his mouth. Then, when you were sure you were going to come, he pushed his fingers inside of you.

He kept up at it until you were shaking against him, your moans echoing in the room. After a few moments of him still lapping at your clit lazily, he sat up and wiped his mouth against the back of his arm.

He leaned up over your body to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You dragged your tongue against his bottom lip, laving at the split there in the corner where his scars were. The scent of him wasn’t as heady and spicy as it was when an Alpha was in the throes of his rut, so you were confronted with the fact that this wasn’t Alpha Billy that had just made you come like that.

That was just Billy.

He pulled away and nuzzled against your neck, his tongue working over your scent gland. You arched up into him, feeling his hard cock against your thigh. When he sat up, you could feel the heat where his skin was pressed against yours.

His rut was finally kicking in. He reached over to where he remembered the condoms being stashed, pulling the box out and keeping it within reach. Same as the first time, he handed you the foil to put on him.

You slid the condom onto his cock and gave it a few pumps, feeling the weight and the heat through the latex. You’d like to get your mouth on him again but he had your legs spread too wide for you to be able to bend that far down. Instead he raised your legs up, hooking them over his arms. You reached down to guide him into you, clenching around his cock once he had pushed in completely. He moaned into your neck before he started to thrust.

The feverish heat of his rut mixed with the powerful force of his thrusts had you gasping and moaning under him, unable to get any leverage but desperate for your climax. You grabbed hold of his shoulders and arms, leaving scratch marks as you urged him to go faster.

“Look at me,” he mumbled into your mouth, “open your eyes for me Y/N.”

You opened your eyes, not sure when you had shut them. He was staring down at you with those almost black eyes, so much emotion flowing through him that you couldn’t catch it all. All you could do is thrust back with him, your body bowing upwards as your orgasm started to build. He lowered his head and bit down on your neck gently as his thrusts became more and more erratic.

You came moments after he did, your body shaking under his. He stayed there for a moment before he pulled out, sitting up to dispose of the condom.

You didn’t have long to miss the feel of him before he was grabbing a second condom. This time when you put it on him, you did lean over to get your mouth on him. He barely let you do this the first time, but you wanted it. In the back of your mind you wished that you didn’t have the latex barrier, but you pushed that scandalous thought away. Instead you focused on making him feel as good as you could.

“Need to be inside you,” he panted as he pulled you off, kissing you hard as he tugged you onto his lap.

Mirroring the position you’d been in the living room, you were straddling his lap. This time you felt at ease as you reached between the two of you and guided his cock to your entrance. You started to lower yourself slowly, wanting to draw out the stretch and fullness, but he gave a hard thrust upwards.

As you rode him, your nails scratched down his chest. You were so turned on that you had never felt this desperate to come before. Billy seemed to understand because he kept his hand low on your hip to guide your movements, both of you grinding into each other more than thrusting. You fucked yourself down onto him hard, your hand going between your legs to rub against your clit. His free hand went to your breast to squeeze and pinch at your nipple while both of you worked to your next orgasm.

This one made your eyes go a little fuzzy around the edges. He held you close to him, his face tucked into your neck as he breathed deeply. You moved off of him but after you got rid of that condom and got the next one on him, he pulled you right back into the same position. This time he moved so slowly that you could feel every inch of him inside of you. You held on to his shoulders as you moved to the tempo he set, your pussy clenching around him as you moved against him.

This time when you came, Billy rolled the two of you over so that he could speed up his movements. You tugged him down into a kiss as his hips started to stutter, your tongue rubbing against his as you felt his cock twitch and empty inside of the condom.

And just like before, it seemed his rut was finally falling into cycles at that point. You helped him tidy up before you pulled him under the covers with you. You knew there’d still be a few more hours of this, his rut coming and going for a while longer.

And you couldn’t help but want to cherish every moment while you had it.

------

“Coffee?”

Billy came into the living room with his hair still a little damp from his shower. You had cleaned up and gone immediately to making coffee. This was the best way you could think to stretch his stay with you.

It’d only been about twelve hours this time. Most ruts only lasted six hours if they were assisted by an Omega, so you figured he’d have a few more longer ruts coming up. You could only hope that he requested you those times too.

No, you shouldn’t hope for that. You should just hope that he got assistance. You shouldn’t want him to request you, shouldn’t look forward to the next time you saw his Alpha ID on your touchscreen.

This was a dangerous mindset to get into.

You expected Billy to take the cup from you and go to the table. Instead he took it away from you and put it on the counter, his mouth falling to yours hungrily. You grabbed hold of his arm, your other hand in his collar as you tugged him closer. The kiss was full of passion and want, his hands on your hips and sliding lower.

As one of his hands tugged you against where you could feel him getting hard, you pushed away from him. Then you covered your mouth with your hand.

You’d just stepped over a line.

“We can’t,” you said as you took a shaking step away, the small of your back smacking into the counter. “We can’t do that.”

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you.

“Why not?”

“Because… because I’m a companion and you’re not in your rut anymore.” You could tell he wasn’t, had been able to tell the moment if faded when he came inside of you for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Because it’s not fuck or die anymore? That’s the only time I can touch you?”

You covered your mouth once more, hoping to hold in the emotions that were building in your chest. You wanted him to kiss you again but you knew you couldn’t.

“As a companion, I’m to help an Alpha during their rut. You’ve come to me and I’ve fulfilled my service to you.”

It was completely the wrong thing to say.

Billy turned away from you and marched over to where his jacket hung. He tugged it on and then zipped it up. You watched as he reached for the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it. You didn’t want him to leave, not like this, but you couldn’t stop him. It wouldn’t be fair to stop him.

“You’ve fulfilled your service. And don’t worry, I won’t ask for you again.”

Before you could even process that, he had slammed out of the apartment. You swallowed thickly as you walked on shaking legs over to the touchscreen. The image showed the elevator doors closing with him on the inside. He was gone and you hadn’t even had a moment to tell him…

Tell him what? That you wanted him to kiss you? That you wanted him to pull you into the bedroom when his rut wasn’t a factor? That you wanted… that you wanted.

But you couldn’t go down that road, not with an Alpha that you’d only met twice. Karen and Frank had known each other for a while now and you knew that they only slept with each other during his ruts.

Billy had already made you come when he wasn’t in his rut. If you took advantage of him that way, you’d be breaking every rule that was in place for companions. They were there for your safety.

But it didn’t matter anymore, did it? He said he wouldn’t ask for you again. And you didn’t think that Billy was one to go back on something he’d said.

With tears in your eyes, you made your way into the bedroom to strip your bed. You needed to get rid of his scent as soon as you could. And then you’d take a shower to wash away the feeling of his touch on you.

You’d never see him again.

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