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threadandlace · 1 year

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Pirate Smile (Jake POV)- Seamstress for the Band series, part eight (4.0k)

Masterlist- to start from the beginning

“You okay?” you asked Josh as he came back into the room, clearly flustered as he paced for a moment before digging into his suitcase. He was quiet, which was abnormal when he was drunk. “Josh,” you repeated, a little louder this time. He stilled and slowly turned to face you. “What?” he replied, his eyes blank. “Are you okay?” you repeated, searching his face for a hint at whatever was clearly bothering him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just drank a bit too much,” he said with a chuckle as he turned back to rummage through his suitcase for his toiletries. Something is up. Josh disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the shower start.

Reaching into your sweatpants pocket for your phone, you checked the time. Almost 2:30 am. Tomorrow morning is going to be a struggle. You checked through your socials, scrolling through pictures and videos from the night before. You laughed at some edits the fans had made of Josh making a face while hitting a high note. The thirst traps were your absolute favorite things to look over- it stroked your ego just enough, but also made you laugh at how enthralled some people were. You watched the TikTok Olivia had posted of the group’s trip to the distillery and winery, reflecting on the day. You noticed a few frames that had everyone included in them and grimaced, knowing people would immediately notice the gorgeous girl hanging in the background with Josh.

She really was pretty, but you liked her for more than just her looks- she was skilled beyond compare and hilarious. She fit right in with the group, her presence enhancing the group dynamic. Taking a deep breath, you opened the comments. Sure enough, the hateful side of the fanbase had sprung into action.

Who the fuck is this girl we keep seeing??? Hello?!

Does Josh have a gf?! Sleeping on the highway tonight fr…

Girlie wants to be a groupie so bad, fuck off

You were the most concerned about the ones speculating that she and Josh were a couple, mostly because you felt like there was some weight behind the speculation. It was only an inkling you had, but you saw the way he looked at her- it was a look you’d hardly ever seen from your twin, but one you knew it held weight.

Scrolling over to twitter, you saw the same speculation and hatred. You noticed that one of the girls that had thrown the beer in West Virginia had taken a video, which you clicked on. The video was shaky, but it clearly showed the cans of beer being shaken up before making impact. It broke your heart to see her freeze, holding the damn box of shoes that left her completely defenseless. Josh ran into the frame and you heard him yell something at the idiots with the cameras as he grabbed her and pulled her through the door. Oh they’re definitely going to run with this.

And, true to your fear, the fanbase did run with it. Screenshots of the video had been blown up, made into a meme, and shared all over Twitter and Instagram. “Fuck,” you whispered as you continued to wade through the cesspool of disgusting comments and jokes. “What?” Josh asked as he walked back into the room, towel around his waist and wet curls clinging to his face. “Uh, nothing,” you tried to cover. Josh turned to face you, giving you a serious look. As serious as he could give being a little drunk and slightly resembling a wet poodle.

Josh pointed to your phone. “Tell me. Now,” he ordered. You sighed before giving him the breakdown from the night. He stood still as he listened, slightly leaned back against the wardrobe at the front of the room. Once you’d finished, he rubbed his face before turning to fish his clothes out of the suitcase. “That’s all you got?” you asked. He pulled on a pair of underwear before turning to face you. “I’m too fucked up to comprehend everything. All I know is that I’m angry. And that I hope she’s asleep and not seeing the fucking vile filth people are spewing onto all these damn platforms.” You nodded as you listened, noting his passion as being slightly more than the normal amount. “Nothing we can do tonight. It’s a tomorrow issue for sure,” you commented as you rose and walked into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Josh joined you in the bathroom and you both stood at the sink as you brushed your teeth. He looked tired- his skin was more pale than usual, purple shadows more prominent under his eyes. You knew that at the end of the day, he did this for you. This band, music, touring, all of it was your dream, he just happened to have the incredible voice and stage presence you had needed to be complete. The sacrifices he made never left the forefront of your mind, although your dream had slowly started to become his too. He loved performing and traveling and, of course, making you happy. Therefore, he was happy to join you on the rollercoaster that was Greta Van Fleet, although you knew that a hiatus was coming. You were ready for it, and you were sure Sam and Danny were too. The income you all were making off the tours was nice, but you were all able to be quite comfortable off the revenue generated from streams, merch and other endorsements.

You and Josh crawled into your own beds, turning to face each other and talk for a few minutes before you fell asleep. You’d always done this, for as long as you could remember. Typically, Josh would talk the most and you’d listen as he recounted various parts of the day, rambling about whatever crossed his mind. Tonight though, he was quiet. You figured he was just tired and irritated over the social media situation, so you discussed a time for your alarm before you shut off the light. A few minutes later you heard his breathing deepen, a sure sign he was asleep. His breathing lulled you to sleep soon after.

As soon as the alarm went off, you groaned. Josh was still out when you rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom. It was 9:30 am, meaning you only had about 30 minutes to get down and grab breakfast before it closed for the day. You quickly got ready for the day, Josh not stirring at all as you moved around the room. You sat on the edge of his bed as you pulled on your shoes, turning to shake him lightly. He mumbled something and swatted at you. “As long as there’s signs of life, I’ll leave you be for a bit. I’ll get you something for breakfast, what do you want?” you asked quietly. Josh’s answer consisted of a grunt as he rolled over. “Okay, well, if you don’t like what I bring you, you’re out of luck front man,” you said as you headed out the door.

Danny was sitting at a table and drinking a coffee when you entered the dining room. “Morning,” he said with a smile as you walked over to him. “You want to sit?” he asked but you shook your head. “I need to take stuff up to Josh. He’s pretty hungover,” you said. Danny nodded. “Sam too. I told him I’d bring him a waffle. He asked for bacon for some reason, but I will not be fulfilling that request,” Danny said with a laugh. You leaned, quieting your voice as you glanced around the room. “Did you see Twitter?” you asked quietly. Danny nodded, giving you a look of sadness. “I really love our fans but… some of them really make me question humanity.” You nodded, “I couldn’t agree more.” You gave Danny’s shoulder a pat before heading to the breakfast bar.

You were boxes of food for you and Josh, as well as an orange juice for him and a coffee for yourself. The elevator doors opened, and you were greeted by a familiar face. “Good morning,” she said quietly, giving you a soft smile. “Good morning! You headed down?” you asked as you stepped out of the elevator, noting her luggage next to her and she nodded. “See you on the bus in a bit,” she said as the doors closed between you.

Josh was still half-asleep when you got back in the room. “Dude, you have to get up. For real this time,” you pressed as you put his food down in front of him. He slowly sat up, reaching for the cup of orange juice on the nightstand. You sat at the table in the corner to eat your breakfast and watched as Josh ate slowly, chewing thoughtfully on the bacon you’d brought him. “Why a bagel?” he asked, gesturing to the plain bagel you’d brought him, a light layer of peanut butter between the halves. “You always wanted a bagel and peanut butter when we were sick. Mom always made you a peanut butter bagel and brought me what?” you quizzed, knowing he knew the answer. Josh rolled his eyes, “crackers. So boring.”

You both were able to make it onto the bus by 10:15, only a little behind schedule. “Always late,” Danny tutted as you took your seats at the booth in the middle of the bus. You had all chosen to get onto your bus versus the wardrobe bus today, giving her space to work on finishing whatever she needed to. “Where’s Sam?” Josh asked as he made a cup of tea at the kitchenette. “Bunks,” Danny replied, pointing behind him as he flipped through one of the magazines Emily had left on your bus for some reason. Josh walked over and moved the magazine in Danny’s hands to get a better look at the cover. “People? Really? Of all things, Emily doesn’t get enough drama on the road?” Josh joked. “And you too, for that matter Danny boy,” Josh added, poking at Danny. Danny chuckled but shrugged, “something to pass the time. At least this isn’t about us or our friends.” Josh took a seat and gestured to the cover “actually, Oprah is my friend, so thanks for that.” You all laughed as the bus headed towards the venue.

The ride to the venue was quick and you were all immediately ushered to sound check. “We need to get it done quickly because they’re letting the general admission group come in early due to the weather,” Emily had explained. Sure enough, when you stepped off the bus you were greeted by a downpour, the rain starting to puddle in the parking lot. Everyone made their way to the stage and went through the usual lineup to check your equipment. Everything sounded pretty good after a few minor adjustments, although you could tell Josh was exhausted as he struggled to hit different notes. You went to stand closer to him and noted how he relaxed, although he still was strained. As you exited the stage you all were ushered to the green room, a large open area that split into the various dressing rooms.

Josh immediately went to his room and closed the door, likely getting ready to take a nap. You and Danny went to check in with your seamstress extraordinaire, who looked quite tired. “How’d it go?” she asked in her normal, cheerful manner. Danny talked about how great things sounded and how excited he was for tonight, but all you could think of was the sea of hateful comments you’d read last night.

Did she know? Had she seen what you had? She smiled at you uneasily. “You okay, Jake?” she asked gently. You nodded and took a seat in a chair to the side of the area of where she was working. “Yeah, I’m great. Tired, but good. You?” She nodded and expressed the same- tired, but good. Sam took a seat on the floor next to you and stretched on the floor, eventually laying back and closing his eyes. “Sam, the floor is probably disgusting, do you want the couch?” she had asked him, but he shook his head, lifting a finger up to silence her, which she had laughed at.

Emily came back, carrying her usual clipboard and frazzled look. “Emily, what’s for lunch?” Sam asked, noticing her presence before she’d even spoken, his eyes still closed. She completely ignored him and looked past all of you, finding comfort in one of the few other women on the tour. “We are having some weather issues,” was all Emily said before bursting into tears.

Instantly, she was up and taking Emily by the hands and leading her down the hall, whispering to her as Emily sobbed. Something was clearly very wrong, but you and Danny stayed put, giving each other wide-eyed looks of confusion. Sam propped himself up on his elbows before looking around. “Where’d she go? Did I make her upset?” he asked and you shook your head. “Something’s going on, but we have no idea what. It’s fine,” Danny replied, sitting back in his chair as he eased his head back and closed his eyes.

The women came back a short while later, Emily taking off down the hall quickly. “Everything okay?” you asked as she returned to her work. She nodded, not giving you an explanation. “Do you know what we are having for lunch?” Sam asked and she chuckled. “The venue is doing catering. I think it’s Mexican,” was all she said before the room returned to silence.

She had been right- lunch was Mexican. “Should we wake Josh up?” Danny had asked and you nodded. You left your plate and went into his dressing room, taking a moment to adjust to the pitch black. You fumbled through the room, eventually finding his body curled up on the couch on the side of the room. “Hey. It’s almost 1:30, I figured you would want to come get lunch. They have these quesadillas that I think you’ll really like,” you said after gently jostling him awake. “I’m coming,” Josh had answered, still half-asleep. You helped pull him up off the couch and you flipped on the light on your way out, Josh wincing at the brightness as he followed behind you.

The vibe in the green room immediately changed when Josh stepped into the room. He ignored it as he went to make himself a plate and you returned to yours. Josh returned to the group and sat in a chair at the edge of the group, eating quietly. He didn’t so much as look her way, a shift from the day before when they had been side-by-side, eating and joking together. The air was tense, and Danny clearly felt it too from the looks he was giving you. Sam, however, was oblivious as he discussed the set list. Sam argued with Josh for a moment over the opener, eventually getting his way when Josh gave in.

Emily came back into the room as everyone was finishing up lunch, looking even more anxious and frazzled. “So we have a real problem,” Emily started, flipping her clipboard back and forth between her hands. You all waited for her to continue. “So… the arena is flooding.”

“What does that mean? Like, flooding how?” you asked as you searched her face for a clue to just how bad this was. “Like… there’s a leak in the roof. Multiple leaks. And the floor is covered in water. This storm is getting really bad,” Emily said quietly. “Wait…” Danny started, “didn’t you tell us that all the GA people were going to go into the arena early? Because of the storm? Are they in there right now?” Emily nodded slowly, all of you falling silent. “Well, they’re all being taken out into the halls now, because there’s now a hurricane warning. And, you know, because the arena has turned into a swimming pool.” Josh stood, “I want to see.” Everyone nodded in agreement and Emily excused herself to have a quick chat with the security team to facilitate a way to view the damage.

A few moments later, everyone was being escorted by security up through the levels of the arena until you made it out to finally see the damage. Everything Emily had said was true- rain was falling from a few spots in the ceiling, cascading down and splattering onto the concrete floor. There was now a few inches of standing water in the middle of the arena. Workers were milling about as they tried to clean things up, an impossible task as the water continued to fall from the ceiling, much quicker than they could clean. Everyone stood in awe, taking in just how bad the situation was. A few fans were still being ushered out from the area around the stage, all of them passing through the standing water that was collecting as they made their way to the halls surrounding the main area.

As you all headed back to the green room, the severity of the situation started to sink in. “So,” Emily had said after everyone was seated once again, “we are going to have to reschedule, obviously. The leaks won’t be able to be repaired in this storm, and I don’t think they’d be able to clean the water up quick enough anyways.”

Everyone was silent- having to cancel or reschedule was the absolute worst thing, all of you hating it for so many reasons. The logistics of rescheduling were a nightmare, but the disappointment you all felt from the fan base was worse by far. Everyone’s minds shifted to the fans- people that had likely slept on the concrete outside the venue for hours, if not days, for a chance to get a good spot in the pit. “Obviously we will go break the news, although I don’t think it’ll be a surprise. Some people have left already because they’re piecing things together, but I think most of them will stay put. The storm is really getting bad. I know that we won’t be able to leave for a few hours,” Emily continued.

“Can we get them food? Waters?” Danny asked, Josh agreeing. “The venue is going to provide food and water for everyone stuck here. Obviously, this is a huge liability, so everyone is being taken care of very well,” Emily clarified.

“Well… I guess we get another day off,” Danny noted, trying to stay positive. “We are just going to have to come back and make it up,” Sam commented, and you agreed. “How does that work?” she asked as she worked on applying beading to a pair of pants.

She was always working, no matter where she was- always present, but still far off as she hunched over her latest project. Danny explained the rescheduling process to her as she listened and asked occasional questions as she worked. “Well, at least your outfits will be ready when you come back,” she added with a chuckle. “I was really excited about this wardrobe set too,” Josh said quietly, speaking to her for the first time of the day. “I know. They’ll still get their use when you guys come back,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Josh’s knee. He gave her a reserved smile, both trading their usually giggly exchanges for quieter glances back and forth.

The lights flickered as the storm continued to ramp up. You pulled out your phone to check the radar. “Looks like we are about to get the worst of it,” you noted, showing the radar to the group. Everyone had leaned forward to see the screen when the power finally cut out completely. It was pitch black save for the exit signs and the group’s terrified faces reflecting the colorful light from the radar on your phone.

“Shit,” Sam hissed. You could feel Emily’s presence before you heard her, barely able to make out her shape from the red glow of the emergency exit signs as your eyes adjusted to the dark. “Everyone okay?” Emily shouted and everyone sounded off. “Do they not have generators for this kinda thing?” you heard Danny ask. Nobody had an answer, so you all sat in silence for a few minutes as you waited for something to happen. “I’m thinking we are going to be stuck here for a bit,” you said quietly, everyone groaning in response.

Editing credits to the lovely @joshs-jonch who I’m so grateful to have had on this journey with me!

taglist: @eyelinerjake @radmads-gvf @gretavansara @everyglowinthetwilightknows @fwzco

#seamstressfortheband #greta van fleet #greta van fic #gvf

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therewerenorelevanturlsavailable · 1 year

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Tl:Dr different sites have different needs and I’m tired of people dismissing the utility of short tone indicators out of hand.

I’m maybe risking getting a little annoying but all these posts about how useless tone indicators are getting annoying 2 me. On tumblr yes they are less useful than just putting ur meaning in brackets but they were implemented on Twitter and tiktok. This is because Twitter and tiktok (at least the comments sections) have a character limit.

So if ur tweeting some long stream of consciousness and get worried people might take u the wrong way you will run out of characters before you can finish the indicator of (not addressed to any of my followers) or (I’m being sarcastic) or (this is a good thing). So having 4 character indicators like /nbh [no body here] or /s [sarcastic] or /pos [I mean this in a positive way] is helpful. Yes expecting everyone to memorise a million indicators is foolish. No they’re not that hard to look up if you are confused.

That being said they are no help for tumblr because you can write whatever the hell you want on tumblr and there is no character limit and there is no staff to interrupt you and there is no god so you can write whatever the hell you want and you will never run out of time. Put a million tone clarifying brackets in your sentence who gives a fuck. Now to demonstrate my point about a lack of character limit I will ruin your dashboard. My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of either of them (for their days were long before the days of photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, “Also Georgiana Wife of the Above,” I drew a childish conclusion that my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of mine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that universal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it, sir.”

“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”

“Pip, sir.”

“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”

“Pip. Pip, sir.”

“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my feet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.

“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you ha’ got.”

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my years, and not strong.

“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; partly, to keep myself from crying.

“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”

“There, sir!” said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”

“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”

“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’ you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”

“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.”

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, and mine looked most helplessly up into his.

“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be let to live. You know what a file is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what wittles is?”

“Yes, sir.”

After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a greater sense of helplessness and danger.

“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He tilted me again. “You bring ’em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or I’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again.

I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both hands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.”

He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped over its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:—

“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what do you say?”

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in the morning.

“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.

I said so, and he took me down.

“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you remember that young man, and you get home!”

“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered.

“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I wish I was a frog. Or a eel!”

At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his arms,—clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,—and limped towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his ankle and pull him in.

When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were heavy or the tide was in.

The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the beacon by which the sailors steered,—like an unhooped cask upon a pole,—an ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of him. But now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.

Chapter II.

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up by hand.

She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sort of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.

My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this apron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn it at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken it off, every day of her life.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and having confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting in the chimney corner.

“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s out now, making it a baker’s dozen.”

“Is she?”

“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”

At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled frame.

“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at it; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”

“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species of child, and as no more than my equal.

“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Get behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, and applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by throwing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad to get hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly fenced me up there with his great leg.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her foot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with fret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you was fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”

“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and rubbing myself.

“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by hand?”

“You did,” said I.

“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.

I whimpered, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were. It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without being your mother.”

My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at the fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me in the avenging coals.

“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by, had not said it at all. “You’ll drive me to the churchyard betwixt you, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without me!”

As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me over his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and calculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the grievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.

My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us, that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard and fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, and sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, in an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—using both sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and moulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a final smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very thick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the loaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.

On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew Mrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. Therefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers.

The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water. And it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In our already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his good-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each other’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions. To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but he found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my untouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at me, and got my bread and butter down my leg.

Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he didn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like a pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw that my bread and butter was gone.

The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s observation.

“What’s the matter now?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.

“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious remonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll stick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”

“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.

“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do it,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s your elth.”

By this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe, and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little while against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking guiltily on.

“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of breath, “you staring great stuck pig.”

Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and looked at me again.

“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek, and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone, “you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you, any time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floor between us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”

“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.

“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, with his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your age—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted dead.”

My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying nothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”

Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like a new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded a pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and meditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had none before.

Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—I never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the housekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keeping one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then, as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to secrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until to-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the young man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and liver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s ever did?

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the load on his leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped away, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great guns, Joe?”

“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”

“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.

While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put his mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, that I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”

“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, “what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies.”

It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite unless there was company.

At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a word that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe wouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, and shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make nothing of the word.

“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know—if you wouldn’t much mind—where the firing comes from?”

“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”

“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, right ’cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our country.

“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” said I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation.

It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, young fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger people’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had. People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed!”

I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I went upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,—from Mrs. Joe’s thimble having played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,—I felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were handy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.

Since that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thought that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror. No matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I had no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed me at every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done on requirement, in the secrecy of my terror.

If I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself drifting down the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly pirate calling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed the gibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there at once, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had been inclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob the pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was no getting a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must have struck it out of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the very pirate himself rattling his chains.

As soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window was shot with grey, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly supplied than usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a hare hanging up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my back was half turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time for selection, no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stole some bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I tied up in my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), some brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had secretly used for making that intoxicating fluid, Spanish-liquorice-water, up in my room: diluting the stone bottle from a jug in the kitchen cupboard), a meat bone with very little on it, and a beautiful round compact pork pie. I was nearly going away without the pie, but I was tempted to mount upon a shelf, to look what it was that was put away so carefully in a covered earthenware dish in a corner, and I found it was the pie, and I took it in the hope that it was not intended for early use, and would not be missed for some time.

There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.

Chapter III.

It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort of spiders’ webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was so thick, that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our village—a direction which they never accepted, for they never came there—was invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I looked up at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience like a phantom devoting me to the Hulks.

The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. This was very disagreeable to a guilty mind. The gates and dikes and banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly as could be, “A boy with somebody else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes, and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!” One black ox, with a white cravat on,—who even had to my awakened conscience something of a clerical air,—fixed me so obstinately with his eyes, and moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved round, that I blubbered out to him, “I couldn’t help it, sir! It wasn’t for myself I took it!” Upon which he put down his head, blew a cloud of smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and a flourish of his tail.

All this time, I was getting on towards the river; but however fast I went, I couldn’t warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, as the iron was riveted to the leg of the man I was running to meet. I knew my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that when I was ’prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks there! However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last too far to the right, and consequently had to try back along the river-side, on the bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes that staked the tide out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep.

I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast, in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but another man!

And yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that the other man was; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat broad-brimmed low-crowned felt hat on. All this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in: he swore an oath at me, made a hit at me,—it was a round weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself down, for it made him stumble,—and then he ran into the mist, stumbling twice as he went, and I lost him.

“It’s the young man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had known where it was.

I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right man,—hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all night left off hugging and limping,—waiting for me. He was awfully cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face and die of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too, that when I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass, it occurred to me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my bundle. He did not turn me upside down this time to get at what I had, but left me right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my pockets.

“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he.

“Brandy,” said I.

He was already handing mincemeat down his throat in the most curious manner,—more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent hurry, than a man who was eating it,—but he left off to take some of the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his teeth, without biting it off.

“I think you have got the ague,” said I.

“I’m much of your opinion, boy,” said he.

“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the meshes, and they’re dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too.”

“I’ll eat my breakfast afore they’re the death of me,” said he. “I’d do that, if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is over there, directly afterwards. I’ll beat the shivers so far, I’ll bet you.”

He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round us, and often stopping—even stopping his jaws—to listen. Some real or fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,—

“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?”

“No, sir! No!”

“Nor giv’ no one the office to follow you?”

“No!”

“Well,” said he, “I believe you. You’d be but a fierce young hound indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched warmint hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint is!”

Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock, and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his eyes.

Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down upon the pie, I made bold to say, “I am glad you enjoy it.”

“Did you speak?”

“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thankee, my boy. I do.”

I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought there was danger in every direction of somebody’s coming to take the pie away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to appreciate it comfortably I thought, or to have anybody to dine with him, without making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of which particulars he was very like the dog.

“I am afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” said I, timidly; after a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making the remark. “There’s no more to be got where that came from.” It was the certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint.

“Leave any for him? Who’s him?” said my friend, stopping in his crunching of pie-crust.

“The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you.”

“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes! He don’t want no wittles.”

“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.

The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and the greatest surprise.

“Looked? When?”

“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him nodding asleep, and thought it was you.”

He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived.

“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling; “and—and”—I was very anxious to put this delicately—“and with—the same reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn’t you hear the cannon last night?”

“Then there was firing!” he said to himself.

“I wonder you shouldn’t have been sure of that,” I returned, “for we heard it up at home, and that’s farther away, and we were shut in besides.”

“Why, see now!” said he. “When a man’s alone on these flats, with a light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears nothin’ all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears the orders ‘Make ready! Present! Cover him steady, men!’ and is laid hands on—and there’s nothin’! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night—coming up in order, Damn ’em, with their tramp, tramp—I see a hundred. And as to firing! Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad day,—But this man”; he had said all the rest, as if he had forgotten my being there; “did you notice anything in him?”

“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I knew.

“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, with the flat of his hand.

“Yes, there!”

“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of his grey jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down, like a bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us hold of the file, boy.”

I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man, and he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which he handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and at his leg. The last I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was still going.

#long post

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hobbitsnapes · 4 years

Text

E-girls are ruining vinnies life

Vinnie Hacker x Reader

Warnings: smut, +18, NSFW, kinky sex

A/N: this is my first vinnie writing, and my second smut. Please go easy on me (unlike vinnie...)

Never in his life did he think this would happen. In the short time he’s been on social media, he’s kept his relationship life private. Fearing the criticism the pore girl would inevitably get. He had seen it countless times to his friends, as soon as they’d announce they had found someone, instant hateful words would flood not only their comments, but their partners. He swore he wouldn’t ever outright publicly show his girlfriend, or announce that he was finally taken. That was, until he met her.

Surprisingly, very little hate or criticism came for them when he announced it that fateful day.

He had posted just a short video, a few seconds of him laying down, with her head resting in his neck. Her face being hidden by her hair. He had posted it to his second account, testing the waters there rather than his main account.

After a few days, and many people speculating, asking who she was, some trying to figure it out, even some claiming it was someone, when it never was. Even some claiming they weren’t dating, just friends. He never responded to any of the questions or comments.

Days had passed, with relatively good reactions to it, they both decided to take it to the next step, by officially posting it to his main account, outing them completely to the world.

He had decided to use the yellow trend to do it, thinking it would be a perfect trend for the purpose.

The first few pictures were of his friends, some from shoots they did, to some when they went skating, to just candid pictures. But after about 3 pictures with his friends, came a photo of her. She was sitting in the grass, a lone dandelion in her hand as she smiled shyly for the photo. Next was a photo of them standing in front of the mirror, she was in front, with his arm securely around her. Next was them standing in the same mirror, only he was dipping her slightly as he bent down to kiss her. A few more pictures of them flashed in the video, ending with a small video he took the night prior. They layer in bed, faces being only lit by the brightness of the phone as he laid on top of her. Their lips only centimeters apart, as he whispered I love you. Both smiling as he leans in, connecting their lips as the video ends.

Love was flooding his comments, so many saying how beautiful she was, saying how happy he looked, and how happy they were for him.

The other side, was people asking who she was, nobody being able to figure it out.

That was due to the fact that, they wouldn’t be able to find out. Because in the world of social media, she didn’t exist.

Early on she told him she wasn’t a social media person. She never had an Instagram, a Facebook, Twitter, nothing but a YouTube account that she’d never post on. Only there to watch videos and play music.

They met by pure luck, at the skatepark. She was sitting by herself, reading a book that engrossed her. She didn’t notice his eyes trainer on her the entire time, fully captivated by the pages.

He finally built up the courage, and being pushed by his friends, to go sit with her.

He was a nervous wreck, barley being able to compose himself enough to say hello and his name.

She thought it was cute, how he stumbled over his words when he talked to her. It was endearing, seeing just how flustered the very attractive man was.

To this day he wonders how he didn’t screw up. But he hadn’t, getting her number an hour after talking. Promising to take her out that weekend. And the rest, was history for them.

Over the next few weeks, he would randomly post a video of them together, usually on his second account. They both would sit and laugh at some of the comments, finding it Hilarious how crazy people were getting at trying to figure out who she was. Some came to the conclusion that she didn’t have any, with most begging her to make one.

It had been a relatively uneventful day, some might even call it boring.

Vinnie had been out most of the day, informing her of the plans he had with some of his friends. Promising her to be home that night, sealing his promise with a chaste kiss to her lips as he ran out the door, her heart thumping in her chest as he walked away.

She laid on their shared bed, her legs bare as they rubbed against the soft blanket.

Only odorning a black tee shirt that covered her panties, barely shielding her from the cold outside. Thanking the heavens for the hearing system as she laid there, contemplating.

Agoraphobic played in the speakers as she laid there, drowning out any and all noise. She had grown a strong liking to the artist corpse, finding herself playing his music or humming the lyrics through the day. Vinnie would sometimes make fun of her, saying that she loved him more than her own boyfriend. She would scoff, kissing his plump lips, reminding him the love she had for the curly headed boy.

The song finally ending, changing to the next in her playlist. A smile disarming at her lips when she heard it. While agoraphobic was her favorite, there was just something special when she’s hear e girls are ruining my life. Vinnie would joke that this song was meant for her, how it reminded him of her each time he heard the lyrics.

She held her phone to her chest, looking up at the bright led lights above her. ‘Fuck it’ she thought, pulling her phone from her chest, going to the App Store, and downloading the one app she swore she’d never use.

One video she thought, just one. She looked at his videos first, reading a few of the contents, her heart thumping in her chest. An outcry of people asking him to have her make an account, some even begging him.

It wasn’t that she hated social media, it was just it had never crossed her mind as something she wanted to get into. She knew how popular vinnie and his friends were, having seen them when he would show her. She had especially been worried about making one when she first started dating him, fearing someone would find out and out them before they were ready.

She was even more fearful in a way when they announced it, fearing the ridicule she would face if she made one. But the amount of love people were showering both them and her in each of the videos, made her heart soar in her chest. Finally making her decision, she got to work.

His phone was vibrating in his pocket, confusion filling him. It wasn’t a phone call, no, it was notifications going off.

He pulled his phone out, seeing a plethora of tags from his friends flash over the screen. His brows knitted together in confusion, not understanding what was going on. Why was he being tagged and sent this one tiktok?

He got his answer when he opened a link sent by Jordan. He red the text from him, even more confused when he did. ‘You have to see this.’ The text red, seeing a link sent right after.

Shock filled him when he watched it, questions filling his mind as he sat there, eyes glued to the screen.

It was a video posted by his girlfriend, from her own account. It was simple really, well, that’s a bad word for it.

She sat on the floor, leaning against their shared bed. A mirror proper in front of her, showing her and their empty bed.

He had the mirror installed in front of the bed a month prior, contemplating on having it placed above the bed.

It was a surprise for her, having it done the day of their 5 month anniversary. Worry filled him that she wouldn’t like it or find it weird, but he was proven wrong that same night. It was one of the greatest nights they had, finding every way to fuck in front of it, their pleasure heightened with being able to watch as they both came undone.

Since then, they used it every time. Being able to sit in front of it, with her facing it as he makes her watch as he slams into her, loving being able to pull her hair back as moans slip from her lips as he makes eye contact through the mirror.

She sat on the floor, only wearing one of his black shirts, barely covering her clothes core. She was sitting there, a chuckle making its way out of him when he heard the song. He knew if she ever made an acount or video, she would use one of corpses songs. She loves his music, barely being able to deny the fact due to how much she’d listen to him. E girls he knew was one of her favorites, finding her humping the lyrics on the daily when she’s being going the most mundane things.

His eyes bulged out of his head when he looked behind her, his heart thumping in his chest even worse. His cock throbbing in his pants when he saw it.

There in the background, was a pair of handcuffs secured on their headboard.

Having used them only the night before, his cock grew almost painful Ashe thought of the memories.

The sounds of her moans ripping out from her as she tried pulling free her hands as he rocked harshly into her played in his mind. Making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything beside her and the memories. And the thought of what was to come when he got home.

His heart pounded in his chest when he looked at the comments, one sticking out. People had caught on to the handcuffs, not many, but the numbers were rising. But one comment, had one reply. ‘ARE THOSE HANDCUFFS I SEE 👀’ it red, being highlighted by being liked by the creator, with a reply by creator. ‘Like my bracelets? 😊’

His footsteps echoed throughout the large home, barley being able to hear them due to his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the blood coursing through him as he bears his door, hearing nothing from the other side.

He opens up the door, instantly his eyes trained on her like a hawk. There she laid on their bed, again, only clad in his shirt.

Her eyes met his, a smile forming on her face. “Hey lovey.” She chirped, getting up from their bed, a pep in her step as she neared him.

She got up on her toes to reach him, him bending his head down, connecting their lips in a sweet kiss. She could feel the need in his lips as he wrapped his arms around her torso, feeling him tighten his grip ever so slightly.

He opens his mouth slightly, darting his tongue out, licking her lip lightly. Her granting him access as they stood there in each other’s arms. She pulled away with a chuckle. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face. “Take a wild guess.” He grunted, crashing his lips to hers again. She pulled away again, chuckling at his grunt of frustration when she did. “I don’t know? Tell me?” She teased, making his grip on her tighten even harder. “Maybe, it has something to do with that little video you posted. Maybe it might also have to do with the fact that you hadn’t hid those handcuffs. Now everyone will know.” He grunted, tightening his arms even harder around her.

She could feel his cock pressing hard against her stomach, excitement growing inside her.

He leaned in to crash his lips with hers again, but she out her hand in the way before he could. He looked at her questionly, making her chuckle. “Before we do anything. I need your help with another video.”

It took every ounce of sheer willpower for him not to bend her over and fuck her right there when they recorded it. His cock throbbing even worse the longer it took. But in the end, even he had to admit, it was worth it.

Same song as her last one, only this time, the video was entirely different.

She had the camera facing her side profile, her facing him and not the camera. Him discreetly out of the frame.

As the lyrics started, he reached his hand up, grabbing her by the throat as she lip synced the lyrics, his hand having a firm hold on her delicate neck. As the song continued, he moved his hand up, pulling her bottom lip out, sticking his thumb between her reddened plum lips.

She gave a simple caption, one they knew would make everyone who watched it go insane. ‘The other version.’

A groan rips from the back of his throat, her hands tangling in his curls harshly. Their tongues battled as they pant, neither one wanting to pull away from one another.

His hands held tightly to her thighs, gripping the soft flesh as a moan rips out of her. His rings axing to the sensation as she pulls his hair even harder.

He pulls his lips from hers, letting out a chuckle when she chased his lips momentarily. He duped his head down into her neck, running his lips along the skin, until he felt her legs wrap around him as a moan slips past her lips. He starts sucking harshly on her skin, feeling her trembling under him.

He widens her legs, looking down between them, letting out a grunt. He can see the wetness through her panties, nearly smelling her desire. He pulled them down her legs, watching in amazement when she opened up her legs to him. He had seen her naked plenty of times, but it still caught his breath every time he saw her core.

He went back to her neck, sucking on the bruised skin. He ran his hand down her thigh, feeling her tremble as small whines slipped past her lips.

He pulled his head from her neck, hovering his lips just enough over hers. A smile broke out on his face as his fingers finally met her core, a large moan breaking through her.

His fingers rut harshly through her velvety walls, making her yell out. His cock throbbed in his pants as her core sucked his fingers inside of her, making him want to replace his hand with his painfully hard cock.

She can hardly breathe as his fingers hardly pound inside of her, waves of pure bliss engulfing her at the feel. His rings adding a level of chill, making her shake as he speeds up.

He dips his head back into her neck as he bites her skin, rutting his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the pain.

As if it couldn’t get better, she feels him thrust his fingers even faster, making her jump when he hits that one spot. It’s been his mission, every time they had sex, he had to hit it each time. Whether it was with his cock or hands, he had to.

He feels her walls tightening as her moans grow louder, feeling her walls quiver slightly. He speeds his hands up, adding his thumb to rub her clit harshly, making her cry out. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl.” He whispers, making her cry out. “God I love how your walls just squeeze my fingers, wishing it was my cock. Wouldn’t you love that? To feel my cock pound inside of you? To have it suck me dry as I make it mine forever?” “Yes! Please!” She yells out, making him chuckle. “Then cum for me sweet girl.”

A large groan breaks out of him when she lets out a yell, thrashing around as he feels her release, feeling her core tightened and suck his fingers inside of her even more. A cry breaking past her lips as it all grows too much.

She pulls his pants from him, eagerly trying to rip them from his body.

They both lay naked, chests flushed together. He feels his heart hammer against his chest, feeling hers beat in the same rhythm.

A groan slips past his lips as her hands glide along his shaft, making his arms shake as pleasure courses through him.

He grabs his cock in his hands, lining himself up to her entrance. A hiss breaking past him as his painfully hard head slips between her lips, the wetness of her core nearly making him explode.

He lays his forehead on hers, both taking in a deep breath as he eases himself inside her. They both shudder in a breath as he enters her, both shaking as his cock slides inside her. “Fuck I love your pussy baby.” He groans out, kissing her sloppily. He momentarily doesn’t move, stealing his breath.

He did this every time, always giving her a couple of seconds to get used to the feeling of his cock stretching her. Always easing into it slowly, rocking his hips at a slow place, gradually increasing his speed of his thrusts.

He wasn’t much of a speed guy, he always would go slowly but hard, not growing in speed till they both neared the edge.

He pulled out slowly, slamming himself back in hardly, moving her and the bed back as a cry rips out of her. He feels her walls close tightly around him as he thrusts inside of her, making him groan out. She pulls his hair harshly, pulling his head back as he hisses out. Making him slam into her harder.

They both can’t help but yell out as time passes, making it nearly impossible to stay quiet. His cock slamming into her harder, a cry ripping out of him when her nails take down his back. Making him arch into her. His hand slips from her thighs to her neck, pushing on the sides as she struggles for air.

Their lips collide in a sloppy kiss as his thrusts speed up, his hair sweaty and dangling in her face.

Knots grow in their stomachs as they feel their release approach, making him speed his trusts more. “I-I wanna cum. Please vin, fuck please.” She moans out, making him grip her hip even harder. He bends his head back into her neck, biting the skin harshly as his thrusts grow sloppy. “Hold it.” He grunts into her ear, making her cry out as she tries to ward off the impending orgasm.

He feels her wetness seeping down his thighs as he slammed even harder, making her cry out as she shakes, trying her hardest not to cum. “Fuck vinnie I can’t, fuck please I can’t.” She sobs out, tears streaming down her face as she shakes, using every last strength inside her to hold it. She feels it breaking as it approaches, nearly breaking as tears stream from her eyes. He gowns out in her neck, feeling her walls tighten and shake as he tries holding on. “Cum for me.” He groans out, a groan breaking through him as she screams out. Wave of pure Ecstasy take over her body as she squeezes him inside her, making her cry out as she violently thrashes.

He can’t hold it any longer, feeling himself break as he yells out a deep groan as he cumsinside her, making both shake as her walls suck out every drop he lets out, making him shake as waves of white hot pleasure rake over one another.

They both lay there, his arms giving out as they shake. Their arms grabbing onto one another as they try calming the aftershocks of their orgasms. He uses all his strength to lean up, connecting their lips as they pant.

Feeling themselves sink into the soft mattress, they both lay on their sides, his clock still buried inside her, making both their eyes grow heavy. Before they fall into a deep slumber, they connect their lips.

#vinnie hacker imagine #vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker smut #vinnie #tiktok #imagines #smut

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the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

Text

It started with a whisper

I originally wrote ‘Like I did with you’ as a one-shot but people wanted a sequel. This turned out to be waaaaay longer than expected (4.7k word count). Inspired by Everybody Talks by Neon Trees. I hope you lot enjoy!

Ao3

(Also this is Mari’s new outfit, all credits go to the original artist)

————

Two teens stood upon the balcony of a large banquet hall, exposed to the midsummer night air. The sky was a lilac blanket that hung over the Parisian buildings, speckled with glowing stars. The moon, with it’s crescent smile, beamed down of the young couple.

Hey, baby, won't you look my way?

Marinette’s eyes were closed as she rested her head upon his shoulder, relaxing after the night’s rapid escalation. Tonight she had arrived at the ball with the intent to be there for her friends, but somehow she found herself within the arms of Gotham’s (and probably Paris’) Ice Prince. She had overheard his nickname from the Gotham students, one of which being Jon, who was in the middle of mocking the young Wayne. She had never considered that nickname as suitable; sure he was temperamental & had a tendency to snap, but icey to the core? No.

I can be your new addiction

Damian was calm. For the first time in his life he felt like he could take a breath. His exhale was carried off by a small gust of wind, the bush over hanging the stone railing rustled. With his inhale, the scent of Marinette’s perfume became present once more. Mixed with the crisp night’s air, her usual scent of pastries was mixed with what could only be described as ambrosia. His phone vibrated within his pocket, it was never on volume due to the potential risk it caused during his heroic activities.

“Shit.” Notifications covered his screen, multiple tweets, Instagrams and Tiktoks in which he had been tagged in. But the alert came from his family’s private messaging chat. The whole thread was a shit storm, Grayson and Todd’s messages were completely capitalised (he learnt years ago this meant ‘to yell’ in writing form) and both had multiple ‘keyboard spasms’. Drake, like the thorough detective he is, had combed through the images and videos, investigating their validity. His honorary sisters had replied with ‘awwwww’(s) and ‘Omg we MUST meet this girl! I need to know how she tamed the demon!’. He could practically hear Brown’s shrill voice from across the ocean.

Hey, baby, what you gotta say?

No reply from his father or Alfred. The two of them were the only semblance of ‘normal’ paternal figures he had within his life, after the sham of a relationship he had previously held with his grandfather. Their silence unnerved him.

Marinette had noticed his attention had shifted to his phone, her own mobile was buzzing away within her baby pink purse. Messages, notifications of account tagging and comments galore. A sigh left her lips when she saw her parents seemed to be none the wiser. Good, she didn’t need to deal with future adoration for ‘The boy who swept our daughter off of her feet’ (or something along those lines).

Her cheeks regained some of the warmth they held before as she thought of her parent’s reaction. Scrolling through her Twitter she saw her friends had posted multiple images of the night’s events, majority being her shared dance.

Chloé Bourgeois @TheBestBourgeois

what kind of Disney shit is this? (Insert video of two teens dancing around an mostly empty dance floor.)

Alix Kubdel @Sk8trGirl

Replying to @TheBestBourgeois

I KNOW RIGHT?! THEY WERE FUCKING FLOATING!!!

All you're giving me is fiction

She was thankful that they hadn’t tagged her but she hadn’t been spared by others in attendance. Her post thread had blown up, thousands had commented and even more had viewed the evidence. There was no way she would come out of this unscathed.

“Has anyone been on Twitter today?” The blonde of the family asked as she walked into the dining room. Her eyes focused on her scrolling screen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Actually has anyone seen what’s happening on any of our socials?”

It was early in the afternoon and the family had recently returned home after a straining stakeout. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and the Batfam had to deal with his minions. Dick’s arm was in a sling (sprained from a grapple gone wrong), Jason was icing his hand, Alfred was stitching Bruce’s chest wounds while Tim and the girls escaped without severe injuries. All were still recuperating and finally able to recharge.

Alfred always enforced a strict ‘no devices at the dinner table’ rule; no matter how urgent it was, it could wait until after sustenance was consumed. Tim strongly opposed this, but there was no arguing with Agent A. This all surmises that probably no one had seen the crap storm on social media.

I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time

Bruce sighed, bringing his free arm up to rub his eyes. Tilting his head back to look at Steph, “Who was it this time?” Barbara quickly took out her phone to see what Stephanie was talking about, all the while glancing accusingly at Dick and Jason. Both of whom held up their arms (or in Dick’s case arm), declaring their innocence.

“It wasn’t fucking me!”

“Jason! Language!” Dick shot a glare at Jason and was met with one in return. “It wasn’t me either.”

“Then who-“ Bruce started before being cut off by his most rambunctious daughter.

I found out that everybody talks

Stephanie with a squeal, exclaimed that it was Damian. Visions of what the Wayne brat could have done flashed through the heads of everyone in the room. He had been sent overseas before the quarantines and lockdowns hit. During Damian’s first month in France he had been forced into online schooling and then finally when he got to go to in-person classes he hated it. Described the class as a kindergarten with petty and vindictive toddlers.

Had he broken someone’s arm? Was that person of such importance that it had spread over multiple social media platforms? France’s government had announced on June 15th, that teens were now being inoculated so him having COVID-19 was doubtful. Had he insulted the wrong person? Had he taken over the government? He certainly had the potential.

Everybody talks, everybody talks

What they saw stunned them, even Steph as she watched it for the 7th time. Damian Wayne was dancing. But not only that, he was dancing with a girl.

It started with a whisper

“What is this shit?”

No one verbally objected to Jason’s outburst but he was sent a harsh glare from Alfred, Dick and Bruce. Their focus soon returned to the images and videos before them. Babs’ and Steph’s phones were returned to them as the others ran to grab their own devices. They all met back at the table, comparing the posts and comparing their notes.

I can hear the chitchat

“There’s no way this can be real.”

“Jesus Tim,” Barbara rolls her eyes, “have you seen the amount of posts there are? You’d be an idiot to think otherwise.”

Take me to your love shack

“I’m with Tim, how do we know this isn’t some skit. I mean, Demon Spawn almost looks normal. That’s a matter of concern.” He almost dry heaved when he agreed with Tim. Damian couldn’t be capable of naturally exuding that amount of humanity unless there was something in it for him.

Mamas always gotta backtrack

“I was just saying Babs, that we should check the credibility of these images. For all we know they could be gorilla glued together and trying to get unstuck.” Tim cringed at his own reasoning, he really needed to either sleep (probably not going to happen anytime soon) or find his favourite coffee brand (which had been one of the first to vanish after the covid hoarders appeared).

When everybody talks back

Dick was too busy freaking out and spam messaging the youngest Wayne, to defend Damian’s humanity. The family saw this and followed suit, wanting to get information from the source.

Chat name: Alfred supremacy

BigBird: AHHHHHH DAMIAN!

BigBird: YOU LOOK SO CUTE!!!

BigBird: HAIFJDNDNFI

LittleWing: WTF HAPPENED DEMON SPAWN YOU LOOK ALMOST HUMAN

Babs: who knew the city of love would influence the brat

Blondie: they are so cuteeeeeee!

Blondie: We HAVE to meet her!

Silent-but-deadly: agreed.

Timbo: YO DEMON

Timbo: Apparently the videos are legit

Timbo: are you being blackmailed?

And it just devolved into more chaos from there, fueled by the fact that they saw Damian’s ‘Blood Son’ account appear online before vanishing once more. Dick shrieked, “I FOUND HER ACCOUNT!”

The family gathered around the eldest son, peering over his shoulder to view his iPhone 12max screen. They saw a young girl’s Instagram account. It was locked but they could see her profile pic, the girl had black hair and looked to be if Asian decent. They compared it to the videos but it was hard to see due to the hall’s lighting and the minimised facial features of the pfp. Alfred suggested that they search up her username and see who has tagged her, some might have other photos of her.

After research for awhile, the family began to get frustrated with lack of results.

Hey honey you could be my drug

You could be my new prescription

“Come on!” Jason complained, “What kind of teenage girl doesn’t post her life online?” He ignored the girls glares and went back to researching. How had the account by the name of ‘mariiiiinette’ to managed to prevent the entire Wayne clan from accessing it? Damn Instagram privacy settings. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, “We are fucking stupid. Why don’t we just use the Bat-computer? It would be so much fucking easier.”

“It shouldn’t be used for civilian issues-“

Too much could be an overdose

“The girl could be a meta for all we know! We aren’t safe until we know who she is.” Jason points a finger at Tim, his paranoia flared up and even though he would never admit it, Jason would do anything to protect each member of his family (although Bruce is still debatable).

All this trash talk make me itching

Barbara and Tim took their usual positions as Oracle and Red Robin (who had been banned from patrol due to lack of sleep). The rest of the Batfam stood behind them either with arms crossed or still failing at researching.

Oh my my shit

“The account is owned by a girl called Marinette Dupian-Cheng. She is French-Chinese and her parents own a popular bakery. Also if it wasn’t already obvious, she goes to Collège Françoise Dupont, aka Damian’s French school.” Tim begun informing his nosy family, “But this account has been inactive for the past 6 months, which is strange due to her frequent posting schedule before hand. It seems she probably has a second account and this is her old one.”

Everybody talks, everybody talks

“Not only that,” Barbara interrupted. “There are unopened messages from other accounts that accuse her of being a bully. There is a whole Facebook page about this girl and how she has been hurting her old friends, but neither side seems reliable. The so called victims seem to be twisting the truth but there is barely any information about Marinette so we can’t disprove it either.”

“Read out some of the messages.” Bruce took a cup of coffee from Alfred and sipped it.

The main screen of the bat computer displayed a Facebook group with the banner picture being a photo of Marinette. “They are mostly complaints expected of teen girls when there is a girl they don’t like; ‘Marinette is such a know-it-all’, ‘She is constantly insulting Lila’s intelligence’. They go on to talk about how Marinette was briefly expelled from the Collège before being reinstated by the principle for a reason unknown to them.”

Everybody talks too much

“Her school reports up until this year were good. The newest one states, ‘While Marinette is a wonderful and bright student, I encourage her to settle her disagreements outside of class. This seems to only be a recent occurrence and I implore her to go to the guidance council if she is in need of help.’” A beat of silence echoes through the cave, Tim sighed. “Jason’s meta theory could be correct. She could have just recently started exhibiting her abilities and using them to get what she wants.”

“Bruce what do you want to do?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

She opened her eyes to the blaring morning light that streamed through the blinds. Her lashes still painted with mascara that refused to leave. She felt a pang of sorrow when she was removing her makeup and dress last night, she never wanted the night to end. She shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen, covering her mouth when she yawned. She greeted her mother as she entered the kitchen to get breakfast.

She glanced at her phone and there was the chaos that was started hours ago and it was still occurring. It was the weekend, she wouldn’t need to deal with her classmates until Monday. But she would still have to survive her parent’s interrogation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught her mother smirking at her.

Everybody talks

“Nadja told me some interesting news about last night.” Marinette held her breath, glaring at the toaster, willing it to hurry up so she could escape. “Well,” Sabine patted her shoulder before rubbing Mari’s back. “I know you didn’t want to go but I hope you had fun.”

With that she exited the kitchen, probably going to help her father in the bakery. The ravenette stared after her, eye widened in shock, jumping when the toaster went off. Buttering her toast she went over the conversation, her brows furrowed in confusion. She had expected a ‘When do I get to meet the oh so famous prince?’ or ‘Should I be expecting a new guest sometime in the near future?’ or at least a ‘Who was that young man, Bǎozàng (宝藏 it means treasure)?’ But she said nothing.

A small smile was plastered upon her face as she changed and went down to help her parents in the bakery. Her father didn’t say anything either, he gave her a knowing smile before continuing to kneed the dough. She sat at the the store front as the cashier whilst her parents were busy making ‘Paris’s Finest Pastries’.

Her musings slowly faded as she was brought back to reality by badly hushed whispers. Two young preteens were by the bread roll casing near the door. She had seen them come in before with their parents, the girls went to the prestigious international school over in the 16th arrondissement. The one with purple hair kept whispering to the brunette, both ‘subtly’ glancing towards her. Using her enhanced hearing she listened in on their conversation.

“That’s her, I swear that’s her in the video.”

The blonde’s face soured likes she sucked on a lemon. “No, it wasn’t good lighting there is no way he would dance with someone like her.”

Everybody talks

Marinette had tough skin but their words had an impact, only a small one due to her defence mechanism of repressing emotions. She stopped listening and went back to drawing in her sketchpad, she was in desperate need of a new school outfit.

The two girls eventually came up to the counter, goods in hand. Marinette rung up and bagged their items (paper because save the turtles sksksk) in a tired daze. A phone was shoved into her face, her eyes barely adjusted to view the screen before the blonde spoke.

“Is this your instagram?” She asked in a tone so snobbish that it should be illegal from a person her age. Marinette finally was able to view the screen that was barely an inch from her face. Her old Instagram ‘mariiiiinette’ was displayed on screen, she hesitantly nodded, gaze flicking back to the two in front of her.

The blonde’s nose scrunched up and the purple goth girl squealed in delight. They soon after left the store, their conversation had devolved into ‘See! I told you’ and ‘Yeah, yeah. You were right.’

Walking to school on Monday, she had finally come down from cloud nine. She still rode the tail end of her high as she rushed along her path to her campus, she wasn’t going to be late but she sure wasn’t going to be early. She had spent the better part of the weekend designing and sewing a brand new outfit. Her new look was composed of a black cropped singlet (L'amour gagne hemmed into it and it’s straps), paired matching peach plaid cropped overshirt and a-line miniskirt. Her hair was down, ballet flats were worn and her makeup was the usual with the added edition of a rose gold eyeshadow.

Even though her face was covered in a black and gold mask, she looked hot.

She reached the campus and the whispers started again, people were still buzzing from Friday night. Her classmates, the majority of her grade and the younger years seemed to gossiping before class about the formal’s events. She couldn’t spot any of her friends or the two Gotham transfers, so she was stuck listening the the chitchat. Why couldn’t she have been late like usual?

Damian had a fowl disposition and it showed in multiple icey glares (and that was before he even reached the collège). His family had made their appearance known in Paris at 1am Sunday morning. He could have used his dorm to escape but his family didn’t have the word ‘privacy’ within their vocabulary. He didn’t want to have to pay for a lock replacement due to his brothers’ (most likely Todd with Drake & Grayson laughing at him) lock picking habit.

The Ice Prince was back with full force. He had just been... influenced by all the other couples. Yes he did respect Dupain-Cheng and he appreciated her company & pleasant conversations. He would struggle to hide a small smile at the memory of the dance, even if he denied himself the happiness of normality, he felt content when reminiscing.

“Ooo the Ice Prince is here, did he have a fight with his princess or something?” The voice seemed to mock him.

“The Disney Magic is gone. The demon is back.”

Everybody talks

At the second jeer he shot a glare at the perpetrator. Jon held his hands up in an ‘I surrender manner’, laughing as he joined Damian at his side. The two entered the school’s large foyer and looked to see if any of the classes were open yet. Sadly they weren’t, before he was wrong and the his class was plain torture but this was truely hell.

He saw Dupain-Cheng sitting alone on the stairs, drawing within her sketchpad. He wondered how a girl like her, who always seemed to be involved in other’s lives (for the better) was ignoring all of the comments about her. She felt his focus centre on her, eyes flicking up to meet his, she provided him with a small wave before continuing to draw.

Jon nudged him with an elbow to his ribs and dragged him off to the side, into the boy’s locker rooms. Jon scowled at the door, “It’s a mad house out there. You’ve heard what some people are saying right?”

“Why would I care about these imbeciles?”

Jon jabbed Damian in the chest, causing the demon to stumble. Green eyes darted from blue eyes to the tan finger. “You care when lies hurt people you care about.”

The day began to rapidly decline once the two dance partners took their seats, next to each other. They had both been placed up the back of the class and them sitting together hadn’t been a problem until now apparently. She wasn’t even safe when the teacher started their lecture, whispers and glances were cast towards them. Once the two got to biology it was better, Ms Mendeleiev was a strict teacher and was able to control the class.

Everybody talks

But the recess came. When the bell rang she slowly started packing up her equipment, Alix and Max (who she shared biology with) waited for her; she watched as the Ice Prince left through the door. She knew she didn’t need to be concerned about her friends joining in with the gossiping, if anything they would dispel people and tell them to ‘Mind their own fucking business’ because this whole situations is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

She did receive some slight teasing from Alix about being a Disney princess, but Marinette quipped back about the skater’s fairytale story being ‘Pinknette, the Geek and the Beast’. The three met up with the other two of their group, they had just come from geography. Kim was complaining that Argentina was a state in America.

“That’s Arkansas you idiot!” Chloe shrieked, lightly hitting his arm with her white handbag. Max held his head in his hand as he approached, how had his tutoring sessions failed so badly?

Chloe turned to Marinette, a smile forming from her glare. The blonde examined the designer’s clothing, nodding. “You look like you are about to have a hot girl summer.”

Marinette’s face burned, the tips of her ears coated in red. Alix chuckled and nudged her shoulder.

Everybody talks

“Look at her, she is so desperate for his attention that she probably copied those designs.”

“Why do you think he danced with her anyways? Maybe she has something on him? I mean, she forces him to sit next to her in class, who knows what else she has done.”

What. The. Fuck.

Chloe glowered towards Lila’s posy. “We have a fucking seating plan, those cretins-“ She made a motion to storm over but was caught by the ravenette, looking back to Mari, her rage decreased from a boil to a simmer.

“No Chlo. It’s fine, it’s not worth it.”

Everybody talks... back

The group walked out to the school’s front steps, it was a mad house... a mad courtyard? Students sitting on the stairs, on the grass and standing around mingling, all of them now were staring at her. She held her backpack close to her chest (she had swapped her signature coin-bag purse for the pastel pink bag), pretending its a shield. Her friends circled around her becoming an obstacle to prevent their stares. If people were afraid of a scowling Kim then they don’t know the scorn of Chloe or Alix’s bite. And Max, sweet quiet Max.... you better hope he doesn’t have blackmail on you (he probably does), he can dismantle your life with a single anonymous post.

Rushed footsteps approached them. The group was broken apart by a rude Wayne boy, he swept Mari away from the school and the gossip crowds within. Her four friends shouted at him and he kept walking, shooting a glare at them in response. He kept pushing Marinette forward with a hand placed on the small of her back, her backpack was now swung over his other shoulder.

They ended up in her favourite alcove. She had brought him here with the other Gotham transfers for a native’s tour of Paris. It had always been her safe place to be creative.

It started with a whisper (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“My apologises for our rushed departure but you seemed to want to get out of their anyhow.” His gruff tone danced through the silence, his head still peaking around the corner; watching for any unwelcome guests.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her voice almost being carried off by the gentle wind. A genuine smile illustrated upon her face.

“We weren’t able to converse after the events of the other night. I would like to formally apologise once more for my actions causing this adverse reaction. If I had kn-“

“You don’t need to apologise!” She squeaked, hiding her eyes behind her fisted hand. Her shoulders curled inwards as she tried to make herself seem as small as possible, a side effect of her common use of her secondary miraculous form: Multimouse.

“I chose to dance with you, you don’t need to apologise for my own actions.” He stared at her with confusion. He had taken the blame so she wouldn’t need to do so herself; but she had taken it anyways. He had given her an out. Why does she always take the blame, even for things out of her control?

“But if I hadn’t danced with you then you wouldn’t have been the focus of the entire school.”

Marinette stepped forward, her eyes hardened and blazing. “Damian Friday night I went there out of obligation to my friends, I didn’t want to be there. But dancing with you? That was the highlight of my week, probably my month too. I enjoyed our time together.” Her face softened, lips twitched downwards ever so slightly. “I don’t regret anything about that night, but do you?”

He was bad at comfort. Everyone in his family avoided him when they were in need, he plainly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t visibly upset but he sensed that she is disappointed that he apparently didn’t share the same opinion of the night. The only thing he regretted about that night was letting Jon call him a coward, but then again if he didn’t he never would have danced with Dupa- Marinette.

He picked up her clenched hand, the tension in her body alleviated at his embrace. He remembered how Grayson would apologise to Kor’i or how his father interacted with Ms Kyle. He brought their hands up and placed a kiss upon her knuckles.

And that was when I kissed her (everybody talks, everybody talks)

“I do not regret anything either—“ he cleared his throat, “In fact, I’d appreciate if we would be able to interact more, especially outside of that cesspit.”

Was he...?

It didn’t matter.

She smiled the same dazzling smile she gave him at the dance. She nodded while laughing, “I’d love that.”

Everybody talks

The two stay talking, hidden within their secret alcove for the rest of the day. She texted her parents to say she was with a friend and would be back later that night. Damian didn’t bother texting his family, Marinette knew he had to be back soon due to his dorm’s curfew.

The sun was setting at they walked back together, he did the gentlemanly thing and dropped her off at her bakery door. She could see her mother behind the register inconspicuously looking over at the two of them. Damian’s lips quirked upwards, she was satisfied with his kinda-smile.

He walked back, hands in pockets and a neutral expression upon his face instead of a scowl. He reached his door and took his keys, he found that it was already open. Damn.

His family was splayed out within his two roomed dorm. Todd and Drake were fighting over a place to sit on his bed, whilst his father sat at his desk, watching the commotion. The three of them turned to him as he enter the room, they were the only family members able to attend on short notice; Cain had a ballet audition, Gordon & Brown had concert tickets for tomorrow, Grayson had to take care of Mar’i while Kor’i was on Tamaran and Alfred stayed to ensure no one died during their night time activities.

“We need to talk Damian.” His father stood, leaning onto the desk chair. “The school called and said you had an unexcused absence for half the day. Where were you Damian?”

Damian stared into his father’s eyes. He was fifteen, almost an adult, but was treated like he was ten again.

“I was with a friend.”

“Probably the girl from the dance. Marinette, right?” Todd mocked him. Damian snapped his head in the direction of his bed, glaring at both his brothers.

“That’s what I want to talk about with you Damian. Now I don’t know her personally but from what we’ve discovered through our investigation we have some concerns. What’s happened Damian?”

The youngest Wayne’s glare shifted off of his brothers to the floor, and then finally to his father; his family sitting in wait for his answer. Straightening his posture, his shoulders clicked as he rolled then back. His statement’s tone was sure and steady, “Everybody talks father.”

Everybody talks... back

#maribat #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #batfam salt #batfam is concerned #Daminette #the aftermath of ‘Like I did with you’#everybody talks by neon trees #max kante has blackmail and will use it #Alix will bite if provoked #dc x mlb #damian wayne x marinette dupain cheng #Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a meta?#supportive Dupain-Cheng parents ❤️

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j0elmill3r · 4 years

Text

a brief inquiry into online relationships

prologue - chapter i - chapter ii - chapter iii - chapter iv - chapter v - chapter vi - chapter vii - chapter viii - chapter ix - chapter x - chapter xi - chapter xii -chapter xiii - chapter xiv - chapter xv

chapter one

"friends don't lie and it all tastes the same in the dark"

Featuring: Chris Evans, Jaeden Martell, Katherine Langford, Jamie-Lee Curtis, Dodger Evans

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None, but if there is, please let me know and I'll add them in!

A/N: Thank you all for reading this series so far! It's getting going now, and I hope you all enjoy this series because I'm really into it and I have it all planned out for each chapter. If anyone wants to be tagged, please let me know by asking through my inbox or my messages! Feedback and comments are always appreciated!

You sat in your dad's trailer for the rest of that day, scrolling through your phone and looking at random TikToks you would show him later, only to have to explain to him what it meant. He wasn't too up to date on technology, he didn't even have Instagram you were convinced that he barely knew how to use Twitter. But who were you to judge your dad's lack of technological knowledge?

"Y/N, come on, get up," You groaned as your dad shook you awake, almost rolling you off of the bed. "Y/N." He dragged out. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, shooting a pissed off glare at your dad. Chris chuckled and shook his head.

"What the fuck is going on? It's like," You paused to check your phone for the time, only for your face to fall as you saw that you had been asleep for the past 6 hours, meaning it was 9pm. "Alright, nevermind." You mumbled.

"C'mon, I told Jaeden you would be meeting him at 9:30 so you could hang out with him," Chris said, ushering you to sit up and get out of the bed. "Go and brush your hair, you look like you were dragged through a bush, honey."

"Wow, thank you for the compliment, do you ever wonder why you don't have a girlfriend?" You asked him, standing up and walking into the bathroom and brushing your hair. Chris laughed and shook his head, fixing the bed up from where you had been sleeping.

"Because I'm so goddamn good looking that no one wants to be with me because they'd be upstaged?" Chris said, leaning against the door frame where you were standing. You laughed as you put the hairbrush down.

"If that helps you sleep at night, you can believe that all you want. But just remember that there's one person you can never upstage in the beauty department," You pointed at your dad as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand, taking it off of charge and sliding it into your pocket. Chris stood waiting, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "It's me. Obviously." You pointed out. Chris nodded and chuckled.

"Ah, you got me there," He admitted. You smiled over at him and then stuck your tongue out at him. "Alright, go, I got stuff to do, have fun, but not too much fun." Chris said, pushing you gently and pointing at you glaringly before he shut the door. The trailer door shut behind you and as you looked out over the lot, you let out a heavy sigh, knowing that any one of the trailers in front of you could be Jaeden's. But, luckily for you, you saw that he was walking towards you. His hands were shoved into his pockets, obviously he wasn't used to the Boston weather patterns and that it was very rarely warm any month after August.

"Cold?" You asked him, getting his attention. Jaeden looked up at you and laughed, nodding.

"I didn't think it would be so freezing, I'm not particularly used to the cold," He said, watching you as you walked down the steps to meet him, a small smile on your face.��

"You get used to it after a while, I mean, it's only October and to be honest it only gets worse from here," You told him as you walked to his trailer, your jacket held close to your body as the wind cut through you like a knife. "What has my dad told you about me?" You asked him as you entered his trailer. Knowing your dad, he had probably already embarrassed you.

"Nothing bad, all good things, I promise," He said. You smiled over at him as he turned his TV on. "From what your dad said, he told me that your favourite movie's The Lost Boys, and I've never seen it before so I thought we could watch it together." Jaeden said. You giggled and nodded. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, I mean, he knew your favourite movie. There was something about Jaeden that just made you feel so comfortable, you felt like you could be yourself around him.

"Yeah, but I'm kind off offended that you've never seen it before," You said. Jaeden laughed and shook his head, looking back over at you as you walked over to the couch, sitting down. "Like come on! It's one of the best 80's movies ever, it's up there with The Blues Brother." You pointed out. Jaeden sat down beside you and pressed play on the movie.

"I haven't seen that either," He said, looking up at you wearily. You let out a huff and shook your head. For someone who was appearing in a lot of movies, his taste appeared to be God awful. "I'm gonna have to spend all of my time showing you some great movies, aren't I?" You asked him. Jaeden nodded and smiled, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

"Would you hate me if I said I haven't seen any of the Star Wars movies?" Your jaw almost fell open as you turned to him, a look of pure shock written on your features. "I just haven't gotten around to it yet." He admitted.

"Haven't gotten around to it yet? They've only been out for like 41 years!" You exclaimed. "I can't believe this, I considered you a man of taste." You feigned offence.

"Well, I apologize, Y/N," He said, making you laugh. "I promise, once you show me all of the other hundreds of movies you're probably gonna wanna want to show me, we can watch Star Wars."

The night went well, you finished The Lost Boys and arranged another movie night with Jaeden and said you would watch 'The Blues Brothers' the next time. You didn't go back to the house since it was nearly 2 am by the time you had finished, even though the movie finished at midnight. You had spent the other few hours of the night showing Jaeden pictures and videos of Dodger, and you promised you would bring him to set one day. If you were to be honest, you were the happiest you had been in a while last night.

"How was it?" Your dad asked, giving you a cup of coffee as you woke up from sleeping on the couch. It was 7 am and you only had about 5 hours of sleep, and you still had to drive home to take Dodger out and give him his breakfast. Chris sat down beside you and put his arm around you, smiling as you groaned and put your head on your dad's shoulder.

"It was good, we watched The Lost Boys, he said you told him that it was my favourite movie," You looked up at him, your eyebrows furrowed and your face scrunched up. Chris nodded. "How did you know?" You asked him.

"I made the mistake of letting Scott babysit you when you were four, he let you watch it and you were oddly fascinated with it," He told you. "Realistically, you should have been shit scared of it." Chris laughed and remembered the confusion he felt when he saw that you were sitting there watching the movie quite the thing. Scott looked more scared of the movie than you did, and he was way older than you.

"Can I bring Dodger here today? I promised Jaeden that I would let him meet him," You said, putting your shoes on and finishing your coffee. Chris nodded and then grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you're making promises to him?" He said suggestively. You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

"I told him he could meet the dog, not marry him, dad. And anyway, we're just friends," You assured your dad. Chris nodded skeptically and hummed, chuckling. Across the lot at the mansion, everyone was beginning to gather. Jaeden was standing with Katherine, feeling oddly nervous for some reason.

"So what are you trying to say, that you like Chris' daughter?" Katherine asked him. Jaeden sighed and nodded, he felt like an idiot. He had only hung out with you once and he felt like he was head over heels for you, what a fool. Last night was the most fun he had had in a while, and all you did was watch a movie and hang around.

"Is it that obvious? I saw them bump into each other yesterday and they both had the puppy dog eyes about them," Jamie-Lee piped in.

"If Chris ever finds out he'll kill me on the spot, I guarantee you that," Jaeden said. Speaking of the devil, Chris came towards them, completing the set. Jaeden's face fell, noticing that you weren't following behind your dad.

"Where's Y/N?" Jaeden asked Chris.

"She's gone back to the house to get ready and bring Dodger to set," Chris told him. Jaeden nodded. Back at your house, you had cleaned up and showered, changing from your pyjamas to actual clothes. You then took Dodger a walk before getting him into your car, taking his leash and driving back to the set. You took him to your dad's trailer and waited for them to call break. "Y/N?" Dodger barked and ran to the front door to greet his dad.

"Hey, how's your day going?" You asked your dad. Chris went to the bedroom and sat Dodger on the bed.

"It's going good, but better now my two favourite children are here," Chris said. "Wait, I just noticed that my colour scheme matches Dodger's." He pointed out. You pulled out your phone and videoed them sitting beside each other, their colours matching very ominously well.

"Wow, you are that fashionable you stole the dog's combo? That's amazing, dad," You said, a sarcastic smile on your face.

At lunch, Jaeden had gotten off earlier and asked if you could bring Dodger, and he needed his afternoon run anyway. Waiting in the yard of the mansion, Dodger sat beside you looking up at the ball in the thing you used to throw it for him.

"Hey," He said, appearing behind you. Jaeden was still dressed in the school uniform, and you couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

"Nothing, I just didn't take you as the uniform kinda guy," You said. Jaeden snickered and smirked at you with a small shake of his head.

"I'm not, I just can't get changed yet. If I could I would, school uniform's are really uncomfortable," Jaeden said.

"Tell me about it. I mean, it could be worse, I've been wearing then everyday for the past 10 years," You told him. "Look, Dodger, who's this?" Dodger spun around to say hello to Jaeden, who crouched down and pet your dog, trying his hardest to not get any dog hair on him.

"Hi buddy," Jaeden greeted your dog. "Can I throw his ball for him?" He asked you. You nodded and handed him the ball launcher, watching as he threw the ball for Dodger, who chased after the ball.

"Thanks for last night, by the way," You said. Jaeden smiled at you. "I brought Blues Brother's on DVD for tonight if you're still up for it." You told him.

"Yeah, of course. Who else am I gonna watch all of the supposed 'superior' movies with?" He asked you. You giggled and if your face in your hands. The sound of your laughter made Jaeden's heart soar, he would do anything to hear you laugh like that all the time, it was like music to his ears any time he heard it. Dodger came back with the ball, dropping it at your feet and sitting back, looking up at you expectantly. "Guess he's looking for this." Jaeden handed you the launcher and you got the ball in the top part.

"Alright Dodge, you ready bubs?" You moved back a few steps before launching the ball halfway across the extensive yard. Jaeden watched you, impression written on his features. "Keep looking at me like that and I'll throw you across the yard like that." You threatened him playfully.

"You would never," Jaeden challenged you. "You'd have to catch me first." He said.

"You think you can outrun me?" You asked him. He grinned at you before running off from you, running down to where Dodger was. "Jaeden!" You yelled, starting to chase after him. He apparently didn't care that he was supposed to be entirely clean, but there wasn't any rain, so he probably wouldn't get that dirty. You laughed as you chased after him, catching up to him slowly but surely. You didn't see him, but your dad was watching you, a smile on his face at the sight of you seemingly happy.

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