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daykinking · 8 days

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Brenna Lancaster - Introduction

[ Here's a written introduction to some of my intox OCs! A literal introduction. Was going to continue to write Brenna being all fucked up in church, but I just want to post already and I think 3.5k is enough for this sort of thing! Feel free to use my world or my characters as inspiration. ]

Brenna had started her day vibrating with excitement at 7am. It was her birthday, and she could finally drink.

Having grown up with somewhat of a helicopter mother, Brenna never had the inclination that she would be allowed a big bash for her and all her friends to get wasted. She would just have to wait until she moved out for that kind of fun.

Today was also Sunday. Usually she would still be asleep for another hour, but today, for her birthday, her parents were going to take her to the Waffle Factory for breakfast.

She had spent hours the night before planning out her outfit. Something subtly sexy that her parents wouldn't say was inappropriate for church. While she knew a plain black spaghetti strap would catch stink-eye from her mother, throwing a short jean jacket over the top would make it imperceptible, and then she could just take it off at church.

By the time her parents had awoken at 7:45 she was already done with her makeup and hair, and was sat on the living room sofa bouncing her leg rapidly.

"Good morniiiing!" she sang. "Ready to go?"

Her tired mother, Scheirre, put on her usual fake plastic smile, eyes closed so you couldn't read them, and said in an ultra-cheery, nearly infantilizing voice, "Ooh boy, someone's excited for breakfast, huh!"

"Excited for something," muttered her father Dylan as he miss-buttoned his gray flannel. "Can you wait 20 minutes honey?"

"Okay!" Brenna said, head heart and stomach twisting in anticipation. As the time moved by at a snail's pace, she opened Tumblr to distract herself, engaging with all the happy birthday asks and notifications. Some of her kink friends asked if she was drinking already. "Not yet, ugh, my parents won't hurry the fuck up. I want mimosas!"

"Are you going to go to church wasted?"

"I'm tryingggggguhhhhh!!"

Just the thought of sipping from a champagne glass in public made Brenna blush and squirm. Sure it'll be a little awkward with her parents there, but maybe they'll have a cute waiter.

---

The Waffle Factory was located on the west end of the mall, with an outdoor patio featuring cool-looking gas-powered fire pits. There was a bar outside as well.

Once indoors, there were 2 other groups ahead of them at the host stand. Brenna took this opportunity to excuse herself outside to vape.

The second she was back outside she made a beeline for the bar, whipping out her ID and slapping it down with a grin. The bartender, dark roots growing out under his bleach-yellow hair, turned his piercing blue eyes to the girl. He was easily six feet tall and very lanky, with only a smattering of tattoos on his arms, all weird lines and symbols. His white shirt hung loosely to his fatless form, hands of a skeleton wiping down the bartop with a rag. "How can I help you, miss?"

"I'd like a mimosa please!"

"Of course," he said, swooping up her ID. "Well happy birthday!"

"Thank you!" she cheesed, accepting the drink from him and taking a gleeful sip. She spied on the front door, taking a few more drinks. "Um...would you mind making this a little stronger?"

Without missing a beat, he topped off her glass with champagne. "Is this all going on your table's tab?"

Reflexively going to say "Yes," she stopped herself, realizing the talking-to she'd be in for if her parents knew how much she was about to spend on alcohol. "No, you can keep this card on file for me."

"I see." He accepted the card and opened a tab as she downed the rest of the mimosa. "Thank you!" Running up to the front door, she peeked in, seeing that her parents were still in line behind the other family.

"Actually can you pour me one more really quick?"

He smirked. "Sure thing, doll."

---

When she went back in to wait with her parents, Brenna felt wide-awake and alert. She knew the alcohol wasn't working quite yet, but it was still making her feel high just to think about how she was going to feel soon. Suddenly she tasted the champagne on her breath and felt a little self-conscious. Maybe it would kick in quicker since she hadn't eaten yet.

"Brenna," Scheirre said in a tone one would call to a dog, and snapped casually as she and Dylan followed the host to their booth. Brenna realized she'd been spacing out, glancing around as she followed as if she could see who could tell she had just drank.

No sooner had the host said "I'll be right back with your waters" than their server came up to the table.

"Salutations, my fine folks, my name is Axel and I will be your maitre-dee this morning. Can I get you started with some drinks?"

"Aren't you the bartender that was outside?" Dylan asked.

"Affirmative," said Axel with a slight bow at the waist.

Dylan rolled his eyes hard, trying not to outwardly cringe at this dude. "The wife and I are going to just stick with the waters." He gave a look to Brenna. "And it's our daughter's birthday today,"

"Happy birthday." "Thank you!"

"--so she's going to have her very first drink. Brenna, tell the nice man what you'd like."

She smiled sheepishly to the waiter, knowing they shared a secret. "I'd like a mimosa, please!"

Scheirre made a faux-scandalized face, reaching over to give her embarrassed daughter an awkward one-armed hug.

---

By the time Brenna had finished her glass, their food was already out. A mountain of waffles stood before her, covered in berries, syrup, and whipped cream. "Holy shit."

"Brenna!"

"Oops. Sorry." Her cheeks flushed red. Those words had kind of just come out on their own.

"Thank you very much," said Dylan to the server as he accepted his egg whites and arugula with chia seeds or whatever. Sheirre had ordered a plate of meat with a side of meat and some eggs, including the yolks from Dylan's whites.

"My deepest pleasure," said Axel with another bow. "Is there anything else you need? More drinks?"

"Just water again," Scheirre said without looking up.

"I'd like a coffee."

"And for the guest of honor?" he said, turning to Brenna. She felt her eyes vibrate. About to order another mimosa, she quickly calculated that her parents would get on her case.

"Orange juice please..."

"Of course." He flipped his little notepad shut, gave a bow once more, and left. Dylan muttered something about "smarmy weirdo."

The waffles were fantastic, but Brenna already regretted not ordering more alcohol. She didn't know when she was gonna get away with this again. She didn't drive; she didn't have any friends who drove. The nearest liquor store to the house was a 30 minute walk.

The restaurant around them was quite loud. Between bites as Brenna looked around, she was pretty excited to notice the slight drag in her vision. The lights left brief little tails like tadpoles, and all the colors in the room seemed brighter. This was Brenna's third time getting tipsy. But the first time outside of her bedroom.

As she took in the scenery she started smiling kind of stupidly, slightly agape, braces peeking out. Muted canned lights lit the place and the checkerboard walls were plastered with very talented artists' renditions of famous album covers reimagined with breakfast foods. Including actual non-parody album covers, like Flat As A Pancake, Whipped Cream and Other Delights, Viva Les Crepes, none of which Brenna recognized.

As she took a bite of her side of bacon Brenna noticed her skin felt a little numb. The drunken dullness of sense of touch had set in. She tried to keep her smile to herself as she crunched numbly on the bacon, taking only the best flavors from it.

Before long Axel had come back with the orange juice. She made sure to meet his eyes when she thanked him, hoping she looked doe-eyed enough. From his perspective she certainly did; her pupils were, as one might say, the size of the moon.

As she took a sip from the off-clear dappled plastic restaurant cup, she noticed...carbonation. She didn't feel it until it hit the tender flesh of her inner lip, and she was confused, so she took another sip.

Unable to differentiate between the taste of champagne already clinging to her tongue, or champagne in the cup, Brenna reasoned that it must just be really acidic juice, because it would have been odd and also a miracle if Axel had made her a mimosa in a plastic cup.

She washed down the second-to-last waffle with the rest of the drink, hitting her chest and releasing a loud belch.

"Brenna Nicole Lancaster!" Schierre shrieked.

"I'm sorry--"

"That wasn't ladylike, dear," said Dylan, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry!" She couldn't help but giggle, suppressing a second smaller burp and covering her mouth this time. "I didn't know it would be that loud."

"Honey."

"What?" she asked her mom, carefully trying to cut a bite out of her last waffle.

"Honey." It was a command. She wasn't obeying. "Look at me," she said sternly.

"Mm?" She locked eyes with her, or tried to. Fuck. Fuck. She had to keep refocusing. Oh fuck.

Scheirre's eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?"

"I--w--I don't know, it's my first drink," she said, eyes darting around the pop art in the room.

"Did you get drunk before we left?"

"Wh--how would I do that? No!"

"Babe," Dylan said calmly to his wife, "maybe she's just a lightweight."

Scheirre raised her pale eyebrows over her green eyes, folding her freckled arms across each other as a curly red lock tumbled over her shoulder. "Our daughter's a lightweight, huh?"

"Okay. Calm down."

Brenna busied herself with the waffle, wanting so badly to talk to the horny people in her phone. But her mom was already being kind of controlling; for sure she'd snatch that phone right out of her hands again and try to look through it.

Right then, her savior came along. "Can I refill that for you?"

"Yes please!" she said, searching for his eyes again and beaming her gratefulness into his brain. He smiled back at her, then turned to Dylan. "Can I refill your coffee, sir?"

"Actually, I hate to say this...this basically tastes like water to me."

"Oh, so sorry, sir." He nodded, taking a step backward and catching Brenna's eye, holding it. "Should I make that stronger for you?"

"What? Of c--yes. Please," Dylan responded curtly.

Brenna gave him a secret thumbs up under the table. He winked at her quickly, bowed slightly, and left.

While waiting for her extra-extra mimosa, Brenna kicked her feet, pushing around the eggs left over in the syrup on her plate and taking a few bites here and there.

She felt the urge to burp again, but suppressed it as best she could. It worked...but then the bubbling in her chest turned into something else. She opened her mouth to ask for a sip of her mom's water, and instantly hiccupped, very hard. "Ough..."

Schierre stared hard at her, judging. Dylan silently passed the water cup over to her without looking.

"Thank yo--HIC--u...Ow."

Oh god, this was embarrassing. She was kind of regretting getting so drunk in front of her parents. Now she was gonna have to be in the car with them...

Thankfully her next cup of juice was here. She took maybe too eager of a drink. Braced for the carbonation, Brenna was suddenly hit with a sharp burn, instantly hacking a cough as she slapped the drink down to keep from spilling it. She pulled back from the table and spluttered, hoping that cute waiter wasn't looking. (He was.) Was that fucking...vodka?! (It was.)

"I thing I drang that too fas'" she said, alcohol stinging her sinuses. Upon taking a deep breath she hiccupped again, face bright red as ever, as she wiped drool from her chin.

She couldn't look her parents in the eyes, but she did need to finish her plate, and her screwdriver.

By the end of the meal, waiting on their check, Brenna found herself spacing out a lot, trying to feign conversation with her parents. Were she a little more sober, it might have been obvious to her that they were onto her.

Brenna waited to the car to announce that she really, really badly had to pee, and she couldn't hold it til church. She did this because she knew her parents wouldn't be willing to go back inside with her. Her dad handed her a 10. "Why don't you get yourself some coffee while you're in there."

"Thanks!" she said, not looking into it beyond another birthday gift. "Be right back."

Hopping back out of the car, Brenna stumbled a little, catching herself before colliding with the car parked next to them. She basically skipped inside the mall, feeling like she was swimming through the air as the colors of the parking lot swirled around her.

Brenna had been waiting to come to this mall for a long time. Her Tiktok feed was full of videos of people having the time of their lives, getting drunk and high as heaven. So despite never having been here before, she knew the Barbucks would be just to the left outside of Boredsom.

It never even crossed Brenna's mind but Dylan had wanted her to get coffee to sober up. It didn't cross Dylan's mind but they also serve alcohol at this particular coffee shop.

Time dilated as she stood in line, anxious that she was getting more sober by the second (she wasn't). Senses dulled, she could vaguely hear a group of very chatty women coming right toward her, but nothing registered until she was backed into by a 6-foot goddess of a woman. She knocked her right into the mall employee in line ahead of her. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" both Brenna and the woman who ran into her said at the same time. The employee Brenna had bumped into just giggled, twiddling one of her long, stick-straight pigtails.

"S'no worries," she said, smiling with her eyes closed.

"Hi, Claire," said the barista, "Grande mudslide?"

"Venti please?" she said with a sway.

The two chatted a while, or rather, Claire rambled to the barista while the order was rung in.

"I'm Stella," said the woman behind Brenna. "This is Cat," she said, revealing a much shorter and smaller woman with soft lavender-colored hair and big doe eyes.

"Hi! Sorry, we're super obnoxious," Cat apologized.

"It's okay. I'm Brenna."

"Brenna! I love that!" Cat cooed. She was wrapped tightly around Stella's waist. Brenna's eyeline came right to Stella's chest, which was impossible not to notice. She was wrapped tightly in a very short, strapless, ruched tube dress of gold tissue lame, the sort that looks trashy on almost any person in the entire world. She was pulling it off. Rather, filling it out. It made the gladiator flats work. She had a lot of artificially-blonde hair, stiff and wavy, pulled up in two half-pigtails on either side, an emulation of a lion's mane. The red gloss on her plumped lips was mesmerizing.

"I haven't seen you around," she said. "Have you been here before?"

"No, actually, it's...it's my birthday," Brenna replied, barely able to contain her excitement.

"OH MY GOD NO WAY!" The two women burst into celebration, a mixture of shouting and squealing. "Star!" Stella said to the girl behind the counter, "Whatever Brenna orders is on me."

"Oh my gosh, that's so sweet of you, you don't have to do that."

Stella waved a dismissive hand and nodded to Star, who then looked to Brenna.

"Oh, uh...I'm sorry. I wasn't looking at the menu..."

"You like sweet stuff, don't you," Cat said, clocking her instantly. "Get her a Bailey's slushy."

"Ooh, great choice."

Brenna thanked them all and stepped to the side to wait for her order. Clearly Stella and Cat knew this mall very well, and the workers here. Stella's voice was very loud, and also very slurred, so it was hard to make out what she was saying but you could tell she was having a good time. The two came over to wait with her, standing at the little tall table.

"So you're celebrating your birthday here?" Stella asked, a bright blush coming through under the freckling on her face. The table creaked every once in a while as she swayed.

"Uh, well, not really. My parents brought me here for breakfast and now we're going to church..."

"To church!"

"Ew," said Cat, reflexively. "Sorry. No offense."

"We gotta get you fuckin' loaded," said Stella. "Are your parents just waiting in the car?"

"Yeah..."

"You like weed?"

Brenna's eyes widened in shock. She had smoked a couple of bowls before, at a party. "Yeah!" She wasn't prepared for Stella to whip out a dab pen.

It was simple and pink, a small battery that could fit almost anywhere. Stella unscrewed the cartridge that was on it and replaced it with a fresh one. "Hit this til they call your order."

"Wh--okay!" Brenna was almost uncomfortably turned on. She did as she was told and hit the pen, maybe a little too hard right off the bat, and immediately went into a coughing fit. Her head swirled with the alcohol and the new substance, and it took her a while to notice Stella's laughter.

"You come back to life yet?"

"Mm-mmhmm..." Brenna wiped some drool from her chin. Her head began to feel lighter, but her throat was fucked.

"Okay good, hit it again."

Looking up to meet Stella's eyes, Brenna shivered under her challenging gaze. Maintaining eye contact she hit the pen again obediently. She tried to suppress the coughing, and she didn't hit it as hard.

"Good girl, you're learning!"

Time dilated even more now. Everything around Brenna felt disconnected, like she and her new friends were on one plane, the Barbucks was on another, and her parents were on another planet.

"My parents! How long have I been in here?"

Cat giggled, gently stroking Brenna's back. "It's okay, sweetie, you're just high. Your coffee hasn't even come yet."

"Oh...right." Brenna took a deep breath of oxygen, allowing the sounds of the crowd to blend the world back together. The lights were so pretty. All the potted plants...wow. How pervasive is nature, that even inside the concrete jungle--

"Take another hit, cutie," Stella murmured across the table. Eyes fixated on the pothos crawling up a potted palm tree, Brenna obeyed.

Everything was engulfed in a soft cloud. Brenna's brain included. When her name was finally called and made its way to her through the fog, she realized she had been leaning in a very awkward position against the potted flowers behind her.

Though she was looking directly ahead of her at the coffee bar (okay, maybe a little slanted), the second Brenna took a step she began careening to the left. Her feet crossed themselves over each other and she slapped against the floor. "Oof!"

"Oh shit."

She was scooped up, body ragdolling along as Stella and Cat helped her walk to the counter. They took their hands off her as she grabbed for the drink, missing at first.

Brenna felt like a bobblehead as she turned carefully. The other two flanked her for a bit, and she wordlessly nodded toward the exit door. They walked her down the short hallway to where it was more quiet.

"You can walk okay, right?" said Stella. "I kind of feel bad for pressuring you like that."

"Nn-no, itw- was. Yes." Brenna used her left hand to help her right hand form a thumbs up, to show she was okay with this. The weed had rendered her unable to form sentences. "Thank." Suddenly perplexed, she pantomimed texting.

"Oh!"

Cat swiped Brenna's phone from her back pocket, held Brenna's finger to the sensor, and started putting in her and Stella's numbers.

Brenna tried to hand the pen back to Stella, confused why it kept moving. And why it was so heavy.

"No, keep it," she said. "Happy birthday!" She held up her cold brew sangria, and Cat joined the cheers with her dalgona martini. Brenna knocked her paper coffee cup against theirs, delighted to remember there was booze inside of it. The three of them took a hefty drink, and suddenly both Stella and Cat also had weed pens. They cheersed with the pens, and Brenna eagerly took way too big of a hit.

After another fit of coughing, having to collapse against the wall for a bit, and getting rubbed on by some beautiful ladies, Brenna staggered toward the exit door, confident her parents wouldn't suspect a thing. She stepped out into the parking lot and stared at the skyline.

"Brenna. Brenna."

Oh, that's right. They were parked right out front. Hastily she pocketed the pen.

Taking a deep breath, Brenna willed herself to walk a straight line to the car, accidentally stumbling into it at the last minute. Her parents ignored this.

As she sat in the back seat she sipped on her spiked coffee, not a thought in her head. The christian radio station was playing, and for once in her life, Brenna felt close to god.

#intox fantasy #oc #brenna #intox kink #alcohol intox #intoxication kink #alcohol #drunk #crossfaded #intox #forced intox

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artsyaech · 5 months

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going into next year, remember to keep fighting for disability and mental health rights!

[PT: going into next year, remember to keep fighting for disability and mental health rights!]

remember to:

put image IDs and plain-text on posts

tag eyestrain and flash warnings (DO NOT use #epilepsy, that puts epileptic people in more danger)

remember to tag potential triggers! (very important, i hate it when posts include my triggers and don't tag it)

remember that hyperfixating on / having a special interest in a problematic thing does NOT mean you're a bad person, as long as you acknowledge the problems with it. also, i can't believe this isn't talked about more, but a hatred for a thing can also turn into a hyperfixation / special interest! example: i had a hyperfixation on harry potter in a way that i absorbed criticisms of it and knew everything about it, but only because i wanted to be able to articulate how much i hate it and why. hyperfixation / special interest in something does not mean you like it / endorse it! (rant over)

PLEASE stop clogging up disability tags with fanfiction. yes, it's good that you're representing disabilities, but instead try tagging it with #disabled character or #disabled reader or something of the sort.

something i wanna leave in 2023, but unfortunately don't think will be going away soon is ableist / saneist slang or slang that makes light of disabilities / mental health. examples of this include: "delulu", "letting the intrusive thoughts win", "psycho", "schizo" (when referring to something that has nothing to do with schizophrenia), "bipolar" (when referring to something that has nothing to do with bipolar disorder), "sociopath", "psychopath", "narcissist" + MANY more

please stop infantilizing autistic people. i'm so tired of being treated like a baby.

c-punk is NOT an aesthetic and it is exclusively for physically disabled people. and if you're not physically disabled, call it c-punk.

uplift disabled and mentally ill voices.

below is a list of disabled creators you can support!

@my-autism-adhd-blog. summer (she/they) talks about their life as an autistic individual who has ADHD. super cool blog!

@cripplecharacters. a group of mods help answer questions about writing disabled characters. learned a lot from them.

@mogai-transcriber. (nameless) (she/he/it) describes mogai posts.

@accessmogai. reign (she/her) is a great mogai transcriber too. high quality IDs for all

@cpunkwitch. super cool witchy blog. cassandra (it/he/her/neos/none) is super cool and it's nice to hear a disabled voice in the pagan community.

@crippledpunks. cool positivity blog that talks about disability and educates on cpunk

@accessfashion. multiple mods add image descriptions to outfits. super epic stuff.

@cane-you-dig-it. disability and cpunk stuff. also just a super cool and talented individual.

@autistic-af. i wish she was my aunt, she's super sweet and her cat posts always make my day!

@crippled-peeper. relatable posts tbh.

@crippled-dinosaur. dino (it/he) talks about physical disabilities and cpunk

+ many more! feel free to add to this list

#this is the first of many posts i'll be making on stuff like this #aech rambles #disability #new year #mental illness positivity #positivity #long post

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class-1b-bull · 9 months

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What’s every clsss member’s strange/unique fashion choice? You don’t have to go off their character sheets, just go with your gut.

Not proofread we die like men

Also at some point when I wrote this it turned into how I thought they would dress before I saw their cannon outfit but oh well its kinda the same headcanon its just worded differently :>

Awase - his cannon outfit works well with him tbh but I feel like he would unironically wear a full neon orange fit.

Sen - the only thing I can see him wearing is a hoodie and jeans. Not even that honestly, jeans is too much work for him he just spends the whole day in sweat pants and a t shirt lmao

Kamakiri - even before i looked up their casual fits for a previous post I thought Kamakiri would dress the way he does lol.

Kuroiro - his entire wardrobe is just black hoodies and jeans except one outfit which is the most over the top fit you have ever seen. It takes him and 3 hours to get it on but its worth it

Kendo - even her canon outfit I cant see her wearing all that much. I like it but I dont think it really fits her but at the same time I cant think of anything that I think would fit her. Maybe ripped jeans and a turtleneck idkidk

Kodai - i honestly cant see her in anything exsept her skirt and turtleneck combo. It works well for her and her style.

Komori - i honestly thought she would wear cute but simple dresses that ended around her knees or something but her cannon outfit is so much cooler.

Shiozaki - id like to see her in sundresses or something of the sort. Those long ass dresses that are kinda plain and reaches her ankles but theyre pretty anyway. Ykyk.

Shishida - the only thing that he would wear other than his cannon outfit is a full blown tux. I can 100% see him dressing up to go to a fucking mcdonalds. Its just everyday wear to him

Shoda - I cant explain it but I imagined him dressing either like a dad whos in the middle of his mid life crisis or a ceo of a big company. And somehow his canon casual outfit is a mix of the two lmao

Pony - i imagined her in her canon outfit honestly. Not the exact outfit but a crop top and jeans with a few light accessories here and there ykyk

Tsubaraba - ya know those stupid ass t shirts that say dumb shit like 'i have mental Illinois' with Illinois badly photoshopped into a brain. His entire wardrobe is stuff like that

Tetsutetsu - the only thing he wears is t shirts and sweat pants. Jeans if its a special event. He thinks his style is cool so thats all that matters.

Tokage - i really like her cannon outfit and all its all I can see her in honestly. Her style fits her really well.

Manga - i really like the way he dresses cannonly but I cant shake the thought of his entire wardrobe either being hand painted t shirts and hoodies or it all just being tie dye

Honenuki - i honestly have no idea. I have let this ask marinate in my drafts for a couple days and I can not figure out what the hell this dude would wear. Even his cannon outfit I cant really see him wearing. He is a void of any style in my mind and I hate it.

Bondo - his canon casual attire is atrocious but its the only thing i can see him wearing honestly. But id like to see him in one of those massive oversized hoodies and just some jeans honestly.

Monoma - i want him to dress in the most over the top outfits the world has ever seen. I want him to walk out of the dorms looking like a fucking peacock each day (but he makes it work)

Reiko - i see her in jeans and a hoodie more than anything else. She just wears that 90% of the time and like once a month she will show up with the coolest outfit you have ever seen.

Rin - im sure he would like more oversized and comfortable clothes that are good at keeping him warm but I wanna see him in a black sleeveless turtleneck and those baggy pants with like 20 pockets

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princess-of-purple-prose · 11 months

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Hi there! Please take a look at accessiblepublishing dot ca's guide to image description. There's a few mistakes in your transcribing and since you're sharing templates for other people to copy and paste, these mistakes are just going to multiply. A couple in particular I've noticed are: overly lengthy/confusing descriptors, paragraph breaks, restating plain text (screen readers already read plain text), restating audio, using styles in post, and using personal opinion in descriptors. It's great that you want to help make things more accessible, but please work to standardize your descriptors if you're going to be instructing others.

Hi, anon!! I really appreciate the feedback!! First, I actually have been dragging my feet for ages on fixing our earliest descriptions on the meme templates doc, so I will take this as my push to pare some of them down and make them clearer! I'll do my best to respond to everything here, going under the assumption that you mostly mean the descriptions I post on Tumblr rather than the ones on the doc:

Overly lengthy descriptors: I'm always working on this! I imagine my biggest offense on this is for comic IDs, but I generally intend for those to convey some manner of the style and flow of the art. I would actually appreciate being sent feedback on specific offenders if you want to show me where I've gone wrong!

Paragraph breaks: I write IDs as intended for plain text rather than alt, generally, but alt on Tumblr supports line breaks anyway. (The meme doc was also aimed for plain text, given the "ID: / End ID" formatting.) As I have seen a few sources saying paragraph breaks aid readability and I (a sighted person) definitely can't read long blocks of text, and I don't think I'm going to stop using paragraph breaks. I'm genuinely sorry if this is an inconvenience, but it is always okay to take my IDs and edit them as necessary if they don't measure up! (Also, I swear to god I don't say this to be petty, I'm trying to cover my bases because I haven't seen paragraph breaks being advised against in descriptions before: the accessiblepublishing guide also uses paragraph breaks in its examples for alt text? Do you have reasoning or other sources to explain why paragraph breaks are bad?)

Plain text: I take cues from posts like this one on plain text! Tl;dr, plain text is still important for low vision users who may not use screenreaders, and screenreaders also can struggle with special fonts or gradient text, so it's worth adding transcripts

Restating audio: I'm... not sure what this means? Are you talking about audio transcriptions? I will take advice on those if given, sorry I didn't catch your meaning!

Styles: I try very hard to use fully plain text except bold fonts for IDs, with the very occasional phrase in caps lock or italics, and wasn't aware I was overusing formatting otherwise? The people's accessibility server once advised my friend and me on doing a series of long comic descriptions and generally stated that bold was the most readable kind of special formatting, so that's what I go for. I'll keep an eye on it!

Personal opinions: I'll keep an eye on this as well, thanks for letting me know! (I'd thought I was doing a good job, do you have examples for me to look over?)

Sorry this was so long, I wanted to be thorough! Thanks again anon, I am always open to feedback on my descriptions!! Have a great day!!!

#HI SORRY AGAIN THIS IS LONG I HAVE DOESN'T-KNOW-HOW-TO-SHUT-UP DISEASE #i hope this covers it!!! i really don't want to do poorly with my ids and i will def take your advice into consideration!!!!#asks #anonymous

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twilightofthe · 2 years

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They do still make Motorolas, I'm sending this off one of their recent models haha :') your HCs about him are like spot on too! Curious what you think about Obi-Wan and/or Padmé, to complete the trio?

Ooooh thank you! Also yeah I THOUGHT they still made the Motorola ones I know my friend has one

So, character prompts from this post!

What does your blorbo's phone/laptop/car/backpack look like?

OBI WAN

Phone:

He’s got a Samsung Galaxy or a Google Pixel because his old iPhone died and Anakin convinced him not to get a new one, but he still wants a recognizable name brand smartphone because he’s not super techy and he knows that means they’ll work and won’t be overly complicated. It’s got one small line of a crack in the screen protector, he has no clue where it came from and is rather disgruntled because it’s a fairly new phone and protector, but he figures it’s something he can let be until it becomes a bigger problem.

He’s got one of those old man plain brown leather cases that has a built in wallet area where you can put credit cards and ids and stuff—but he doesn’t, thinks it’ll be easier to lose everything at once that way and keeps all that in his regular wallet. Ahsoka and Anakin regularly ask him what even the point of the wallet case is, but like hell is he admitting to being an aesthetic hoe

Lockscreen is a long battle between a landscape photo of some aesthetic city or wilderness he’s traveled to, and blurry selfies of Anakin pulling the most hideous expressions he can because Anakin knows his password and keeps breaking into his phone to set his lockscreen to them just to watch Obi Wan’s fucking done expression when he checks his phone and sees it

Homescreen is either another aesthetic photo or a screenshot of a literary quote he likes

All his apps are sitting in the standard way the phone organizes them, he doesn’t do any fiddling, but he also doesn’t have many apps to begin with

Also I need to point out that Obes is a godless heathen who keeps his ringer ON. His text and phone tones are also the standard ones that come with the phone, Anakin hasn’t dared try and change them to something jokey because he knows Obi Wan will get a special kind of revenge for embarrassing him in public and he’s waiting for the perfect opportunity to do it since he can only do it once

Laptop:

Obi Wan still has an ancient first or second generation MacBook Air and he is kinda cranky with Anakin for convincing him to change his phone to an android because now it won’t connect in any way with his laptop and he is absolutely not shelling out for a new one when this one still looks fine

He keeps a special glasses wipe for the screen because he fucking hates not being able to see shit when there’s dust and gunk all over it. Drives him nuts that the laptop just keeps accumulating it

The laptop background is an artsy map of whatever city he’s living in, but it’s blurry and pixelated because he got it off Google images and it wasn’t an HD version. It’s the same background as his LinkedIn profile.

He doesn’t have an outside case for the laptop, but he does have a carrying case for it that he can zip and unzip it out of whenever he’s transporting it places. It is plain black and squishy.

Car:

HoohooHOO :)

Okay so Obi Wan very much likes public transportation and is an avid champion of the necessity for buses and trains

He also rides a bicycle a lot!

But

Obi Wan’s got a motorcycle.

It is a nice one (I can’t say more than that cuz I also know jackshit about bikes lmao)

It’s shiny and it’s either red or black and when he needs to drive somewhere and can’t take public transport, that’s what he uses

He of course always wears a full helmet and gloves and impact jacket.

It used to be Qui Gon’s but he got injured and doesn’t ride anymore so Obi Wan took it. It’s nice, he likes it, it’s less gas and it’s not hard to ride.

He has a side car for if he’s transporting more than one person or groceries or anything.

Anakin is in love with it and firmly believes Obi Wan doesn’t deserve it and laments on the REGULAR that Obi Wan only lets him clean it/give it tune ups and won’t let him take it apart or try and make it better

Obi Wan genuinely does not get how hot he is on the bike xD

Backpack:

Obi Wan has one of those leather over the side shoulder satchels that’s all the dark academia rage lol

Regularly sticks too much shit in it, it’s surprisingly messy for a guy like him but that’s because it’s full of books his laptop extra snacks a hairbrush a spare jacket a first aid kit literally everything packed in there Just In Case

It’s also Really Fucking Heavy because of that and he’s always surprising people by handing it to them and they’re just like oof *drops from the weight*

The leather’s a little worn and cracked because he keeps so much in it, but it’s in fairly good shape because he splurged for a pricier one

I’m gonna do Padmé’s in a separate post since this is getting long!

#obi wan kenobi #star wars #sw #thanks for the ask!#asks #ask #anon #our only ho

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sturchling · 3 years

Note

A maribat no pairing needed but if you want one you can write it in. But basically Marinette goes to Gotham and stays with the bat family. Bruce is leaving hits he is Batman so he can help Marinette with being ladybug

Sorry for the wait! Hope you like it! I decided to make this one a little more funny with a completely oblivious Marinette. Sorry if you don't like her being this oblivious, just wanted to have some fun with this one. I really liked that idea and thought it was funny. I hope you like it too, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Marinette was so excited she was shaking. She had just gotten word that she had been accepted into an exchange student program with Gotham Academy. Not only would she be able to get away from Lila and the drama with the class, but she may also be able to find Batman and get some help with tracking down Hawkmoth. Marinette would be hosted by the Wayne family, who was sponsoring this whole program. Marinette was impressed by Mr. Wayne's generousity. It is really generous of Mr. Wayne to set up and fund this whole program. He must be a really nice man. Marinette wasn't going waste this opportunity. She would enjoy her time in America, and she would definitely find Batman before the program was over!

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

Bruce really hoped this crazy plan worked. He had learned several weeks ago about a blog based out of Paris called the Ladyblog. It mainly posted a bunch of nonsense about a girl named Lila who was clearly a liar. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What caught his attention was a few stories posted between the interviews with the liar. These posts were about something called 'akuma attacks' and a supervillain named Hawkmoth who had been terrorizing Paris for years now. At first, Bruce just thought it was more nonsense, like the posts about the liar. But to be safe, he looked into it more, and was astonished to find out it was the truth. He learned everything Hawkmoth had done, all the different akumas, and about the local heroes: Ladybug and Chat Noir.

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

He was shocked to see that the heroes defending Paris were just kids. And while they have done great on their own, Bruce could tell they haven't had any kind of combat training. If they go up against an akuma with real training, they would be at a significant disadvantage. Plus, they would likely not have any good strategy to discover Hawkmoth's identity. Even if they keep winning against the akumas, they have to find and beat Hawkmoth or this madness will never end. He resolved in that moment to find these kids and help them. He focused on Ladybug and started to figure out her civilian ID. It took a few weeks, but he eventually found out she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She always disappeared once Ladybug appeared, and there were a few times that a security camera would see her duck into an alley, and then a few moments later, Ladybug would emerge. Once he knew her identity, he began to plan.

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

He decided the easiest way to get her to Gotham would likely be something regarding school. At first he thought of a class trip for her whole class, but decided against it. That idea wouldn't work with the rest of his plan. Instead, he set up a student exchange program with Gotham Academy. He would host the student that was selected at his manor for the duration of the program and fund the entire thing. The academy didn't think anything of it, used to Mr. Wayne's charitable acts for the school. His one condition was that he got to choose the student. The academy agreed, it only made sense since Mr. Wayne was funding the program and would host the student as well.

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

Mr. Wayne made sure that the news of the program made it to Paris and was heavily advertised. He even sent the information to Ms. Dupain-Cheng's school. He was sure that she would learn about it and apply quickly. Ms. Dupain-Cheng had seemed like an ambitious student from what he had found so far, so the offer of studying in America would be tempting. Plus if she was as clever as she seemed, based off her actions as Ladybug, then he was sure she would want to come and try to meet with Batman. It didn't take long for Marinette's application to cross his desk. As he approved her application and typed up her acceptance email, he smiled and began the next phase of his plan.

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

Bruce knew that Marinette would be very concerned if he approached her about being Ladybug outright. It would be best if she approached him. And here was the problem. She wouldn't approach him, she would only approach Batman. So he needed to have her figure out that he was Batman. He didn't want her to transform into Ladybug and look around Gotham for him. That could cause people back in Paris to figure out her identity, if Ladybug appeared in Gotham at the same time as Marinette. And if Hawkmoth figured it out, that would be horrible. And if Marinette went looking for Batman in her civilian form, it could be really dangerous. Instead, Bruce and his sons were going to make it painfully obvious who they were. They would leave all their equipment out in plain view, all their case files out, he was even going to park the Batmobile outside in the driveway (out of sight of the gates of course, he doesn't want anyone but Marinette to find out his identity). Short of walking around in their costumes, they would do everything they could.

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

Bruce's sons were excited. They didn't have to be careful about their identities around her which was a plus, and after learning that Marinette fighting Hawkmoth with only Chat Noir for consistent help, they were more than ready to help them with the Hawkmoth problem. They had also made bets on how long it would take her to figure it out, and which member of the family would be the one to give it away. They were ready for Marinette to arrive.

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

Marinette had arrived about a week ago, and Bruce's plan was in full effect. But, surprisingly, Marinette hadn't figured it out. She spent most of her time out, walking around Gotham. She had told the Waynes that she was familiarizing her self with the city and also gathering inspiration for her designs. In reality, she was focused on finding Batman. So focused in fact, that she missed all the clues that the Waynes were leaving her. She had walked right past the Batmobile, hardly giving it a second glance. She had picked up some casefiles sitting at the dining table, and instead of reading, or even just looking at them, she just handed them to Bruce and finished setting the table. She had walked in on Jason cleaning his guns in the living room, and instead of commenting on that, just sat down and turned on the TV. At one point, she even came into the gym and found Dick doing an acrobatic routine that only Nightwing would be able to do, all while Tim and Jason were sparing, and Damian was sharpening his sword. They were sure this would get her attention. But Marinette didn't even notice. She just got on a treadmill, put in her headphones and started running. They boys just stared at her. They were shocked that she could be so oblivious.

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

While Marinette was out walking around Gotham, looking for Batman again, the Batfam was having a meeting at the manor. They couldn't believe that Marinette hadn't figured it out yet. At least Bruce could definitely prove that his secret ID was better than Clark's. Marinette's been living with him for months now, with them actively trying to reveal their secret to her, and she still couldn't figure it out. They were running out of ideas and time. The program ended in a few weeks and they had done everything they could think of. Except for one thing. They hadn't thought they would have to be so obvious, but it was clear that Marinette would figure it out any other way.

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

So, that is how they found themselves coming up from the Batcave, in full costume, making a lot of noise to draw Marinette's attention as she sat watching TV in the living room. Marinette came around the corner and looked at them. Marinette's eyes grew wide, and she just stared. The Waynes were sure she finally figured it out. Finally, she broke the silence, saying "Nice costumes guys! You look just like the real Batfam. Nice attention to detail!" Then she just went back into the living room, leaving the Batfam frozen in disbelief.

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

Bruce decided enough was enough, and the family went into the living room, still in costume, and told Marinette their secret directly. She was pretty surprised. She had been so consumed with looking for Batman around Gotham, she never even thought she might be living with him. The night continued for a long time after that. Marinette revealed her secret and the Waynes revealed they had known all along. They told her that they had seen her using the horse miraculous to go back to Paris for an akuma battle, which that may not have been how they figured her out, but they had seen that too. After all the reveals were done, the group spent the rest of the night focused on Hawkmoth and how to track him. Tim got to work immediately and was sure he would have an answer soon, though it may be after she went back to Paris. The rest of Marinette's time in Gotham was spent training how to fight properly, and how to find better places to transform. Marinette soon went back to Paris, armed with better fighting skills, and the knowledge that she now had Batman as an ally in the fight against Hawkmoth.

#ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic #maribat #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #oblivious marinette #maribat fic #maribat fanfic

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fonulyn · 3 years

Note

I saw your post explaining why you love Leon Kennedy in the tags and you seem very knowledgeable about him! 💖 I’m newer to the fandom and I‘ve only played a few games but really like him as a character so far. This may sound silly but I see some people say he doesn’t have any character development and I was wondering if this is true? Since you seem knowledgeable about him I thought you would be a good person to ask to explain how he develops as a character throughout the games and movies? Don’t worry about including spoilers, I don’t mind!

like I told some other anon before, those people complaining about his characterization most often just hate him for the sake of hating him and nothing is good enough for them, so I wouldn't pay them a lot of attention tbh. considering RE as a whole, none of the characters gets super detailed and nuanced character arcs but saying Leon specifically doesn't get development is just plain wrong.

so, I'm not exactly sure which definition of "character development" you're referring to, because it can mean either the changes the character goes through as they go through the different plot points, or it can mean character getting more and more defined as more gets revealed about them throughout the story. so I'll just... ramble a bit about both?

so as for how Leon changes throughout the games/movies... this kinda depends on which version of him you want to consider canonical because the original-RE2 Leon was at least sassier than his remake counterpart :'D but like. he starts out as someone who respects authority maybe a tad too much, like in the remake he takes the side of the superior officer before he gets actual proof that there's something going on ("I'm sure he had his reasons" in the jail). but as time progresses he loses his faith in authority figures, bit by bit. he still plays (mostly) by the rules but like. the clearest example that comes to mind is in Damnation at the end when they're looking up at the sky and Leon comments on how they've been watched all the time. he sounds downright disappointed, and it's clear he's not as bright-eyed as he was years before. but well, it's not like he has much choice in what he does, he was blackmailed to take the job to begin with, so.

another noticeable thing about him is how he becomes more tired, and less optimistic about the future and how it'll turn out. in RE2 he's ready to take the bad guys down, says he'll do anything to help and vows to fix everything, and by Vendetta he says he feels like he's stuck in a loop with no way out because he has realized that fixing everything just is not a possibility in the real world. and it makes perfect sense. like, the more bad guys he takes down the more keep popping up, and it never ends. there's an endless supply of assholes who want to either make money or destroy the world or something in between, and Leon's stuck dealing with them all. that'd make about anyone tired. and it's visible in all the installations how he goes from thinking it's possible to right all wrongs (RE2, ID) to just trying his best to save anyone he can (Damnation, RE6 [tho it could be in part also righting a wrong as it is a revenge story]).

but still, despite how tired he gets, he still gets up and he still fights and he hasn't lost all hope. it's like. he seems to have more moments when he struggles to find the strength to go on but he always does, he always gets up and tries again. and it's one of the things I love about him. I know some people say that he's given up entirely by Vendetta, but I just can't agree with that. he has a moment of weakness, but when push comes to shove he does help, he does take the threat down (not alone, but y'know :'D), and if he'd lost all hope he wouldn't have even left with Chris. he never loses that drive to help people, which is so very him.

as for the second definition, the whole "more gets revealed and the character gets more depth with it", I don't think Capcom does very well with that altogether :'D their characters don't really have backstories that they could reveal, and they avoid inter-game/movie references a lot, so it's kind of hard for them to do that naturally with anyone. we don't learn that much about anyone, and it's all up for interpretation and it's up to us to peel off the layers. I think RE2 does a fairly good job with Leon, tbh, we see him go from "what the fuck is going on here?" to that passionate speech at Kendo's, and we learn about his personality through his actions. and if you're willing to look at how he acts, how he reacts in different situations, how he relates to people? it's fairly easy to build a clear picture of how he ticks. except then some people only choose to see the one-liners and forget everything else. which. sucks. it's like they refuse to even give him a chance. and I'm not saying everyone has to love him and everyone has to think he's the best, of course not! but just because you might not relate to a character personally or find them appealing personally, it doesn't mean they're a bad character.

i'm sorry i... kind of got lost in a rant :'D idk if this answered your question at all? if you wanna chat more just shoot me another message!

#re answers #anonymous #ask and i shall answer #leon s kennedy #long post

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iceeckos12 · 4 years

Text

tma fic recs

I’ve seen a couple of fic rec posts floating around. since ive been reading so many excellent fic recently, i thought that id make one as well! please note this list is going to be 99% jonmartin. also buckle up, because this is going to get long.

Completed

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

Notes: This is probably my go-to fic if i want an apocalypse never happened scenario. The jonmartin is wonderful, as is the h/c.

Diary and Prenon-nous la main by luftballoons99

Diary summary:

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Prenon-nous la main summary:

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

Notes: Do you love impeccable safehouse jonmartin characterization? do you love characters grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known? do you love softness so tender that it makes you want to weep? please read these fic. im begging you.

i’ll tell you about all the times i’ve smiled because of you by cryptidkidprem

Summary:

Martin thinks about their shoes, sitting beside each other on the floor by the bed. Thinks of the way Jon wears Martin’s cardigans more often than he wears his own, the way Martin’s started keeping elastics around his wrist because Jon always forgets his own when they go out.

He thinks about all the gentle touches and fussing over each other they’ve done, and how much is still to come over the next… however long Jon will have him.

They have a long way to go, an entire life to build out of the wreckage Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas left them, but laying together in a comfortable, sleepy quiet, Martin thinks they’ve got a good start going.

Or, Jon quits the Institute, saves the world, and it turns out to be exactly what he needs in order to heal and start moving forward towards building a life with Martin.

Notes: how many times have i reread this fic? more than i can count. jon quits the institute and it’s just full of soft jonmartins. they get married! god i love them.

go softly by doomcountry

Summary:

And there is nothing else besides this.

Notes: every time i remember this fic i reread it. please heed the tags because martin is blinding jon, but he’s like. blinding jon in the most heartbreaking way possible. idk how the author made this so tender but i know i was certainly crying so!

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

Summary:

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Notes: Do you like time travel fixits? i sure like time travel fixits. reverb is an excellent one. heavy on the h/c, I wanted to hug jon so so badly.

Yesterday is Here by CirrusGrey

Summary:

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Notes: Yet another time travel fixit! also excellent. the teasing was HYSTERICAL. also Im just going to say this now - CirrusGrey in general writes incredible tma fic. You can’t really go wrong.

unassigned supplementals by bibliocratic

Notes: I won’t put in a summary just because it’s a long series of oneshots, but bibliocratic’s writing is amazing. Again, you can’t really go wrong with one of their fic!

let the soft animal of your body by autoclaves

Summary:

Standing in the warm kitchen, slats of sepia light filtering through onto the counter in front of him, Martin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He half expects them to go through the countertop entirely, glossy and solid as it is. He isn’t used to any of it, yet. The safehouse. Jon. Beams of sun pouring into his hands. After being deprived of everything of significance for so long, the longing that crashes over him is almost painful in its tangibility. He wants to laugh, to sob, to scream and hear it echoed back against the neat, square walls of the safehouse.

In the end, he doesn’t do any of these things. He makes eggs instead. He can do that, can’t he? Use his hands for something simple and plain and good.

(Or: In the safehouse after it all, Martin starts cooking.)

Notes: this fic really speaks to me a) because i project on martin like crazy and b) because food is also my love language. this fic is incredibly soft and it’s all about cooking!

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” by shinyopals

Summary:

I hope you find your new role as Head of the Institute as rewarding as captaining the Tundra, wrote Elias Bouchard, to Peter Lukas. There are so many people working there: all with their own interesting lives, and all desiring your attention and support. I'm sure you will relish the challenge it will bring and enjoy every moment spent with the fine men and women of the Institute. In time I'm confident they'll become like a family to you.

The Magnus Institute has a new boss. The Magnus Institute also has a new tech support technician. These two facts are unrelated, except they both happen at the same time.

Meanwhile Jon's woken up from being dead for six months and for once he's trying his best. He just wishes Martin would stop avoiding him and answer his messages...

Notes: if you’re looking for a good laugh, this fic is SO SO SO FUNNY. i was dying. basically the magnus institute being an absolute bureaucratic nightmare.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite

Summary:

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Notes: it’s all about the yearning. and trust me, the yearning in this fic? im just. i sure do love jonmartin, and this is such soft, loving jonmartin it just makes you want to cry

two ships passing by pyrites

Summary:

Gerard Keay is 10 years old the very first time he tries to run away from home, right around the time that Jonathan Sims has just come into possession of his first Leitner.

Or: One dropped stone can change the way the whole ocean moves.

Notes: again, JONGERRY. MY GOODNESS. this fic is beautiful, the writing is absolutely breathtaking and it owns my heart. im so in love with it. the author said you’re going to have emotions about jon and gerry and jongerry and i said OKAY

Terminal Sight by viv_is_spooky

Summary:

Spider silk weaves through the visions of two Seers. Monstrosity is dawning on them both.

Notes: I’d never read a gerryoliver fic before this, but the execution is EXCELLENT and now im sold on the ship forever. This fic has wonderful prose and great characterization and i love it a whole lot.

Incomplete

assistant archivist au by PitViperOfDoom

Notes: I won’t put a summary since I’m reccing an entire series, but. it is absolutely no secret that i adore jongerry. pit’s assistant archivist au slapped me over the head with some gorgeous jongerry oneshots and then gave me the gift of the main fic (which is still in progress) about head archivist martin. i love this au so so much

dustsceawung by callmearcturus

Summary:

Martin had always been favored by the summer courts, and moving up north to the little village of Lacuna is a difficult adjustment. It's rainy and lonely and everyone seems to have a strange, distant relationship with the local faerie court.

However: there is a strange man in a cloak who walks past Martin's remote little cottage every few days.

However: there is a moth that keeps getting stuck in Martin's house during the rain.

These events are not as disconnected as they first appear.

Notes: you ever just read a fic that you didn’t know that you needed until after you read it? yeah. featuring the fae and moth jon and excellent characterization.

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Notes: This is also the moment where I reveal that im a sucker for jongerrymartin. please read this fic. gerry is brought back from the dead in s4 and everyone is far better off for it.

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

Summary:

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Notes: this time travel fixit is shaping up to be an absolutely incredible read. i love the way this author writes jon so so much, and the characterization is spot on. this whole fic just satisfies some little part of me. god. also!! bubonickitten’s writing in general? beautiful. please check out their other works.

The Timeline of Theseus by Applea

Jon tries to force the Spiral to send him back, but the Sprial's corridors never twist things quite the way you want them to. Back in 1996, Elias has no idea why or how the Eye made such a powerful Avatar out of an 8 year old, especially when said 8 year old doesn't actually know he has any powers at all. Clearly such a child cannot be left outside the Institute's care.

Notes: This fic is legitimately brilliant. The author manages to capture the big ADHD mood and the precociousness of baby Jon while managing to write a wonderful storyline. Time travel! Elderly lesbians! A Jonah who is wildly in over his head but was walloped over the head with paternal instinct! Baby Gerry! What more could you possibly ask for?

rooms full of people who do not love each other yet by seaer

Summary:

“Wanted to ask about a book.” The boy has his hand on the counter, and he leans into it, nonchalant. The library is air-conditioned, but by no means frigid, and Jon can’t help but feel sweaty just looking at the layers he’s wearing; what looks like old leather over an olive-green Magnus pullover over his school shirt. “Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Jon says, tetchily, “We’re about to close.”

“I know. Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Notes: I am so in love with this author’s writing style and the way they write the characters!! The jon and gerry friendship is PERFECT and the character interactions are all darling.

if you read these fics please send the authors some love, they definitely deserve it!!

#tma #fic recs #ill update this as i read #seriously some very very good stuff on here #long post

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jackalgirl · 3 years

Text

Telling vs. Showing

I had posted an excerpt from the Turkey City Lexicon a while back, about "Telling Not Showing", which is one of those things that writers are recommended not to do.

Violates the cardinal rule of good writing. The reader should be allowed to react, not be instructed in how to react. Carefully observed details render authorial value judgments unnecessary. For instance, instead of telling us "she had a bad childhood, an unhappy childhood," specific incidents--involving, say, a locked closet and two jars of honey--should be shown.

I was thinking about this the other night -- and I stress that it came to me by itself, please please don't anyone think I'm calling you out on this, because I am not -- and thought it might be fun* to provide an example. Stick around (under the cut) if you're interested.

* I lie. Aethel and Felix told me to write this, and woke me up early to do so. Fine. I'm done, you two, may I please go get some more coffee? Thank you.

Telling

Felix found Aethel in the galley, reading one of Max’s books. He made a face, wondering why she was reading it. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her why — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so he sat down and asked anyway. She looked, he thought, a little relieved to be interrupted, which did not really surprise him. She was very much willing to tell him about it, and in fact confirmed his suspicion that she found the text…how did she put it? Tedious. But she was reading it to better understand the way the people in the Order think, so she was determined to read it anyway. Good luck with that, he thought, and got himself something to eat out of the fridge.

versus Showing

Felix found Aethel in the galley, a book open before her on the common table and a line between her eyebrows. It must be one of Max’s books, he thought. He sat down and she looked up. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it appeared to him that she had a look of relief on her face. “Watcha readin’, Aethel?” He asked her. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her a question like this — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so in this particular moment, he hadn’t hesitated. “One of the vicar’s books on Scientism,” she said, confirming his guess. He made a face. “Ugh. Why? You’re always arguing with him about it.” And driving him nuts. Another point in her favor, actually. “It’s important to him,” she said. “And what’s more, it’s important to this colony. It would be foolish for me to dismiss it. I want to understand it better.” Felix gestured at the book. “Is that helping?” Aethel let out a sigh. “Alas, no. It is tedious.” “That’s why I like serial books,” Felix grinned. He tilted his head. “Why is it, ah, tedious, though?” “The author uses words like a collector,” she said. “But not like an artist.” Felix tilted his head and his expression must have told her he didn’t get it — I don’t get it — because she leaned back and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you remember the Sprat Fancy party in Byzantium?” She asked. Felix felt his face screw up again. “It was awful.” At first, Byzantium had impressed him. It was so clean! But eventually he realized it was as full of trash as the rest of the Colony — just higher-class trash, is all. Plus, the people there were always looking down on him — worse than the crew of the Groundbreaker, if that was possible. Or worse than the crew had been, before I helped Aethel fix the heat. Now they liked him well enough. But in Byzantium, nothing the crew had done had changed the Byzantines’ attitudes towards them. Their disdain is baked in, Aethel had said at the time. And speaking of baking, Aethel said, “do you remember the food?” “Ugh. Do I ever. The prettiest food you ever saw. Tasted like shit, though.” “What would those people have thought of a Boarst Pocket?” Aethel asked. “Ha!” Felix drummed the table with his hands in amusement. “They’d hold up their noses, for sure. Something that plain and simple?” “And yet, it is delicious?” “Yes,” Felix spoke with the conviction of a dedicated cultist. Aethel nodded. She tapped the pages in front of her. “This book is like the food in Byzantium. It is concerned about its appearance, and about all the different colors it can show you — it is very pretty. But it tastes like shit.” “So why are you eating it?” Felix asked, then remembered she’d answered him earlier. “Because you want to understand the system,” he said. She nodded. “I think of it as reconnaissance,” she said. “At some point, I’m going to have to deal with Order people who are higher ranked than Max. I need to understand what they think — or at least, what they’re telling people they think, which may not be the same.” “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they all turned out to be a pack of hypocrites,” Felix said. “I’ll bet it’s all a show for power.” “Perhaps it’s not all a show for power,” Aethel suggested. But then she relented. “But yes, I tend to think that in the end, that’s the Order’s primary goal.” All that talk about Boarst Pockets made him want one, so he got up and got one out of the fridge. “Would you like one, boss?” He said, waggling the packet, knowing her answer in advance: “No thank you, Felix,” she said politely. He chuckled to himself. I don’t get how she can like spratwurst and not like boarst. Some things just defied understanding. I hope she has better luck with that book.

I liked writing this, because it gave me a little epiphany for another scene (the "Sprat Fancy" party) and an opportunity to put Sprat Fancy magazine into the actual fic, as opposed to it remaining as something of a joke.

[ Image description: cover of "Sprat Fancy", showing an adorable pink-splotched, white sprat from above, looking up at the camera with her gorgeous black eyes. Text reads: "Sprat Fancy Magazine - your guide to Halcyon's Fancy Sprats" and "Volume 22, Issue 8, 2 bits" with article leads: "Sacred Beasts: The Role of Sprats in the Faith", "Refuge: Keeping your precious sprat safe from marauders (and hungry neighbors)", "Ooo La La! Jolicoeur Haberdashery releases an all new line of fancy sprat fashion! Get a sneak peak of the latest on the Byzantine spratwalk!", "Place Your Bets: Your comprehensive guide to this season's All-Colony Fancy Spratstravanaza - who's in? Who's out? You may just be surprised by this year's contenders!" and a corner flag: "Ask Doctor Sprat". The cover image is captioned: "'Bakonu' by Captain Pearl Jenkins. With this large beauty take 'Best in Show' from Lord Reginald Kim III?" End ID. ]

Sometimes, having to write stuff out like this (especially between major scenes) is really daunting, because it generally doesn't come to me all at once like the major scenes do. I know, right from the get-go, that this is going to be a time-consuming process (I call it "sausage making"), and it's scary when I don't immediately see a clear way forward or understand how it will turn out. But I find that once I get going, the characters are happy to cooperate. And it's always worthwhile, because most of the time, I get some kind of revelation or epiphany (as above) that makes the story better, or maybe it's just neat and makes me giggle. But that's reason enough.

This is part of the pros of showing versus telling, in addition to giving the reader more to discover, understand, and react to on their own (rather than simply telling them how to react, which is what you want to avoid). The obvious con is that it takes so much longer. I would think that telling would be useful in contexts where you just don't have the column space, or are limited in the number of words you can provide. And I think it could also be useful -- used judiciously -- if you're deliberately trying to hide something from the reader.

But if you've been telling instead of showing because the amount of work you can see in front of you daunts you (or you just can't envision how it's going to go), I can only say: give it a try. You'll be surprised at what the characters are just waiting to tell you, if you only give them the chance.

#writing #the outer worlds #the journeyman #fanfic #telling not showing #showing not telling #also bathos #turkey city lexicon

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an0nymousghost · 3 years

Text

simblr asks v2

here are my answers! find the questions here.

i wrote soo much ahaha. like however much you think i wrote, i wrote more than that. imo everything i write is gold though

1. are you going to buy the new pack (cottage living) when it comes out? no, it looks really nice but i legit never ever buy packs at launch, especially cause this one is a expansion and it will probably go on sale at some point

2. do you p*rate your dlc or buy it legitimately? buy it legitimately 👌

3. what’s your favorite world? brindleton bay, it gives like seaside cottage vibes. willow creek is good but it’s boring.

4. if you use a queue, how many posts per day do you set it as? 3 or 4. i used to do like 12 lmaoo what even was wrong with me

5. do you watch sims on youtube? yes, i watch mainly malixa, oshinsims, and msgryphi

6. what are your thoughts on the most recent pack? (dream home decorator) those sectional couches look good! but honestly im kinda annoyed because now it’s even harder to have all the items filled in when i place lots from the gallery. like i’m just saying like a lot of builds will use that pack probably and if i don’t get it then i can’t really use builds/save files

7. how many packs/kits do you own? lemme count

expansion: all - 10/10 game: 5/10 stuff: 9/18 kits: none xo

24/38 - 63%

8. what’s your origin id? is it the same as your url? 🤗 it’s in my title, it’s celeschul. it doesn’t look that nice in my title but i use celeschul in my package files and i’m guessing people search things like, “celeschul penny hair” or something like that in order to find my cc- so i keep it in there so the search results are easier. i do want to change it though..

but no it’s also not the same! well i mean it’s the username i use for cc. my origin id used to be an0nymousghost but i changed it. i wonder if anyone’s taken that one?

9. is your simblr your sideblog or main blog? main blog ✌️ my old blog @stardze is a main blog as well.

my old old simblr was a sideblog but it had like 1 follower and it literally a bot so i don’t think that counts. i have a multifandom sideblog though

10. do you have a cc finds blog? i wish. i was thinking bout it earlier and that would be sooo neat but sometimes i download stuff that doesn’t have a tumblr post attached to it, and also it’s stressful to keep up with so nah

11. are you wcif friendly? yes sir. in fact i bring the trouble of wcifs onto myself but doing them even when nobody asked.

12. what’s your favorite sized household to play with? (ex. 1 sim, 4 sims) gonna have to think on this one, honestly 1 sim is really fun and stuff goes by so fast. doing stuff with astrid when she was on her own, it was much more efficient.

for families, i haven’t done that in a while actually. 5, 2 parents and 3 kids is cute tho. why did i write this this is honestly such a hard question

13. if you have c&d, do you play with pets? i feel like i haven’t played with cats and dogs in forever. honestly i just have no paitence. noelle fae was supposed to get a cat (there’s a food bowl + cat bed in her house) but when summer vacation started, the amount of time i spent playing ts4 decreased a lot. (this doesn’t really make sense, i have a lot more time. honestly it just has to do with my recent obsession with a certain anime/manga and some other personal thing)

i did random nightmares in may though and i had pets frequently. g5 didn’t because sofia scarlett lived in an apartment, but g2/3/4 had cici, and g1 had all the cats. but that was back in march so it’s been a while.

14. what lifespan do you use? i really want to do aging off but then i feel like it drags on. but aging legit stresses me out, sometimes i just want to sit down and do some cas stuff but i only have 2 hours in real time and there’s like 4 days left till one of my sims’ birthdays.

15. if you own a lot of packs, how many of them have you actually played through? just so everyone is aware this question was made for me

i feel like eps require a specific save made for testing them out, but the only save i’ve ever made for an ep is noelle fae’s get famous save.

that is literally a lie - i made a save for island living with one of my 100bc kids, maisie acapella. i did actually post it on tumblr BUT then i deleted all the posts BUT i reblogged them on my alt account BUT i privated my alt account so i honestly forgot about it

i have never played through discover university or watched anyone do it on youtube, i’ve read gerbits’ story about it so i think i’m pretty qualified. i’ve always wanted to do one with periwinkle acapella but i never got around to it

another ep i know nothing about is get to work

i tried doing a eco life playthrough but i hadn’t watched any videos and i was like..what is going on. so i quit lolx d ;;;;; i mentioned it but the whimsy stories legacy was the first time i had played with the eco lifestyle features so technically i think i know what im doing

i got outdoor retreat literally on monday of this week so i haven’t played through it yet.

jungle adventure i still don’t know what’s going on. i remember last year before i bought the pack i was brainstorming, and wanted to do a ja playthrough with luna and cedar, who are a couple who i did a random legacy with and it was all queued to post when i deleted everything (if you’re wondering why, it’s because my queue was literally 200+ posts). except this time i didn’t save them to my sideblog so i lost them.

i still havent had a restaurant in dine out

also never did the vet thing from cats and dogs

i have no idea what that rock climbing thing is from snowy escape but i did most of the other stuff because rn g5

city living i did through psc stage 5 and also it was the first pack i bought anyways

the rest of them are either stuff packs or i ended up playing them through casual gameplay (seasons, parenthood)

16. what do you do as you play sims? (ex. listen to music) i listen to music most of the time, or listen to commentary youtube videos because i am an alpha chad. i also used to talk with my friends on voice call but i don’t do that anymore 🥲

17. which sims challenges have you tried? random legacy, whimsy stories, perfect sim challenge, 100 baby, legacy (just the plain get-to-10-gens one), random nightmares, berry zodiac, astrology legacy, apocalypse

i feel like im forgetting some.. honestly most of the stuff i did before simblr was either 100 baby (i love that challenge) or random saves that lasted for 2 seconds.

18. do you like the new(ish) hair swatches? nah.

i do appreciate that most cc hairs have a true (ish) black, thank god! and the fact that the hair update is what inspired me to update and fix a bunch of hairs with different issues is pretty nice. but will i use them? no.

plus it takes up like 5 gb? depending on how many packs you have.

19. post the latest screenshot you took 📸

i live in cas

20. what is the cc/ingame hair that looks the most like your own? i think that dream home decorator side part hair looks a lot like my hair. honestly i havent see much like my hair but that one is kinda-? close

21. who is your favorite sim of yours and what is their story? noelle and alari fae i think!

link to post

noelle is blonde and has blue-grey eyes. she wears purple contacts pretty often though (because she wants to 😌)

alari has light brown hair that is kinda curly, and she’s got pretty vibrant blue eyes.

they’re sisters, alari is 3 years older than noelle. noelle was 19 and alari was 22 when they got spotted

they worked as models when they were young adults. their jobs involved dyeing their hair blue/pink, and they would model like clothes and stuff. anyways, they were pretty successful. like not ultra famous but they had enough money to not work for the rest of their lives.

their modeling group was made of 4 girls, the others were named paisley autumn and they were green and red, respectively. some things are:

paisley and alari started dating during this

autumn was a single mother to a little girl named destiny

noelle dated many people during this but never ended up finding the one <3

when their contract ended after like 6 years, paisley and alari went to go live together and noelle decided to get into acting. so thats when get famous playthrough started!

there’s more but basically they’re like oc’s with sims on the side. xoxo

22. if you use cc, are there any cc creators that you have like ALL of their items? this is such a good question! i hoard hair very heavily (my folder is 11gb) i so i have like 97% from most of the popular hair creators.

i think i had legitimately EVERYTHING from simstrouble though, i went through multiple times to check and i also have all of her retired stuff.

i have everything from ridgeport i think-? because of the fact that she uploaded all her stuff in one big zip.

i think that’s it.. for a long time i also had everything by clumsyalienn, but then i ended up deleting it and only keeping my faves.

and looking at my collection, maybe ah00b? i might be missing a couple but i at least have like 99%.

23. what’s one pack you think is underrated? dine out, it’s laggy af yes but it’s such a nice thing for my sims to do.

24. what are your favorite sims stories/legacies? melons by gerbits always and forever

this question was inspired by this ask anyways so

25. if you could change one small thing about ts4, what would it be? most of my suggestions are pretty complex but literally just - when you add tray files, they appear at the top. my life would be so much easier

this took me literal hours to answer

#replies #replying to MYSELF

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livvywrites · 3 years

Photo

[ ID: the image depicts a knights helm with a pointed face looking to the right. it’s been edited to look like an oil painting, and overlaid with a pale grey-green color. over the image is written ‘a conspicuous lack of dragons’ in a script front, and beneath that, ‘livvy moore’ in a serif font. /end ID. ]

i posted an excerpt of this with the placeholder title “the perils of taking quests from little old ladies who live in the woods.” i’m still rather fond of that title, but it’s a little too long xD

this was written mostly as an exercise to kind of... shake the mental cobwebs off, after seeing a post about accessibility + princesses in towers. i really liked how it came out, so i decided to polish it up and post it :D i meant to have it up sooner, but... life :p

you can also read this on my website :)

a conspicuous lack of dragons

The tower is exactly as the old woman described. White brick, with a deep purple roof, standing on a mountain at the edge of a prosperous kingdom. Only a few windows adorn the top of the tower. The rest is bare, and unadorned. You are… a little relieved. The old woman had said that this tower belonged to a dragon. You weren’t particularly looking forward to fighting it—and though you’re sure you still might have to, at least you have time for a little more reconnaissance.

Save for the base, where there is a plain wooden door.

You… cannot say you were expecting that. You swing off of your mare, and stow your more important belongings with her, keeping with you only your sword, shield, and medicine kit. You examine the door carefully, and find that—at least from this side—it is as plain as it appears.

You open the door, and step inside.

The base of the tower is rather bare. There are a few crates and boxes, covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs. There is a conspicuous lack of traps. You frown, step further in, and wait for the door to slam behind you.

It does not.

Suspicions piqued, you start up the twisting and winding ramp (not stairs!) that lead to the top. You draw your sword as you do, ready to strike if anything—or anyone—pops out at you.

Nothing does.

There are still no traps; no guards; and no hints of magic. The most arduous thing about it is the trip to the top. Another plain, wooden door is there; though it has been painted a pale lilac. There is a small peephole near the top.

You see no strange mechanisms. No glowing runes. No door knockers with faces, ready to entice you into a battle of riddles.

Your frown only deepens. You push the door open, fully expecting to be greeted by the most heinous monster you’ve ever faced.

Instead, you find a young woman. You can only presume that this is the princess. She is seated on a plush couch, reading a rather thick book. She looks up at the creak of the door, and gives you a brief once over.

One brow raised, she asks, “Well? What are you doing here?”

“I’m… here to rescue you?” you say, but it comes out as more of a question. You feel dumb. Also numb. Off-balance. You aren’t sure what’s going on at all. Nothing here is what you expected it to be, and you’re not sure how to take that at all.

“Oh,” the princess says. She looks disinterested again. “Mm. Thank you, but no thank you. I am perfectly content where I am.”

“I… but…” You stop. You’re not really sure where you were going with that.

The princess sighs. She marks her place, and lays the book on a side table. She gestures to one of the chairs. “Let me guess,” she says. “A lovely little old lady hired you. Very sweet, greets everyone with a plate of cookies. She shuffles more than walks and leans on a cane. Very harmless. Very unassuming. She told you a sob story about a poor princess, shut in a tower for… Oh, I can’t imagine what she used this time. Someone was jealous? They were afraid I would be stolen away? I’ve been cursed?”

“Um.” You’ve taken a seat now. “A dragon had taken you and hid you here, to hold you for ransom.”

The princess rolls her eyes. “Ah. We’re stereotyping dragons, now. Lovely.” She rearranges the blanket on her legs. “The truth, then. I am a princess, she did not lie to you about that. However, I am not in this tower because of dragons, curses, jealousy, beauty, or whatever reasons she can dream up. This tower was, in fact, my idea.”

“Why?” you blurt.

The princess smiles. There’s something a little secretive about it, like she’s letting you in on something. “You see,” she says, “I was born a little different from the rest of the world. Not much, mind, but enough to make it hard for me to function in your world. I’ve got a touch of power in me. I can, of course, cast spells. But that is not why I am here. I am here because I also have a touch of the Sight. And that… well. It makes me a little… sensitive.” She drums her fingers on the arm of the sofa. “It is hard to explain, because I can do so many different little tricks, but I will try. Since you came all this way.

“The main one, I think, is being able to sense emotions. This one is not something I can turn off. Being in a crowded room is… overwhelming. I can feel what everyone else is feeling, and they are hardly ever feeling the same things. It is enough to drown my own emotions out, and it is—I am sure you can imagine—unpleasant.

“I can also sense surface thoughts, sometimes. When they are very loud, or when I care to turn an ear to them. When I was younger, I could not control this, and… thus, crowds of people were, once again, very uncomfortable.

“And, of course, I can predict things. With an object—clear or mirrored, preferably—I can see things going on in other places. It takes focus, and practice, and it helps if I’ve been there or have a clear idea of what I am looking for, but it is possible. I can catch glimpses of things that will happen, or could happen.

“I can also see the future of an object, if I touch it. Or look into its past, see where it’s been. This was another thing I could not control as a young one, and made things very, very unpleasant.

“There are other things, too, but these are the three that made me seek solace here. I get visitors. I leave sometimes. But, yes. My being here is very much a choice. I thank you, again, for your concern. But it is not warranted.”

“I…” You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I do not understand why I was sent here, then. If you are not in danger.”

“Ah. Well.” The princess smiles wryly. “The old woman who sent you here is not an old woman at all. That is the disguise she dons, when she sends people to me. I believe because it makes her seem more trustworthy… or perhaps because she thinks its funny. I don’t know.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. She sent you here, the same way she did the others, because she wants to use you to get past my wards.” She turns her gaze from you, and looks at the door you came in. “Isn’t that right, Muriel?”

In the doorway stands a woman who is nothing like the little old lady who plied you with cookies and a sob story about a kidnapped princess. She has long golden hair that shines in the window light. She walks with a finely carved staff; a glowing orb at the top. When she gets close, however, you can see her eyes. And those—those are the eyes of the old lady. Warm brown with a touch of humor. She sits in the empty seat.

“You turned the last three away at the door,” Muriel says. “I was beginning to think that you were angry with me.”

The princess hums. “I don’t know why you bother with the pretext,” she says. “You could just have them deliver a letter.”

“I could. But then however would I test their virtue?”

“Virtue?” you ask, before you can stop yourself. You are still so terribly confused. You lost the plot somewhere around when you opened that first door—and you don’t think you’d ever quite caught back up.

Muriel looks at you, as if she was surprised that you were still there. “Well, yes, darling,” she says. “First to see if you were willing to face a dragon to rescue a princess you’d never even met. And then to see if you could get through the doors. They don’t let you in unless you’re pure of intention.”

That doesn’t really clear anything up.

“But why?”

“I presume to keep the princess safe.”

“That’s not what our good knight is asking, and you know it,” the princess chides.

Muriel grins. “Because I’ve need of you, good knight. We’ll get to that. For now…” She looks back the princess. “What do you think, dear? You know I trust your judgment more than anyone else’s.”

“Speak more plainly, Muriel,” the princess says. “I’ve no idea which scheme you’re speaking about now. I can’t possibly keep track of them all.”

Muriel huffs. “The knight, dear.”

The princess gives you another once over. “Depends,” she says. “What is it you’re needing?”

“The gryphon, I think.”

The princess seems to consider that, then sniffs. “No. You’d be better off asking one of the other three.”

You feel indignant.

“I would send this one for the unicorn.”

Less indignant. But only just.

“Oh, truly?” Muriel looks at you again, and there is a new appreciation in her eyes. “Well. You know best, on the subject of unicorns, I suppose.”

“It isn’t that I don’t appreciate the flattery, because I do. However, I really must ask you to drop the pretense. You didn’t come all of this way to ask me that. Speak true, Muriel.”

“Perhaps I just wanted to see you.” Muriel’s tone and expression goes coy, almost coquettish.

A ghost of a smile appears on the princess’s mouth. “If you wish to engage me in courtship, Muriel, there are far less roundabout ways to go about it. Which, mind, I would appreciate far more than the games.”

Muriel flushes, almost imperceptibly. “Ah. Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

The princess inclines her head, and in a gentler tone says, “Your affections would be welcome.”

“Truly?”

“I would not lie to you, dear,” the princess says. “However, once again, I must ask you to speak the truth. Why have you come?”

Muriel sighs. “Your perceptiveness grates, you know?”

“So you have said.”

“Fine. I have come to steal you away again.”

“Ah. Where to?” The princess looks remarkably calm at that comment, though your hackles have raised. Wherever Muriel wishes to go, you do not think the princess should have any part of it. You have a feeling, though, that if you said anything, the princess would—kindly—tell you to mind your own business.

“The Wilds,” Muriel says.

This means nothing to you, but the princess nods.

“Of course,” she murmurs to herself. “Right, well. When do you wish to leave?”

“Once I’ve gotten this one packed off,” Muriel says. She gestures to you.

“Do I get a say?” you ask. Demand.

“Well of course, dear,” Muriel says. “You’ll either take the mission I give you or… go off to do whatever you do when you’re not taking quests from strange women. Either way.”

You huff, but nod.

“Very well,” the princess says. “I am agreeable.”

“Excellent.” Muriel sends her a quick flash of a smile. The glimpse you catch is soft and subtle. The princess’s own lips quirk in response… and then suddenly, both their eyes are on you again.

Muriel is looking at you like she’s a cat and you’re… something small and skittering. You don’t know if she’s going to pounce, or if she just wishes to watch, but either way—you’re more than a little unnerved.

The princess, on the other hand, looks kind and a little amused. “Any questions?” she prompts.

“Why did she—you—need my help to get in the tower? If you two are friends, I mean.”

“Because Muriel practices dark magic,” the princess says plainly.

You start; sitting up right as if a rod has just been plunged through your spine.

The princess laughs. “That does not mean that she is evil. Your knightly virtue is still intact. Dark magic is simply a tool, like any other, and Muriel wields it well.”

“But…”

The princess reaches out, and lays a hand on yours. You can feel the weight of it through your gauntlet, though not much else. “Muriel is something of a trickster, it is true. She lies. Sometimes for a good reason, and sometimes simply for her own amusement. She does not mean any harm when she does it… and so, she will never quite be sorry for it. It is her way. But let this be a lesson to you. If you work with her—or, truly, anyone else—do your research before blindly following what they tell you.” She pats your hand, and withdraws. “Now. Muriel will explain what she wants you to do, if you let her, while I get ready.”

She stands, folds the blanket she had been using, and takes her book off to another room. You are left alone with Muriel, and you eye her warily.

Muriel does not seem to mind your distrust. If anything, it seems to amuse her more. “So,” she says. “Unicorns.”

“I won’t kill one,” you say, immediately.

Muriel laughs. “Nor would I ask that of you,” she says. “I do not wish for you to kill one. Nor maim one, capture one, or any other nasty thing your mind has conjured up.” She reaches into a satchel, and pulls out a small vial. Inside is a beautiful, shimmering liquid. “You are familiar with Eaton’s River, yes?”

You nod. You’d been, once.

“Mm. If you follow the river north, to its source, you’ll come to the mountains. More specifically, to the forest at the base of those mountains. Keep going, and you’ll reach a waterfall—and, of course, a lake. The lake has a dock… and likely, a rowboat. Do not take the rowboat, though you may be tempted. Instead, pour the contents of this vial into the lake.

“When that is done, make camp by the lake. You may drink from it, but do not bathe in it. Go further down the river for that—past the ring of trees surrounding the area. You shouldn’t have to stay for long. No more than three days. Eventually, you will see a unicorn. Do not worry about missing it. Its presence will wake you up.

“Do nothing to it, unless it does something to you, first. If it speaks to you, those words are yours alone. If it lays its head in your lap, that moment is yours to keep. When it leaves, you are free to go as well.

“However, there are things I wish you to keep an eye out for. First, a white deer. Stag or doe, it matters not. Only that is pure white. Do not kill it, but if you see it, I wish to know about it when both you and I have returned.

“Second, the unicorn itself. I wish to know the color of its horn; whether or not it has any markings; and if it is alone or not.

“Lastly, the water. Tell me if there is anything built on the mound in the middle; if there is anything strange about the boat beyond the urge to get in it; whether anything happens when you pour the water in; and most importantly… whether or not you see anyone or anything inside the water during your time there. Even if you believe it is a hallucination.

“Am I clear?”

You blink, but nod.

“Excellent.” She pulls out a piece of paper, and she hands that to you as well. “These are the instructions I have just stated. Now. Tell me, knight. Will you do this?”

“Why?” you ask.

“A vested interest in magical ecology,” Muriel says primly.

The princess emerges, a bag slung over her shoulder. She approaches you both. Whatever she sees on your face has her smiling. “You’ve gone and confused the poor thing, Muriel. Are you allergic to explaining yourself?”

“Yes,” Muriel says. “You can’t see it, but my arms have broken out into terrible hives.”

The princess snorts, and looks at you. “The unicorn needs to be checked on. They’re quite rare, you know, and it’s good to make sure they’re still healthy. I imagine Muriel also wishes to know if it has made any friends, or reproduced.”

Muriel inclined her head.

“The lake has its own creatures within. They’re not friendly, so do not engage with them. They’ll drown you. The potion she’s given you is… highly magical. In this case, it does many things. It will… the closest I can think of is ‘get them drunk.’ They will still overpower you if you get in the water, but they won’t actively pursue you.

“It is also power enough to attract the unicorn, to ensure that you get a look at it. And, it has the added bonus of cleaning the water out a bit.” The princess shrugged. “An ingenious little vial.”

“And the deer?” you ask.

“Attracted to the presence of the unicorn,” the princess says. “Or perhaps caused by the unicorn’s own magic—I’ve never been quite sure. Either way, it means that the land there is responding to the presence of the unicorn. It’s a good thing. A very good thing.”

Muriel said you had a choice in this, but… the way they spoke, it sounded like you already decided to go. Which… you will, of course, because while this is not the quest you had envisioned for yourself, it still sounds important, and befitting of your training. They way they assume is a bit grating, but… Whatever. Your instructor had once told you that, of those who give you quests, magical folk rank just behind nobility in how grating they could be.

“Right then,” Muriel says, at your nod. “Time for the lot of us to be off. We’ve got things to do.”

You stand. “I still don’t quite understand who the two of you are,” you admit. There is more going on here than you understand—context that you’re lacking.

“We’re a Seer and a Witch,” Muriel says, as if this makes things plain. “A trickster and a truth-seer. A commoner and a princess.”

“We are what we are,” the princess says, laying a hand on Muriel’s arm. “And what we are works very well together. That is all that matters.”

“But… I mean… what do you do?”

“What needs doing,” the princess says. “Whether that is relocating unicorns, closing portals to the abyss, or removing curses.” She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it too much. Either it will become clearer to you one day… or it will not.”

“Then you mean to see me again?”

“Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?” Muriel asks. “Whether you decide to work with me again.”

You suppose that’s true. You give a nod, and this time it is Muriel who smiles at you.

“Off we go, then,” she says.

The three of you exit the tower, and part ways at the door. You retrieve your things where you left them, and look on towards the horizon. It’s a long way from here to the river.

You shoulder your pack, and start walking.

#writeblr #writers of tumblr #writelr #fantasy fiction #my writing #a conspicuous lack of dragons #short fiction

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ccsthemovie2 · 3 years

Text

trick or treat 2021 letter

DEAR MY KIND AND HARDWORKING GIFTER,

hi there my ao3 is zagspect and thanks in advance for making me a piece of fic or art in this fun little exchange! heres some food for thought to munch on.

i loooove slice of life, character moments, outsider povs that make things we’re used to in canon seem absurd or funny or weird or scary, humor, horror-in-fluff’s-clothing, sweetness-found-in-horror, and also just plain sweetness. feel free to get weird or experimental with your writing if you think the moment calls for it :3 im not really requesting anything sexy-nsfw in this exchange so pls keep things down to a nice pg13 (high-rated gore for higurashi work is an exception, lol, like, it’s when they cry. that’s just part of the deal.)

🌸✨

cardcaptor sakura (trick or treat!)

clear card manga spoilers are fine with me! manga and anime canon are both fine, and mashing them up is cool too. no aus past that though, please!

clow reed

the big man himself! scare me with his his manipulative tendencies, his eternal pushpull fear of both being eternally relied on and being no longer needed, the way he treats other people, especially people who love him. (yue! the madoushi! i am into both of these being unrequited romantically on his end, but he’s not gonna just gonna tell them that, you think he’s straightforward like that?) what’s daily life like in the clowse? creating a new card, what’s that like? does everybody get along with the normal, non magic neighbors?

yelan li

what’s up with her??? what’s her relationship with her children like, what are the responsibilities of a magician family’s head, how weird is it that clow is kind of back all of a sudden, what’s her thoughts on sakura? fleshing out a minor character is always fun :]

eriol & li

okay, so, we get to the end of the original series. syaoran returns to hong kong. ????????. syaoran is in cahoots with eriol to (vaguely alluding to cc spoilers in case you haven’t caught up in the manga), do some pretty serious magic behind sakura’s back.

so, like... what went down in the ?????

kero & sakura & yue

they’re FAMBILYYYYY. magic found family i love them so much. show me the depths of their care for her, and hers for them, the way there’s absolutely some ice to break with yue but when he gets loyal he will DIE for you, the way sakura can mend the rift between kero and yue, the way the two of them are balancing this wonderful openness and equality with oh yeah, she’s eleven, we kind of said some seriously dark stuff in the haze of sleepover talk didn’t we?

ruby & spinel & eriol

pre-canon or mid-canon or post-canon! what’s the dynamic between them, a quiet night in, a day out telling people that you’re connected by whatever lie you find funniest. going to tomoeda and having to pretend youre a kid, a teen, and a cat, but goddd you could all go for an elegant and adult glass of wine right now (especially the cat). what horrors are lurking in that house from the clow era that no one cares to address? like emotionally and also because it’s a magic wizard house with magic stuff in it.

touya/yukito/yue

i am here for any and all angles of this ship- all together, your touyukis, your yuetouyas, your yuekitos if you wanna get in on a rarely seen angle! (but pls have touya and/or yukito be 18+ at a time where yue shows interest in them). i wanna see the way they interact! how they deal with, you know, the everything! pre-relationship pining, going on a date, touya and yukito in college wondering if they’ll end up having different majors, different paths for the first time. yukito seeing yue on video for the first time (OH NO HES HOT), yukito and yue figuring out internal boundaries, etc etc etc.

naoko and touya

the girl who loves ghosts and the guy who sees (or, used to see), ghosts! does she follow him to one of his haunts (pun intended)? does he have to go to her for ghost sensing advice now that he’s a regular old human? does he have to save her from a ghost that means her harm? how excited is she to tell sakura about the COOL GHOST I MET WITH YOUR BROTHER OMG U DIDNT TELL ME HE LIKES GHOSTS??? and how much does sakura wanna sink into the ground lololol

🌹⚔️

revolutionary girl utena (trick or treat!)

ohh, what a place of scary happenings! tell me a fairytale, even if it’s not such a good idea. pre, mid, postcanon, im fine with it all. feel free to weave a web with easter egg references to any other media you feel is right for the moment- utena is all about Genre and Stories!

shadow girls

i love them i love their whole everything. i wanna see a play, i wanna see them interact with other characters! what if they do a play AS the other characters, ooooh.

anthy/utena

THE GIRLS WHO INVENTED LOVE THEMSELVES. ive read a thousand stories of them finding each other and it never gets old. id love to read about their life post-ohtori, especially the not-so-happily-ever-after parts- the old wounds reopening, the fights, and how they work through it, wont lose each other ever again.

saionji/touga

what’s spookier than toxic masculinity? both of them miserably stuck, saionji obsessed with touga, touga believing anyone who believes in friendship is a fool. bro we are taking shirtless pictures among 500 potted cacti....why does my heart hurt..... oh shit its the cactus i rolled onto it ow ow

nanami

nanami being nanami! she’s got no clue how to act ever, she’s desperate, she’s trying SO HARD. i’d love to see a nanami finally getting out of there, too. leaving home with nothing but the clothes on her back, diamonds in her necklace, and a wheeled suitcase of raw eggs.... (crunch crunch crunch)

🎲🗓

higurashi when they cry (trick or treat!)

i’m a gou/sotsu enjoyer and gonna prompt about that a lot but original flavor is, of course, great too. pls dont go too heavy on info outside the main 8+saikoroshi+gou/sotsu? i haven’t read those. ive read umineko+ciconia though so references there are fine :3

rena/mion/keiichi

college days! getting together, crushing on each other, poly relationship figuringouts? dates that are just club meetings with kissing and all the ridiculousness of that.

satoko/rika

gou/sotsu era TOXIC LESBIAN EPIC MOMENTS!!!!!! obsession and desperation and satoko putting all her emotional eggs in rika’s basket no matter how angry she is with her, rika’s love for satoko across 100 years and how that all crumbles (to satoko) in the face of rika’s Cool School. rika wanting satoko to go to school with her so so so bad. deep pain and misunderstandings and acting badly (like, murder badly), and then, we hope, atonement and something new beginning? i love character moments where someones so obsessively in love it feels like its eating them up inside.

rena & satoko

look, rena’s smart and really pays attention to how people feel and i think, before or after satoko becomes a looper but especially after, she would make an attempt to have a heart to heart with satoko. and satoko, as a looper, will politely brush her off, will go you dont know me you can’t affect me. youre just a chess piece. when i get to the miracle world where rika loves me, ill listen to you. this you is here to die, or to kill.

eua

oh eua is just using satoko up like a bar of soap and it takes satoko way, way too long to realize. evil girltalk/crush advice from the witchmom perhaps?

shion

meakashi made me LOVE her. internal shion moments, perhaps? shion being an empath (decides what ppl are thinking and instantly believes it)? shion in gou-era wanting to talk to satoko about st. lucia’s, but she never shows up to dinner?

okay i think that’s all for now!!! thanks and i hope you have fun!!!

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flamehairedwritings · 4 years

Text

The Fiancé: Chapter Seven

Characters: Steve Rogers x Female Plus-Size Reader

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY

Summary: A lie about your best friend at a Christmas party spirals into world news, but a previously unknown threat leaves you having to now live the lie of Steve Rogers being your fiancé.

Originally based on the prompt ‘Character A’s ex will be at the Christmas Party A is attending. Character B poses as A’s fiancé,’ by @alloftheprompts.

A/N: The whole series will include swearing, alcohol, threat, violence, apartment sharing, protected sex, and more tags to be added!

The Fiancé Masterlist

All Works Masterlist

Read on AO3

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

The Interview

THURSDAY

Your alarm going off for the third time is like Hell’s bells itself.

Groaning like you’ve just risen from the dead, you fling your arm out, trying to find your phone amongst the covers. Did you go to sleep holding it? Did you drop it somewhere? Did you put it on the beside tabl─ No, there it is.

Scooping it up, your thumb taps across it, trying to find the section on the screen that will get it to stop, eventually finding it.

Releasing a long, slightly steadying breath, your eyes remain closed as you take stock.

There’s a dull ache in your head, uncomfortable and constant, the champagne and cocktails betraying you. Your skin still feels strange from where you scrubbed it. And...

Today’s the fucking day.

You’ve been dreading it all week. Shoving it to the back of your mind, despite the seemingly constant reminders from everyone around you.

And you know you’re already irritable, a concoction of hungover irritable, barely any sleep irritable and just fucking plain I hate this shit irritable. You’d tossed and turned all night, going over and over and over in your mind what they could ask. You’d thought about Marise, too, about the car attack, about Steve.

Opening your eyes, you roll onto your back and look up at the ceiling.

Marise.

The paint.

The car attack.

Steve has stalkers.

Someone had tried to break in.

That’s a lot for one gal to take in.

Humour is a good coping mechanism... for now.

I wonder if SHIELD will cover my therapy fees.

You want to laugh, but you no longer find any of this ridiculous or dumb.

And today’s the fucking day.

If you don’t get up, Nat will probably just burst in and get you up.

I wonder how she’s doing with all of this.

You make a mental note to actually ask her, and shove the covers off, slowly pushing yourself up in case your head or stomach protests. Thankfully, neither do, but the ache lingers in your mind.

Padding into the bathroom, you turn the light on and inspect the remnants of the night before.

Your outfit, blue and piled on the floor, the blue-tinged cream towels in the sink, and the smell of the paint that lingers in the air. You kick the outfit aside, not wanting to deal with it right now, and take the towels out of the sink, dropping them down onto the floor, too.

That’s this evening’s problem.

You picture yourself getting in later, the interview over, the day done, and you hold onto it, hold onto that, after today, there’s just two days left. Two days and then it’s all over.

—

After showering, and trying to get the last, lingering stains of blue off, you dress and step out of your room. You expect there to be a horde of agents again or a PR team or a stylist or someone like that but... it’s quiet.

All you can hear is the gentle sound of a spoon stirring in a mug.

Moving down the stairs, you glance into the kitchen and there’s Steve, dressed in black jeans, a light blue button up tucked into them, his hair perfect.

It’s always fucking perfect.

He meets your gaze as you reach the bottom step and smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” you answer, a lot less brightly, and slide into one of the stools at the island, resting your chin in your hands.

A corner of his mouth lifts a little higher as he folds his arms, leaning back against the counter. “How’re you feeling?”

You look up and meet his gaze.

He chuckles and nods. “All right, copy that. Can I get you anything?”

Do you really want to eat? You feel a little queasy, hungover-queasy and nervous-about-an-interview queasy, though you don’t want your stomach to rumble throughout the whole thing. Ugh... Maybe just a drink, then.

“I could do with a glass of water.”

“All right. Let’s get you hydrated again.”

You exhale a long breath as he turns and opens a cupboard, pulling a glass out.

“Where is everyone?” you ask after a moment as he fills it with water.

“I told them not to come until 11.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. That gives you about half an hour of peace, then. You smile your gratitude as he places the glass before you, and you take a long drink as he returns to his position, his arms folding across his broad chest once more.

Slightly breathless, you lower the glass and lick your lips, then look back up at him.

You both smile, his easy, yours a little tight.

There’s that awkwardness again... and that feeling that he’s trying to stay up beat and protect you, that you’re fragile and will shatter at a moments notice.

Well... After yesterday...

“How are you feeling?” you ask before he can have the chance to.

He nods, his tongue running behind his teeth. “Fine. Well...”

You pause, watching him.

He sighs and rests his hands against the edge of the counter behind him. “... Same as you’re feeling, I imagine.”

You give a small smile, playing with your hands in your lap. “Absolutely shit, then?”

He chuckles, raising his eyebrows. “Somethin’ along those lines.”

You nod a few times, looking down at your hands before glancing up at him, a wider smile pulling at your lips. “... We could just run away, you know. You’re an expert at being secretive, I’m dying to go on holiday.”

His smile matches yours. “You think we could make it to the airport before anyone notices?”

You pull a faux face of annoyance. “What, you don’t have a private jet?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, it’s the least SHIELD could give you.”

He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the ground as you tap your fingers against your glass, you’re smile lingering.

“Are you nervous?” you ask quietly.

He glances up at you, slightly surprised. “Me? Uh... Yeah, a little.”

“Why? You’ve done interviews before, you did those school videos, and you were part of that show in the 40s.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This isn’t any different.”

He blinks slightly, then shrugs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, I—”

“No,” you interrupt with a sigh, your heart sinking as you close your eyes for a moment before looking at him. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it into some kind of a competition or invalidate how you feel. Or snap. I know this is just as shitty for you.”

He looks at you, the smile returning to his lips. “It’s all right, I get it. At least we’re in this shittiness together, huh?”

You give a smile, wrapping your hands around the glass.

... Except we’re not. I’m the one finding things out last, I’m the one getting abuse and paint thrown at me, I’m the one who... well, all of that pales in comparison to someone wanting to kill him.

Unreasonable. That’s what you’re being.

God, I hate being irritable.

And you’re going to have to spend the next three hours acting like you’re the happiest person in the entire world.

It’s three hours. We’ll be fine.

—

You don’t fucking feel fine.

In yet another SUV, heading, speeding, more like as Nat’s driving, towards the America Today studio, your stomach is twisting and turning.

I should’ve said I felt sick. Should’ve said yesterday was too much and I can’t cope with today, everyone would have understood.

... Yeah, they would have, and it’s fucking true, you don’t think you can cope with today... but you wouldn’t have been able to forgive yourself. This is the last big chance to find any more suspects.

Suspects, hang on...

Licking your lips, you look at Nat.

“What happened with the person who rammed me and Sam? Where are they?”

“In SHIELDs custody.”

Your eyebrows raise as she doesn’t go on, and you glance at Sam sat beside her. “... So... What’s going on with them, who are they?”

Nat answers. “They’re being interrogated, but they’re not giving up much.”

Sounds like someone I know.

“Are they recognised on any databases, though? Or anything like that?”

Sam shifts in his seat slightly.

“No, they’re not. Not yet.”

You look at her, your stomach sinking. “So...”

It’s Steve who answers this time, your gaze darting to him. “So we might not find out who we’re dealing with and have to rely on guys like the one in custody to give their buddies up and work out the network from there.”

His expression is open and honest, but you wonder how his own words make him feel; that they don’t know the people who want to kill him, that this is a new threat and they might never be able to find them all.

Because it’s made your fucking heart race.

“Right.” Well, I did want honesty. “... Well, guess today’s pretty fucking important then, huh?” you smile, wanting, needing, to lighten the tone.

Steve matches your smile as Nat keeps her eyes on the road and Sam lets out a good-natured chuckle. You glance at Nat.

Yeah, I need to ask her how she’s doing.

The SUV starts to slow and, oh, fuck we’re here. In yet another underground parking lot, I’m sick of these things.

As the guard at the barrier checks Nat’s ID and registers you all, you stare at the back of Sam’s seat. It’s terrifying that they might not know who they’re dealing with, but it’s also the motivation you need to make today go well and smooth and without anyone suspecting anything.

I can do this, I can do this, I can do this...

After you’re waved through, Nat parks on the next level down in a designated space of the quiet, filled lot. As you all get out of the car, Sam the only one staying, there’s the quiet sound of an elevator arriving at the level and the doors sliding open. Heels on concrete echo across the lot and as you round the SUV you’re greeted by the sight of two burly security guards and a beaming woman with brown hair in a tight bun wearing a mint-green pant-suit.

“Good afternoon!” she announces, striding towards you all. “On behalf of America Today, I’d like to welcome you and thank you for choosing us to tell your story!”

You smile automatically as Nat says, “Thanks. Shall we go up?”

She’s already heading towards the elevator and the woman appears briefly flustered before she beams again and gestures for you to follow her. “Of course, everyone’s ready and waiting for you!”

Oh, fuck...

You swallow and your heart pounds against your rib-cage as you all move to the elevator. Then you feel Steve’s hand taking yours, lacing your fingers together. You glance up at him and a corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile which you manage to return.

Right, happy couple.

Or did he do that to comfort me.

I don’t know anymore.

There’s space for you all in the large elevator, you and Steve standing in the middle, your hands still linked, and the woman, Maeve, she introduces herself as, rattles on about there being a small buffet set up if you’re hungry with any kind of drink that you want, to let her know if you need anything, they can run out and get anything, anything at all, everyone’s so happy and excited, this is going to be such a big and historic day and...

As she goes on and on, you stare at the back of one of the security guards, trying to keep your breathing under control. You wouldn’t be surprised if they could all hear your heart. You feel like you can, it pounding in your ears.

You don’t realise that if Steve was an average man, your grip would be considered uncomfortably tight. Instead, he just keeps ahold of your hand, glancing at you, his jaw moving.

He hates that he can’t say anything to comfort you. Then he thinks, hang on...

The elevator slows to a halt, and the doors open. People walk about, talking on phones, talking to each other, you can hear other people calling to each other, the sound of equipment moving. Stepping out of the elevator behind the security guard, you realise you’re on a set, a horde of cameras to the right, obscuring what must be where the interview will be, to the left is a small foyer area and four doors leading into other rooms.

“Righty...” Maeve says as she turns to you all, still beaming. “Steve, if you could follow me, Y/N, Emma here will help you get ready.”

Hang on, what...

Steve’s hand leaves yours as Maeve gestures for him to follow and a woman with a warm smile and short, black, coiled hair approaches. You turn to Steve to give a small smile and maybe crack a joke about never seeing him again, when his hand lifts and settles on the back of your neck. Blinking, you don’t move as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See you in a minute, sweetheart,” he says as he draws back with an easy smile, his hand dropping and his eyes twinkling, and all you can do is stare at those fucking broad shoulders as he follows after Maeve because, what.

...

... uh...

Your brain might have actually disappeared.

Happy couple.

Or did he do that to comfort me.

I. Don’t. Know. Any. More.

Emma clears her throat quietly and your gaze darts to her as Nat says, “Y/N.”

“Sorry, what?” Your gaze now darts to Nat, who stands with her arms folded, an eyebrow raised and... oh, no. A faint smirk on her lips.

“Go with Emma.”

Your face warm, you nod and look to her, smiling widely as she does the same. “Sorry, yes, lead the way.”

Hoping she’ll just chalk your moment there down to love-sickness, you follow after her as she takes you to one of the doors.

“How are you doing?” she says as she opens the door for you, letting you go in first, and you raise your eyebrows slightly as you consider the question.

I can be nervous. I can show that I’m nervous. Real fiancée or not, I can be nervous.

“I’m pretty nervous, actually.”

You take a seat in the closest comfortable-looking chair facing a large mirror as she closes the door, and it muffles the sounds of the set.

Thank God.

She smiles empathetically as she opens one of the many bags on the table under the mirror and searches through it, meeting your gaze in the reflection. “I can imagine it is. That’s perfectly normal, though, and everyone here just wants you to be comfortable.”

Everyone but my own brain.

You just return her smile, though, clasping your hands together on your lap. “That’s comforting. How are you?”

Her smile brightens. “I’m fine, thank you, I’m excited. I’ve always been a Cap’ fan, and it’s nice to meet you, too.” Emma’s smile falters a little as her features soften. “I’m so sorry to hear about what happened yesterday.”

As she starts to apply foundation to your face, your gaze shifts to the mirror, looking at yourself. Even you can tell your demeanour changes slightly at the memory. “Thank you.”

The brush on your skin is gentle and light as she blends the foundation in. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you feel that everyone hates you, but I can tell you that’s not true.”

You glance at her in the reflection, quiet.

She sighs softly, leaning back and meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Oh, girl... The world doesn’t hate you, all right? My friends and I were talking about it this morning, hoping you’d be okay and know that that was just one person’s feelings... and from what I’ve read, she’s not exactly... stable.”

As she resumes brushing the foundation on, moving down to blend it into your neck where you know there’s still some patches of faint blue, you swallow hard because 1) you’re hungover and therefore more sensitive than usual, and 2) you forgot how kind people can be.

One negative, albeit horrible, experience has made you forget that.

“Yeah, but, you know... It’s the classic thing of you can hear nice things but you focus on the bad,” you murmur, your hands twisting together in your lap.

“I know. I’m not gonna name-drop but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had people, people who would surprise you, sit in this very chair and think that the whole world hates them after hearing just a couple of bad things.”

You look at her as she straightens and roots through another bag. Part of you thinks you shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t be telling her these things because she works for the studio and could tell someone and then it’d be a whole news story that you wouldn’t be able to escape and... But, no. Your feelings are right on this one, and you trust her.

She pulls out a small box of powder and takes another brush, starting to swipe it onto your skin. “My friends and I are huge fans of yours, anyway.”

You exhale a faint laugh as your eyebrows raise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she beams, brushing at your jaw. “I know we don’t know you, but, I don’t know, we just like you.”

“Well, thanks,” you say with a smile, even though that makes you feel a little strange.

“You’ve got some people in your corner, don’t worry,” Emma nods, straightening up. “Now...” Placing the powder and brush down, she places her hands on her hips. “... Can I do a little eyeshadow?”

“Sure, why not.”

At this moment in time, you’d let her do anything because she’s just so bloody nice.

And maybe it’ll make me look more alive.

You close your eyes as Emma chats away about a TV show she’s been watching, and it’s a nice distraction. For a little while you can pretend you’re having your make-up done and that’s all. She even gives you a head massage, files your nails and paints a clear polish over them, and brushes your outfit down with a lint-roller.

Of course, it doesn’t last long, though.

“... and there we go,” she announces as she stands back, and you open your eyes and look at yourself in the mirror.

Your skin looks smooth, there’s a little blush on your cheeks, she’s swept some eyeshadow over your lids that compliments your eye colour, added a little mascara and eye-liner, and, most importantly, there’s absolutely no blue paint to be seen.

I definitely look more alive.

Looking up at her, the corners of your mouth lift in gratitude. “Thank you, Emma, I look great.”

“Ah, you looked great before, I just added to it.”

As you rise out of the seat, she returns to the door and opens it, holding it for you. “I want you to remember what I said, all right? There are people in your corner.”

Your smile widens as you nod, crossing the room. “I’ll remember it. Thank you so much.”

She inclines her head with a beam. “Don’t worry about it, you’re gonna do great.”

Fuck, I hope so.

The noise of the set returns as you pass through the door, and all your anxieties come flooding back.

Don’t. There are people in your corner.

Nat stands outside the room, her hands clasped together. Turning to you as she hears you and Emma, her lips lift. “Hey, you look good. You want something to eat?”

You had in fact had a little something to eat back at the penthouse, Sam and Nat having arrived at 11 on the dot with a huge box of pastries, and the four of you had sat tearing into them for about half an hour as Sam had gone on about how Christmas shopping got more and more difficult every year, and then you’d gone over potential interview questions.

The thought of eating now, though, just makes you feel queasy. Shaking your head, you join her at her side, folding your arms, almost hugging yourself.

“No, thanks.”

“You want a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“You wanna get out of here?”

You glance at her, a faint smile on her lips, and you exhale a breath, your own lips twitching a little. “Nah. Steve and I talked about running away this morning already, but we reasoned it’d just be too much of a hassle.”

“Ah, that’s sensible.”

“Yeah, annoyingly.”

Nodding at the nearby couch, she moves to it. “Come on, let’s sit down. Gotta rest my legs while I can.”

Sitting beside her, you finally seize your chance. “So, how’re you doing?”

“I’m fine, thanks, how are you?”

“No, I mean, how are you really?”

Nat side-eyes you, an eyebrow arching a fraction. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, but really—”

“Y/N!”

Fucking hell.

Jolting, you look up to find Maeve beaming down at you.

“Wow! Look at you! Emma’s great, isn’t she? Would you like something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, she is. And, no, thank you.”

“All right, can I get you anything at all?”

She’s just doing her job, she’s just doing her job, she’s just doing her job...

“No, thank you.”

“Oke doke, let me know if you do, I’m just gonna see how Megan’s doing.” With another wide beam, she’s then trotting off to the set.

“Who’s Megan?” you murmur to Nat.

Nat inspects the nails on one hand idly. “The interviewer.”

“Oh.”

Because I’m here to do an interview, that’s right.

“You’re gonna be fine.” It’s like she can read your mind.

Glancing at her, you blow out a breath, looking down at your hands. “I just can’t wait for today to be over.”

“I know. It’s just a twenty minute interview, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Your gaze darts back to her. “What? I thought it was an hour?”

A corner of her mouth twitches. “It was. But then they wouldn’t tell me what they were gonna ask so I cut it down. It means essential questions only.”

I love you.

Your smile widening a little, you nod. “All right, I think I can handle that.”

“Good.” Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she taps on a message, answering swiftly.

Looking down at her phone before quickly looking away before you see anything you’re not meant to, you lick your lips. “... So how’s it going outside?”

“Fine.”

“Is there a big crowd?”

“Yeah.”

“The biggest this week?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah.” She puts her phone away, her arms folding across her chest. “Means there’ll be better cover for anyone wanting to blend in. We’ve got plenty of agents on site, too.”

“Well... That is good.”

She’s about to reply when she looks beyond you and raises her eyebrows. “God, you took your time.”

Turning your head, you pause as you see Steve approaching.

“Sorry, I was signing a few things, filming a few birthday messages, you know...” He looks sheepish and you smile quickly to console him, even as your stomach flutters.

You kissed me.

Technically.

Looking between you both, he returns your smile. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, so do you,” you answer automatically, even though he looks exactly the same because his skin is always smooth anyway and his hair’s always perfect and he’s always fucking gorgeous—

Slow down, stop it.

He opens his mouth when Maeve suddenly appears, again.

“Look at you both! Wonderful! Now, there’s about five minutes to go, so if you’d like to follow me, Megan’s ready, too.”

Five minutes.

You take a breath as you push yourself up, meeting Steve’s gaze. He smiles lightly, almost secretively, then holds out his hand to you.

A fucking life-line.

Sliding your hand into his, you return his smile as he squeezes it gently. Then, you both turn and follow after Maeve.

Nearing the set, your heart is pounding again, your eyes darting about, watching the crew set up and laugh and chat together.

It’s live.

It’s gonna be fucking live.

And I have to convince these people and the world that I’m happily engaged.

“Megan?” Maeve steps away a little as you round one of the cameras, and there the set is.

There’s a large Persian carpet in the centre with a small glass table on it, with three bottles of Fiji water, and three grey, fabric armchairs, one on the left side of the table, two on the other, and a few potted plants. The large window behind it provides the back drop and lighting, though there’s plenty of lights beside the cameras, too, and you can already feel the warmth of them. You suspect this isn’t where they’d usually conduct interviews like this; Nat had probably requested they do it here and this has been thrown together.

The interviewer, Megan Owens, smiles gracefully as she rises from her seat at Maeve’s voice. She’s dressed in a light blue, sleeveless dress with a red belt, coiffed, chestnut hair, and a radiant white smile, and you steel yourself.

Steve’s hand leaves yours as she extends her hand to him, and he takes it.

“Captain Rogers, it’s an honour to meet you,” she enthuses, her voice honey-warm.

“Just Steve is fine,” he insists as he shakes her hand with a smile, “It’s nice to meet you, too, Megan.”

If her perfect beam could have gotten any wider it would have as she simpers, “The pleasure is all mine.” Dropping his hand, her gaze then turns to you, her beam fixed in place. “Oh, and you must be Y/N.”

Duh.

“Hello,” you say brightly as you shake her hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Who am I.

“And lovely to meet you, too.” She shakes your hand lightly before pulling her hand back and raising it, gesturing at the studio. “What an honour it is to have you both here, thank you so much for choosing America Today for the interview, we’re so honoured, really.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve answers, surprising you by his hand returning to yours, lacing your fingers together.

Oh.

Megan gestures at the two grey chairs that are side-by-side. “Please, take a seat, you there, Y/N, and you there, Steve. Get comfortable.”

Hilarious.

As you sit, you in the one closest the window, Steve the one closest to the camera, you clasp your hands together in your lap without thinking.

Megan smiles at you as she crosses her legs. “I take it this is your first ever interview, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows rise as you manage a smile. “What gave it away?”

She laughs lightly as a man appears to smooth down her already perfect hair. “Oh, nothing, we just didn’t find any interviews in our research.”

You feel strange again, and try not to think about strangers searching you on the internet. Two women appear to mic you all up, and Megan continues as if they’re not there. “You’ll be fine. I suppose you can imagine what I’ll ask and the answers will just be about you or Steve so it’ll be nice and easy.”

Oh, I wish.

The woman finishes adjusting your mic and moves away, and you watch the other woman fit a device to Megan’s ear. So the producers can communicate with her, probably. They’ll be sat in a room somewhere, watching, excited. You’re surprised you haven’t met them, then again maybe it’s Nat’s doing. Maybe she’s tried to keep it as underwhelming as possible.

Nice try, but I’m still overwhelmed.

Another woman’s voice suddenly sounds from behind one of the many cameras as the mic woman moves off the set, and your gaze darts over automatically to find the source. “All right, everyone, quiet on set! Megan, you’re on in 5, 4—”

Silence descends. Your eyes dart back to Megan as your mouth dries and your stomach flips and you feel hot.

“ — 3—”

Suddenly, Steve’s hand finds yours in your lap and you grip his tightly, not caring if it’s for comfort or for show.

“— 2...”

Megan tilts her head as she looks into a camera, her hands folded on her lap. “Thank you, Andy and Jean, and good afternoon to you, America, and the world. Here with me today is a couple that needs no introduction. All week, right around the world, we’ve all been discussing them and their upcoming wedding, and now, in an exclusive interview, they’re here with us today to tell us the truth and details in all the speculation.” She looks to you both, her smile widening. “Steve and Y/N, thank you so much for joining us.”

“Thank you for having us,” Steve says as you just smile, hoping to whoever’s listening that you look relaxed.

“I’ll start with what we’ve all been dying to know, how did you two meet?”

Oh, fuck, I’m gonna have to take the lead on this one—

“Well,” Steve begins and God, thank you, “after I finished my rehabilitation with SHIELD, I wanted to find a place of my own for some sense of normality, and I wanted to be closer to the Triskelion, so I moved here and I ended up moving into the same building that Y/N would happen to.”

He’s told this story before, it’s nothing new, so you feel yourself relaxing a little... Except he glances at you, and you know in that split-second he’s judging whether you want him to carry on or whether you want to talk.

Well, I can’t just sit here like a lemon.

This is easy, you know this.

“I moved here after accepting a job offer and just took the first apartment I could,” you say, your voice mercifully steady, looking to Megan with a smile. “The landlord just happened to leave out that Captain America would be my neighbour.”

You’re bolstered suddenly by the surprising sound of quiet laughter from some of the crew.

Megan laughs, too, though hers seems to be more out of politeness. “So no pressure, huh?”

It’s your turn to laugh politely. “No, not at all. But I still didn’t know that when the evening I moved in I did what any good neighbour would do and I knocked on his door to introduce myself.” There’s more quiet laughter again, okay, I’m doing okay. “And he was very polite and kind as I just stared at him for about a minute thinking I’d lost my mind.”

That’s true... Except you leave out the part where you’d babbled in introducing yourself and had practically given him your whole life story out of nerves and embarrassment and just plain not being able to be quiet. He’d listened attentively the whole time and had even asked you, having gently cut off one of your ramblings, if you wanted to come in and sit down.

You’d said no, in horror, before quickly back-pedalling your tone and saying that you just didn’t want to disturb him.

He’d given you that smile and said you weren’t disturbing him at all.

The memory makes your stomach flutter.

“So, you two became friends after that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, “We just kept bumping into each other and then during one conversation we realised we were both classic film fans so we decided to watch one that was on TV that night together and then it became a weekly thing, and then we were going out for walks, having dinner together and just enjoying each others company.”

... Well, that’s not wrong.

“When did you two realise you were in love?”

You’re prepared for this but it still makes your stomach flip as you take the lead. “I think we just knew, you know? We spent a lot of time together and felt something change and now... here we are.”

You’d all agreed you couldn’t make every answer detailed, so you’re very pleased that you’d decided to make this one vague.

Megan smiles and hums in agreement before her gaze shifts to Steve as her smile widens. “Now, go on, Steve, what is it about Y/N that made you fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches in your throat slightly and Steve releases a polite laugh.

Oh my God, we didn’t prepare for this.

Remembering you’re on camera, your fixed smile widens a little more as you make yourself look at Steve. He glances at you, his eyebrows raising with a smile, before he looks to Megan.

“Well, as Y/N said, sometimes you just know, and who can explain love, right?” Megan hums in agreement. “... But,” Steve continues, his gaze returning to you, “... I think it was her empathy and kindness, her sense of humour, the fact we can talk about absolutely anything until about 2AM, and... just how easy it is to be with her, really.”

You can’t look away from him, your lips slightly parted, your face warm, and he’s not looking away either.

“And what about you, Y/N?”

You blink and look at her, before back to Steve. “Well, I, I would say it’s how comfortable he makes me feel. I can always be myself around him and I don’t feel judged, and he makes me feel valued.” Your smile softens as you look at him. “It’s so easy to be with him, too, there’s honestly no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with.”

Oh. Oh, no.

That last part just slips out, but that’s fine, that’s absolutely fine because you’re meant to be in love, that’s fine.

Looking away, your face so fucking hot, you smile at Megan, who looks suitably charmed.

“That’s so lovely. What do you do for work, Y/N?”

Right, this is an easy one, that’s good.

“I work at June & Mayflower Publishing, I’m the Head of Marketing for the branch here in D.C.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Oh, I love it. I’m very lucky to have such great colleagues, too.”

And they’re probably screaming, ‘you’re damn right’, at the TV in the staff-room right now.

“And how do you feel when Steve has to go away for work, Y/N?”

Oh, fuck.

This was something you’d never, ever spoken about, either of you. You’d never told him that it’s always there in the back of your mind when he’s away that he could be hurt, could be captured, could die. How can you say that now, though? On live television and in front of him?

Keep it light, Nat had said when you’d discussed the probability of any difficult questions.

Smiling, my God, my cheeks hurt, you shrug slightly. “I know what I signed up for. His sense of duty and honour is one of the things I love about him, too. Yes, it can be hard being away from each other, sometimes for several weeks, but Dolly always says—”

“Dolly?” Megan interrupts gently.

Your smile is easy now as you nod. “Oh, sorry, my friend Dolly.”

“That’s a lovely name.“

“Yeah, her parents are huge Dolly Parton fans, which, who isn’t, she’s an icon, so they named her after her.”

Megan laughs, and it feels real. “Yes, she is an icon. But do excuse me, please continue.”

“Well, Dolly always says that if it’s right for you and something you really want, then it’ll work out, and Steve and I have and do make it work.”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently as you nod, and you assume it’s to tell you you gave a great answer.

Megan nods. “Well, absolutely, Dolly’s right.”

You all laugh politely, and then Megan’s smile is replaced by a gently sympathetic expression.

“Now, there was an incident last night at the The Venue, wasn’t there. what happened?”

You have to suppress a sigh. “Oh, I was there having a few drinks with two friends, one of them Dolly, the other Bridget, and someone threw paint on me.”

“Paint?” Megan responds with a tone of quiet shock, though you all know she already knew that.

“Yeah, blue paint.”

... For some reason, you’re smiling... maybe because fuck this, you can’t be bothered to spin a sob story.

There are people in your corner.

“I looked like a member of the Blue Man Group.”

Megan laughs, as do some of the crew, and Steve chuckles, and you feel a weight lift from your shoulders.

If I laugh, they haven’t won. In fact...

Waiting for Megan’s laugh to finish, you start to speak before she can.

“In all seriousness, though, I think what happened last night displays an issue we have in our society about how we treat people that we put on a pedestal, the people we consider celebrities. The way we’ve been hounded this week, it’s not healthy for anyone. I’ve had things shouted at me, and thrown at me, from people who don’t even know me but feel entitled to expressing an opinion that they believe is fact, formed from what strangers have written in papers and online and their own assumptions. They don’t know me or Steve, they’re assuming, and as last night showed that can be so dangerous, in fact history has shown it does get dangerous. There’s an obsession that people develop with celebrities that we have to ask ourselves how and why it gets to that point and who’s enabling them, because people have this sense of ownership over people they don’t even know and it’s not right.”

You kept your eyes on Megan as you spoke, so you don’t see the way Steve’s been looking at you.

With pride.

Megan looks quietly impressed, her eyebrows raising a little as she nods. “Wow, there certainly is a discussion to be had there. We’ll have to get you back for that one another time.”

“I’d love to.” You smile and incline your head, finding that you actually would.

“For now, though, you’re both going to be attending the Stark Christmas Party tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve takes over, and his hand is still held in both of yours, “We’re both really looking forward to it, it’s been a while since I’ve been to New York.”

“Will it be your first time at the Tower and meeting the Avengers, Y/N?”

“Uh, yes, it’ll be my first time there, and, yes, I suppose so, with all of them together.”

Oh my God, I haven’t even thought about that.

“What a sight that’ll be,” Megan gushes, “Will you be considering the Tower as a venue?”

You glance at Steve, watching his lips twitch. “Ah, no, no, we will not.”

You recall Nat having told you Steve had called it ‘ugly’ right in front of Tony.

“Are you looking for somewhere in Washington, then?”

“Yeah, we both like it here, and it means a lot to us ‘cause it’s where we met, so.” His hand squeezes yours and you look up at him, matching his soft smile.

We’re both acing this looking in love thing.

“Of course. And as for the dress, Y/N...?” She trails off with an expectant smile, and you feign a coy one as you look at her.

“Oh, I can’t speak too much about that, we all like a surprise.”

Don’t we bloody just.

“Oh, how unfair, I guess we’ll all just have to wait for the big day, then,” she laughs. “You were spotted at The Pearl, though...?”

“Yeah, I have been trying some dresses from there, and it’s such a lovely place, the staff are absolutely wonderful, I can’t praise them highly enough.” You smile widely, delighted you could give Sally and the assistants a shout-out. “Oh, and they have just as many dresses and suits in-store for those who are considered ‘plus-sized’ so I can’t recommend them highly enough.”

“Ah, yes, a story got out yesterday about you having to leave a store that didn’t cater, is that true?”

Your lips twitch at the memory. “Yes, it is, which is such a shame because from a business point of view they’re really missing out, and it just makes them look like idiots, to be honest.”

If Megan’s shocked at that she hides it well, and just nods. “Quite right. Well, The Pearl had better be ready for plenty of clients now,” she smiles, raising her eyebrows.

Then, she tilts her head and clasps her hands together on her lap. “Now, and I suppose this follows on from what you were saying about, as you say, people making assumptions, earlier today we did an interview with a co-worker and an old flame of yours.”

You freeze.

“Really?”

Megan nods and points towards where the cameras are. “For our audience, it’ll be airing later today, although it’s up on our website now, but if you could just both watch that screen, I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.”

You feel cold all of a sudden as you look at a TV screen, knowing the world is going to watch you watch your ex-boyfriend and whatever the fuck he has to say.

The screen goes from black to a clip of Joe, in a white button-up and navy tie, hands clasped together on his crossed legs, loose, relaxed, in his element, sitting across from Megan in what looks like a nicer room than this one.

He’s obviously just been asked a question because Joe takes in a breath as he looks up, considering his answer. Smiling almost sympathetically, he looks back to Megan.

“Y/N’s great, she really is. She’s really smart and a lot of fun, she was an absolute sweetheart... but she was quite insecure when we were together. She was quite quiet, and didn’t have much confidence, you know? She was always doubting herself and her work, and I tried to be there for her as much as I could, but there’s only so much you can do. She liked to be with her friends a lot and I just... I got a great job opportunity and had to do what was best for both of us, so I ended it.”

The clip pauses, but you remain staring at the screen, a surge of rage coiling within you.

“That’s classy,” you mutter.

Except you don’t mutter it, because it’s picked up by the microphone and everyone on the planet and universe will have heard it along with everything your ex has just said.

Megan’s eyebrows raise as she looks at you. “Classy?”

You look at her.

Fuck you, Joe.

Licking your lips, you shrug. “If I was all those things or came across that way it’s because that’s how Joe made me feel. He certainly didn’t make me feel happy, or satisfied.” You hear some quiet gasps and laughter. “It’s nice to now be with someone who makes me feel good about myself, despite and because of who I am.” Looking at him, your other hand now covers Steve’s. “He sees all of me and he still loves me.”

“Yes, I do,” he answers without missing a beat, without pausing.

Your breath catches in your throat as your stomach flutters. You hold each others gaze as Megan hums, and it’s only when she speaks that you both finally look away.

“That’s wonderful, that really is. So, I take it you disagree with everything Joe said?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He went on to suggest, as some people have, that you might be using Steve to further your career, what do you say to that?”

You feel Steve stiffen beside you but you just laugh. “Further my career? In publishing?” You look at him with a grin. “I didn’t know you had any pull in the publishing world.”

A smile blossoms across his features as he chuckles. “What can I say, you gotta have some secrets in a relationship.”

You laugh, the tightness in you chest gone, and as it fades you look back to Megan. “Look, I’m very happy where I am, for now I don’t want to progress any higher. I think it’s Joe who wants to further his career here.”

Despite your laughter, she seems to sense the rage that’s gently simmering in you and nods and smiles brightly. “Well, just one more question, then... When’s the big day?”

Steve answers this time. “We’ll be announcing that very shortly, not much longer to wait, I promise.”

Yeah, two days and then you’ll all find out.

Megan tuts good-naturedly, her smile still fixed in place. “I guess we’ll just have to trust you! And, unfortunately, that’s all we have time for.” Tilting her head, she raises her hands slightly. “Thank you once again for joining us, it’s been an absolute pleasure, and on behalf of everyone at America Today we wish you the warmest of congratulations.”

“Thank you very much,” Steve says as you force a smile, and Megan looks into a camera.

You stare at Megan because she doesn’t say anything else, and then the woman from earlier calls out, “And cut! Thank you, everyone!”

Voices erupt as people call out to one another and some people even clap. Looking up to try and find them, you just smile slightly, and then Megan’s rising out of her seat.

“You both did great,” she says as a woman rushes over to remove her earpiece and her mic. “And, Y/N...” You raise your eyebrows slightly, and she gives a light smile. “... Not bad for your first time.”

You feel yourself relax a little as someone else removes your mic and then Steve’s.

Steve.

Looking to him, he’s looking at the woman removing the mic, smiling and nodding his thanks before she moves away. Then he’s looking at you

His hand is still in yours.

He smiles softly, and you return it.

“Steve! Y/N!”

Oh, Maeve, you’re so good at your job but please leave us alone.

You both look up at her, beaming at you as always.

“That was fantastic! Can we just get a photo of you both and Megan?”

Nodding, slightly dazed because it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, you stand and Steve’s hand slips out of yours. Clearing your throat, you move down the set where Megan’s talking to who you assume is the woman who called out, possibly the director.

Her beam is back in place as she turns to you and stands between you and Steve. You just stare at Maeve’s phone and smile whenever she takes a photo of you three, and she takes several. Three people, two women and a man, come out of another room, and they’re introduced as the producers, and you shake their hands and say hello and receive their thanks and congratulations, and then you take a few photos with them as they thank you over and over again and say how great it was.

Then, thankfully, Nat’s there, talking over Maeve and thanking her and everyone and ushering you and Steve towards the elevator.

Oh my God, we get to go home now.

That was it.

The hardest thing is done.

You’ve done it.

Getting into the elevator, you feel lighter than you have in days, a breath leaving you. The doors slide shut, Maeve and the two security guards in there with you again as Maeve has insisted on seeing you down.

Looking at the doors, you don’t realise there’s a small smile on your lips.

Steve glances at you, and give a small smile of his own.

Then, you feel his hand on your back, rubbing gently. Looking up at him, you share your small, relieved, secretive smile, and you can’t stop your cheeks from warming. Looking away, your teeth grazing over your lower lip, you don’t notice him watching the movement.

The elevator slows to a halt, it chimes, and the doors slide open. As you step out, you spot Sam leaning against the SUV and give him a beam and a wave. He grins and gives you a thumbs up.

Turning to Maeve and the security guards, you, Nat and Steve take turns shaking her hand.

“Thank you so much, really,” she gushes, and, all right, she’s won you over and you’re beaming now. “This was such an incredible day for me, I’m so happy I could look after you and I hope you’ve had a good time.”

Why not.

“We did, Maeve,” you say before either Nat or Steve can answer, and you tilt your head. “Would you like a photo with us?”

Her mouth opens but nothing comes out, and then she’s scrabbling for her phone in her pocket. “Well, I, I wasn’t going to ask, it’s not professional and I’m not really allowed, but seeing as you offered I would absolutely love to.”

Catching Steve’s eye, grinning, you stand by Maeve’s side as Nat takes her phone and lifts it, her lips pressed together.

“All right, ready...”

Maeve’s arms go around you and Steve and she beams at the camera.

Nat taps the screen a few times before lowering the phone and stepping forward, handing it back to her. “There you go.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” she says, almost hugging her phone to her chest. “That’s so kind, thank you.”

As you go to say your goodbyes, you hear the elevator chime again, signalling it’s arrived, and out of instinct you glance over her shoulder to see who it is. The doors slide open and Joe—

Joe steps out with a man in a suit, laughing at something he just said.

You stare at him.

Why is he still here.

Oh... He must be doing other interviews.

... Pure rage surges within you once more.

You don’t hear Steve saying your name as you stride past Maeve towards him. Upon hearing your name, Joe lifts his head, his eyes land on you, and they widen.

“Oh, hey—”

Your hands slam against his chest, gripping the front of his jacket, and you shove him back, pushing him against the wall beside the elevator.

“Why the fuck did you do that, Joe?!” you hiss, “Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

You don’t see it, but Steve, having stepped forward, puts an arm out, halting the security guards and the man with Joe from going to his aid.

Joe stammers as he looks behind you for help, then back to you. “L-Look, I’m, I’m sorry, okay, but I don’t think I said anything that wasn’t truthful—”

“Really?!” You don’t realise you’re practically yelling. “You humiliated me, you told the whole world my insecurities like it was nothing, like you had the right to. You’re a fucking asshole, you always have been, and you didn’t deserve me.”

Releasing him, you step back, your breaths coming quickly, your jaw tight. You go to turn away when he quickly says, “I needed the money, Y/N.”

You scoff as you turn back to him, watching him straighten his jacket. “No, you don’t, Joe, you’re a manager—”

“I lost my job.”

You stare at him, your brow dipping. “What?”

He swallows, one hand going into his pocket, the other playing with his tie. “I was fired. A month ago. I moved back here to stay with a friend and find a new job. Yvette wouldn’t give me my old one back, so...”

You shake your head, your eyebrows raising in incredulity. “So, instead of finding another job, you went on television and humiliated your ex-girlfriend?”

“No, I, well, I didn’t mean to...” He trails off, looking at you helplessly, wanting you to give him an out, the benefit of the doubt, throw him a life-line, like you used to.

Your tongue running over your teeth, you shake your head. “You’re a fucking asshole, Joe.”

Turning away, you smile tightly at Maeve, and say as you pass, “Thank you so much, really, you’ve been great.”

You don’t hear her reply as you carry on striding across the lot, Steve right behind you. Sam gives you a gentle smile and opens the door for you so you can climb straight in. Sitting back, you secure your seat-belt as Nat, Sam and Steve slide into their own seats.

No one speaks as Nat drives to the barrier, and then you’re waved out and onto the main roads.

You’re glad you said that to Joe. So relieved. It’s like a weight off your fucking shoulders, everything you should have said when he dumped you.

But you’re so fucking mad. Fucking livid... at everything. Maybe it’s the hangover. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the fucking week. All three is a deadly combination. You don’t care about peoples opinions, you don’t, you try very hard to not pay attention to them or let them get to you and you succeed most times, but Joe has presented an image of you to the world that isn’t you, that you can’t control, and... It’s like the last straw on top of a lot of last straws.

You realise, then.

Even when this is supposedly over, it won’t be. People will still know who you are. You’ll still be Steve’s friend, his neighbour. People will still have an opinion of you. People will still be able to make an assumption about you, scream things at you, throw things at you.

And you thought you’d done well in the interview, but depending on what people want to believe, Joe could have undone all of that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Nat says suddenly, “I didn’t know they had interviewed Joe, they fucked us over.”

“It’s not your fault, Nat. You’re the one keeping this fucking thing together, you’re doing your best, you all are.”

"You are, too.”

You lift your gaze to Steve. You make yourself take a breath and exhale it as he smiles, and you return it but it’s an effort.

What will we be like after this.

Stop it.

God, I hate hungover, irritable me.

You’d said the night before that you would take all of this if it meant you got to be his friend. And you still would.

So you widen your smile and exhale another breath.

His own features relax as he nods slightly, maybe understanding a little.

“... Man, I was really hopin’ you were gonna knock that guy out,” Sam says, and you glance over at him.

Then, you burst out laughing.

Steve chuckles as Sam looks back at you, his eyes wide. “I’m being serious, I was just waitin’ for it, we can turn around if you like? Finish the little rat off?”

“No,” you insist through your laughter, “As tempting as that is, I just want to get back and nap this hangover off.”

“You sure? I’ll be your second?” Steve chimes in.

“No.” You’re grinning, even as you narrow your eyes at him. “Yelling let me get it all out.”

“All right, all right...” Sam grumbles good-naturedly, then reaches into his jacket. “Here’s your phone, by the way.”

Sam had offered to keep it in the car for you so it’d be one less thing for you to worry and you accept it with a nod.

“Thank you very much.”

Unlocking it, there’s messages from Bridget, Dolly and Aaron, all having responded to things while watching it, and all ended by saying what an asshole Joe is. You spend the rest of the drive replying to them, telling them you’re okay and just looking to have a quiet night in.

You pause before locking it, then you message Yvette, asking if she knew Joe had been fired.

She replies within seconds.

I did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, didn’t want to upset you, he was fired on the grounds of incompetence basically. At least the whole world knows he’s an idiot now. You were fantastic.

Incompetence. Ha, sounds right.

You tell her not to worry, that you miss her, and thank her.

You’re welcome. And I suppose I miss you, too.

Smiling, you lock your phone just as you arrive back at the penthouse. Leaning over his seat, you hug Sam goodbye, then get out with Steve and Nat, the latter only wanting to go with you up to your door. In the elevator, she leans against the back of it and folds her arms.

“So, how do we feel?”

You and Steve nod in unison, and both say;

“Yeah, good.”

“Fine.”

She nods, her lips twitching slightly. “Good. I think we’re all relieved that’s over. And I’m sorry again about what happened, Y/N, I’m gonna call them later and yell at them.”

“It’s fine, really,” you answer with a slight shrug. “I get they needed to make a story and make it exciting. I’m okay, really. I’m glad I got to do some yelling myself.”

Nat’s lips lift. “Yeah, that must have been very cathartic.”

You can’t stop a smile. “It was.”

The elevator slows to a halt and the doors slide open. She waits until Steve opens the door and she knows everything’s okay inside before she leaves, waving you off and saying she’ll message you later.

You close the door, kick your shoes off, and head down the short hallway, and pause, looking at Steve stood in the living room, his hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his lips.

“So.”

“So...” you answer, your own smile widening.

He inhales a breath, his eyebrows raising a little. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Yeah.” You fold your arms as you move closer. “It was okay, though, wasn’t it? We did okay, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, I’d say we did. More than okay, actually.” He lifts a hand out of his pocket and gestures at you. “You were great.”

You scoff, shaking your head slightly, only a step or so away now. “Me? What about you, when she hit us with the ‘what made you fall in love’ curveball you were great, you said some really good stuff.”

He shrugs slightly. “Well, they are the things I do like about you, so.”

You look at him, your stomach fluttering and your breath catching in your throat and your lips parting and your heart beating faster and, oh.

His gaze is lingering on you, and he watches your tongue wet your lips.

“Oh.... Well... What I said is what I like about you, too,” you say quietly, watching him.

There’s a pause. Then, he takes a step closer, opens his mouth and—

The sound of his phone ringing makes you jerk and his lips press together, his jaw tight. Clearing your throat as he slides his phone out of his pocket, and he glances from it to you.

“I’m sorry, it’s Buck, I gotta take this—”

“No, no, that’s absolutely fine, take it—”

“You sure? I can—”

“No, take it, it’s fine.” You’re smiling far too widely as you head for the stairs. “I’m gonna take a nap, anyway. Say hello from me!”

“Yeah, I will do.”

You fix your gaze ahead, moving swiftly up the stairs, and he keeps his eyes on you as he accepts the call and raises his phone to his ear.

“You have impeccable fuckin’ timing...” he mutters into it as you disappear into your room and close the door, his gaze finally dropping.

—

After washing your face and changing into more comfortable clothes, you’d closed the curtains and climbed into bed, groaning with relief.

You’d fallen asleep almost instantly, your body and mind delighted to now be able to rest undisturbed. You hadn’t set an alarm so you sleep for a few hours, and by the time you awaken, it’s already getting dark. Hungry and thirsty, you roll out of bed and rub at your face, pulling the door open.

You hear the sounds of the TV, and as you move down the stairs you see Steve sat on one of the couches, his long legs stretched out. Lifting his head, he smiles at the sight of you.

“Hey. Feelin’ any better?”

You yawn even as you nod. “Mhm. Or maybe I’m more tired now, I don’t know. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” He watches you as you move into the kitchen, finding something to eat and drink. “Buck’s comin’ over in about half an hour, by the way. He’s bringing alcohol.”

He chuckles as you look up at him and pull a face.

“Hmm, don’t think I could handle any alcohol for a little while. I think I’ll leave you two to it. Just have a bath and then maybe watch a little of something.”

He nods as he rubs at his jaw, watching you lift your glass to your lips and take a sip. “That sounds nice. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

You swallow, his eyes drifting to your throat, before rising swiftly to meet your gaze. “Uhm, shopping for a wedding dress, and a dress for Saturday. Turns out my glad-rags aren’t so glad.”

A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Okay. How about I cook us dinner tomorrow, we have a quiet night in. Change Thursday Night Classic Movie Night to Friday Night Classic Movie Night just this once?”

Oh... a taste of the past, of normality.

Your lips lift high as you hum. “Mhm, yes, please, that sounds so great.”

His smile widens. “All right. It’s a date.”

You hum a slight laugh as you move to go to the stairs, then your gaze darts back to him.

What.

He’s back to facing the TV, his eyes on it, and you stare at him.

...

Was that just a figure of speech.

It had to be.

We’ve said it before... right?

We must have.

I can’t ask him to confirm what he meant, I’ll look insane.

You carry on moving to the stairs.

Once in your room, you close the door and pause.

It was just a figure of speech.

That’s it.

Moving into the bathroom, you shake it from your mind and turn the taps on on the bath. You find some bubble-bath in the cupboard under the sink and pour some in.

Undressing and getting in, you lie back with a gentle sigh, closing your eyes as the warm water soothes you. It’s nice and quiet, the only sound the gentle sloshing of the water whenever you move slightly.

Date.

Stop it, it’s just a figure of speech. How many times do you say it to Bridge’ and Dolly?

Except today he kissed you on the forehead and said that all the reasons he listed for pretending to be in love with you are actually all the reasons why he likes you.

Stop it. The kiss was just for show, as was the hand holding, or to comfort me, either way, whatever, and the reasons he listed... well...

...

Stop thinking about it.

You spend the next ten minutes in the bath just thinking about anything but today; wondering what dresses you’ll try on tomorrow, what dresses you liked from before, how fun it’s going to be, what you can watch later.

After getting out and draining the tub, you pat yourself dry, moisturise, and change back into comfy clothes. You want to get another drink and more food so you head out again, this time to the sound of masculine laughter.

You’re already smiling by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, finding Steve and Bucky stood in the kitchen, opening bottles of beer.

“Well, hello there.”

Lifting his head, Bucky smiles as you approach and start rooting through cupboards.

“Hey, kid. How’re you doin’?”

You and he aren’t huggers, but the gentle affection in his smile, tone and his nickname for you is enough.

You turn to him as you close the cupboard, a bag of cookies under your arm. “Oh, you know, living my engaged dream.”

Steve chuckles as Bucky’s smile widens and he leans against the counter. “So I’ve heard. I thought you did really well at the interview, though.”

You snort, setting the cookies on the counter and making yourself a drink.

“No, seriously.” You look up at him as his insistence, and, oh, he is lovely. “You were yourself. Very warm and friendly. Loved what you said about fame and Joe, too.”

You incline your head, giving a slight curtsy that has him smiling again. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Could’ve cracked a few more jokes, though.”

You side-eye him as your lips twitch and you grab your drink, heading for the stairs. “I’ll bear that in mind for next time. I’ll leave you two to it for a while. Have fun.”

“Yep, see ya.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Steve says a second later.

“Oh, I will,” you say with raised brows as you climb the stairs, “Got plenty of episodes to catch up on that duty has kept me from.”

Steve’s smile lingers on his lips as he watches you disappear out of sight. Taking a breath, he then starts to turn back to Bucky.

“So, how’s the—”

“What’s goin’ on.”

His gaze meets Bucky’s as he pauses at his quiet question, his friend’s eyebrows raised slightly.

“... What d’you mean?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise higher. “With you and her, what’s goin’ on.”

Steve blinks, then lets out a slight scoff, a hand going to his hip as his other settles on the counter. “Nothing.”

“God, you’re still such an awful liar—”

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that shit—”

“You’re tellin’ me the truth, then?”

He presses his lips together. “... It’s complicated it.”

“Is it?” Bucky says, raising his bottle to his lips.

Steve’s jaw moves slightly, and he shakes his head a moment later. “Buck, I... After that letter threatening Y/N, I just—”

“What letter?”

Two sets of eyes dart to you at the top of the stairs, your own staring at them.

You’d forgotten the cookies.

If you’d been a second earlier you’d be having an entirely different conversation.

Bucky straightens, a quiet breath leaving him as Steve’s eyes remain on you, watching you move down the stairs.

“Y/N—”

“What letter, Steve?” you cut in, reaching the bottom step and moving closer, your arms folded, features expressionless.

His jaw moves minutely but he doesn’t look away. “... Six months ago I received a letter about you, threatening you because of our friendship. We had good reason to take it seriously so, don’t worry, we’ve had someone watching you to keep you safe—”

You scoff slightly, as your gaze darts between them, a coldness sweeping over you, not knowing what to process first. “Wait, wait, wait, hang on... I... You’ve had some stranger watching me for six months?”

There’s a beat of silence... then Bucky raises his hand. “Not a stranger, kid.”

You stare at him, your mouth moving slightly. “Every day?”

He shrugs a shoulder as he lowers his hand. “Nat and I take it in turns. As fascinating as you are, I need a day off sometimes.”

You let out an incredulous, slightly dazed laugh, because what the fuck. “Wow, okay... Wow, right, Fury must hate you both, giving you this kind of job when there are more important things out there.”

Silence. They shift slightly.

You look between them again, your smile fading. “... What?”

Steve runs a hand down his mouth with a small sigh before it goes to his hip, his gaze gentle on you. “There were a couple more letters after the first one. With pictures of you going to and from work, out with friends. and, uh... well, some not particularly nice things written with them.”

“Oh.”

Part of you wants to ask what. Part of you wishes you’d never forgotten the damn cookies and come out of your room.

Steve’s features soften as he moves around the counter, taking a step towards you. “Look, you—”

“Uhm...” You look at the ground, feeling slightly sick.

Someone had threatened you. More than once. Because you’re Steve’s friend. And that would hurt him.

So many different emotions are swirling and roiling inside of you, and somene had threatened you and you’d had no idea.

Are you comfortable with that? With that being kept from you?

You don’t know anymore.

“... I think i’m just gonna go to bed,” you say, looking up at them, because you don’t know what else to say. “Have a nice night. It was nice to see you, Buck.”

“You, too,” he answers gently as you retreat back upstairs.

As you climb, you glance at them, and see Steve bow his head, his eyes closed.

—

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haddonfieldproject · 3 years

Text

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

WARREN COUNTY/CARPENTER COUNTY LINE, ILLINOIS

Twenty Seven Hours Later

“Oh god!” The Governor turned from the Mustang with a hand over her mouth, her face suddenly pale.

“Oh jesus fuck!”

She took off across the roadway, running has fast as her flats would carry her. One of those shiny black shoes slipped on the wet asphault causing her to teeter, but she did not fall. She reached the tall wet grass on the opposite side of the road, bent, and proceeded to vomit in the ditch there. Salazar hurried after her.

Meeker and McGrath gave each other a tired look, and then looked back to the wreck. They barely noticed the white truck pull up behind them and Fred Colbourne hop out. A siren wailed in front of them as another Carpenter County Fire Department vehicle joined the other one and ejected six or seven more fire fighters in full yellow and orange regalia.

McGrath pointed to the crumpled body which lay in the middle of the road, atop the white lines.

“That's definitely Lloyd Chumway there,” he said morosely, “And this one here in the drivers seat...that's Lee.”

Meeker spit. “Pretty well intact, considering.”

“Well, they were in a pretty nice truck.” McGrath said, glancing over to the Governor who had now dropped to her knees. Salazar held her gently by the shoulders. She was still wretching.

“It's Booger's truck,” Meeker replied softly.

“The cook from the diner? The one with his head in the..”

Meeker cut him off, “Yep.”

“What about the kids in the Mustang? Can you ID them?” McGrath asked, walking around to the other side of the orange sports-car.

“Well,” Meeker took a deep breath, “This is Brad Doyle's mustang. He's pretty well known by the police around here. Not a bad kid.” He spit again, “But not a very good one either.”

McGrath's eyes panned across the headless torso in the driver's seat clad in a blood soaked Code Orange shirt. Bits of blood, bone, and brain lay all over the steel bumper of the truck which had completley intruded upon the cab of the Mustang. Some of it belonged to Brad, some belonged to the mess of a carcass that lay in the center of the car beside him. There was nothing but a heap of blood, skin, bones, and some sort of leopard print clothing. Another crumpled body lay in the backseat. Young female, her head turned around the wrong way on her neck. She was missing her legs.

“Do you know these other two occupants?” McGrath asked.

“The one in the backseat is Kyndra Bailey. I'm guessing this one,” he gulped as he looked over the tattered remains, “this one is probably Zoey Gonland, her girlfriend. They liked to hang out with Brad.”

McGrath looked up from the other side of the car, “More trouble makers?”

“They were good kids. A little bit of the talk of the town, but good kids.”

McGrath shook his head, “I don't follow.”

“A high school lesbian couple in a small town like this. Everyone knows them.”

“Jesus God Almighty,” Fred Colbourne said as he stepped up to the wreck beside them.

Another man, this one tall and thin with short brown hair, a yellow polo shirt and khaki pants also appeared beside them. Meeker looked at him. The man extended his hand.

“I'm Shelton Ganoux, the Carpenter County Medical Examiner. They called for me as soon as they arrived.” The man said, nodding a head to the fire fighters who were laboring around the wreck of the semi-truck and ambulance.

“And we here in Warren County greatly appreciate your help,” Meeker said, shaking the young man's hand firmly. “We've had one hell of a night over here and our boys are a little tied up.”

Ganoux half-bowed his head, “So I've heard.”

“What the hell happened out here,” Colbourne asked.

The Governor and Salazar re-appeared next to them. The Governor pulled a kleenex from her pantsuit pocket and dabbed at her mouth.

“It appears we have two separate accidents, occurring within about an hour and a half of each other. The orange sports-car, the truck, and the tractor trailer incident occurred at around six o'clock this morning, while the ambulance seems to have collided with the tractor trailer at around seven thirty.”

“Makes sense,” Meeker mumbled.

“What?” Colbourne asked, “What makes sense.”

“It looks like Mustang was behind the tractor trailer and went to try and pass him when they struck the Chumway Brothers in the truck coming from the opposite direction.” McGrath said.

Meeker's phone began to vibrate in his pants. He pulled it out, hit the green button on the screen, and stuck it to his ear.

“Meeker!” He barked. The voice that answered was gruff.

“Hey Deputy, it's Lorne Appleby.”

“Who?”

“Appleby, from Protective Services.”

“Oh right. Well?”

“Nothing yet. I'm gonna head to the hotel room for some shut eye. Miss. Cromer should be back in a few hours. Just wanted to keep you abreast of the...”

“Mrs. who?”

“Cromer...Ellen Cromer...from DCF.”

Meeker rubbed his forehead. “Aww yeah..right right. I'm sorry Appleby, I got a million things going on right now.”

“I know, I know. Like I said, just wanted to keep you abreast of the situation.”

“Who do I got over there now?”

“Officer Chang just left, Officer Stanton just arrived, two other officers in a squad car just went on patrol an hour or so ago...forgive me, I don't remember their names.”

Meeker adjusted the phone from one ear to the other. “Oh right, that's Warner and Farnsworth I think.”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

Meeker ended the call.

“Who was that?” Fred asked.

“Guy from Protective Services about Maddie Keane.”

“Still haven't found her?” Colbourne asked.

Meeker shook his head and waved at the wreckage in front of him. “And if it wasn't for all this shit and everything else I'd have every god damn cop out there looking for her.”

Fred patted his friend's back. “I know Bengie. I know. You're doing the best you can.”

They were quiet for awhile and Ben took some deep breaths to gather his thoughts.

“You know what I'm wondering?” Colbourne asked after some time had passed.

“What's that?” Ben replied quietly.

“How in the world did no one around here hear a wreck like that?”

“Well the only ones out here are Reverend Taylor over there,” he pointed to his right, to a house on the top of a hill, “and Amos Yoder. Amos claims to have been woken up by the second accident, he's talking to the state troopers now.” he pointed to his left, toward a dirt road leading down to a quaint little farmhouse with a big red barn. An Amish man was indeed standing along side the curb next to his driveway talking to an Illinois State Trooper who was dictating his statement on a clipboard.

“Amos said he slept right through the first accident, and I've known Kevin Taylor for years, we had sleep overs together when we were kids. He has to sleep with some kind of noise. He always brought a sound machine to my house, annoying little shit.” Meeker continued, “He sleeps with a box-fan I think. He probably couldn't hear a frieght train coming through his living room.”

“Besides that it was still raining at six o'clock this morning,” Ganoux said, “the sound of the storm could have muffled much of the noise.”

“I just can't believe Gary Windorf didn't see the over-turned tractor trailer.” Colbourne said, gesturing to the ambulance. Gary Windorf had been the driver.

“We told him to haul ass,” Meeker sighed, “it was still dark and raining.”

“Plus he was coming up from over this hill,” McGrath added, waving at the rise in the road behind them.

The Governor cleared her throat. “So we have the Chumway brothers here...where the hell is Myers? Is he in the back of that ambulance where he belongs?”

“Who is Myers?” Ganoux asked.

“Objective number one,” Meeker replied, “Big guy, jumpsuit..”

“The guy with the mask, kinda toasty?”

“That'd be him,” McGrath nodded.

“He's over there.” Ganoux pointed. Three firefighters crouched beside a body near the tree line. The figure was face down in the mud only a few feet from the trailer of Gabriel Couture's truck. “It appears the patient was thrown from the ambulance.”

“But he's dead?” Meeker asked.

“Very much so. He hit a tree in mid air.” Ganoux replied.

“He was dead before he was even put in the ambulance,” Colbourne grunted.

“Well, I can't tell that. I'd need to do a full autopsy to do that.” Ganoux said.

“Forget that,” The Governor spat, “Get his ass in a body bag and let's get it back to the High School. Get all these bodies over there so we can...”

She was interrupted by the sound of approaching vehicles. The whole party turned as a black GMC Van pulled up behind the firetrucks. In the distance, it looked as if the van had been followed by a train of semi-trucks. The truck tractors where plain white with no lettering, while the trailers were gray, and also blank. The hiss of the parking brakes sounded off one at a time.

The doors of the GMC Van opened. Several almost identical looking Caucasian men in black suits stepped out. They seemed to be led by another man, who had climbed out of the passenger side of the van. He was older than the others, judging by the gray in his hair.

The older gentlemen stepped up and extended his hand to the Governor.

“Governor Harris?” He asked simply.

“I am,” The Governor replied, taking his hand.

“I'm Dick Spencer, Director of the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team for Region Five.”

“How do you do?” The Governor asked with a forced smile. “This is Deputy McGrath of the---”

Spencer cut her off and pulled a piece of paper from the inside breast pocket of his coat, “Did you request Federal Response?”

“Yes sir, we've had a bad night in this town---” The Governor started but again, Spencer cut her off.

“And you are fully aware that in so doing, you have allowed the Department of Homeland Security to begin to conduct an investigation into the order, as to the reasons why such an order would be placed pursuant to Guideline 542, section B, article F?”

The Governor looked at Meeker and then to McGrath, who took the roll of papers from Agent Spencer. “Yes sir..I am aware of the...”

“Excellent then,” Spencer looked down at the papers and began to thumb through them, “I have two affidavits for your law enforcement officers here to fill out. They must be in precise detail as to the events that transpired over the night , and why you would need to place an order for a portable refrigeration unit for casualty victims.” He looked at McGrath, “You need to fill one out as does this local officer...Officer----???”

Meeker took one of the papers, “Deputy Sheriff Ben Meeker.”

“Meeker,” Spencer nodded, “I also have a battery of questions we need to go over, but first I have three questions.”

McGrath took the other paper, “Yeah, shoot.”

“Do you or do you not want to be a big pain in my ass today?” Spencer asked.

McGrath laughed in spite of himself. “What?”

“I'm not aware that I said anything amusing Agent?” Spencer replied, cutting a look to Meeker and then back at McGrath, “Do you want to be a big pain in my ass today?”

“No sir,” McGrath replied.

Spencer looked back at Meeker, “Do you want to be a big pain in my ass Deputy Sheriff?”

“No sir,” Meeker replied.

“Excellent,” Spencer said, “Now let's get something straight. I don't want to be here, okay?”

Meeker and McGrath nodded.

“You are aware that last night was Halloween?” Spencer asked.

Meeker and McGrath looked at one another, not sure how to answer. McGrath was brave enough to try. “Well—yes...”

“Do little girls and boys play dress up on Halloween?” Spencer asked.

The two men looked at each other again and then replied in unison: “Yes sir,”

“You know who else plays dress up?”

Meeker and McGrath looked at each other a third time and then back at Spencer and shook their heads.

“Russian mail order brides play dress up,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. “Just hours ago, I was playing dress up with my Russian mail order bride, and you can imagine what kind of activities proceed playing dress up and drinking Vodka and 7-Up all night. And you can imagine how doing these things would be very taxing for a man my age, couldn't you?”

“Yes sir,” the men replied.

“I would like nothing better than to be back in my bed, in my Chicago penthouse, with Katya on my ‪Saturday morning‬. But instead, I'm called out to this piss-ant little town in the Storm-of-the-fuckin'-century. You can imagine how that would put me in a bad mood, correct?”

“Yes sir,” the men agreed.

“If there is any thing between those two affidavits that doesn't match up, or if there is anything that has transpired in this town that isn't cherry, or if the two of you aren't one hundred percent crystal clear and straight with me and obedient to my will like two little golden retriever puppy dogs, I will have Washington DC on my ass, and I don't want ‪Washington DC‬ on my ass for anything, and that will turn you into a big pain in the ass for me, and we don't want that now do we?”

“No sir,” they responded.

“I want to get this over with so I can go back home and enjoy my weekend, got it?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” Spencer pointed to the trucks, “Second question,” he said, “Where is the mobile refrigeration unit going to be erected?”

McGrath stuttered and looked at Meeker.

Meeker swallowed and said, “Best place I guess would be the parking lot of the high school...we've already set up a field---.”

“You guess?” Spencer stammered.

“Yes sir,” The Governor cut in, “The parking lot of the High School is where we want it.”

“What high school? I need a name people! I need an address!” Spencer's volume level went up a notch.

“It's Haddonfield High School, on the corner of Belmont and Main Street,” Meeker said.

“Well is it Belmont or Main Street?!” Spencer nearly roared.

“‪248 Belmont Avenue‬,” Meeker responded calmly.

“Got it,” one of the accompanyng men in black suits said quietly, and then they all turned to walk toward the first truck.

“Third question,” Spencer said, his volume level returning to normal, “is there a police station in this god-forsaken town that we conduct business in, or do we rednecks like to stand out in the road and play with our dicks in front of a bunch of mangled car accident victims?”

“I have two of my boys setting up a big tent in the parking lot of the hospital. That's gonna be ground zero for now until that scene gets under control and we can shift everything to the high school.” Meeker replied.

“The tent we use for the exhibitions on fair days and stuff. The recruitment tent?” Colbourne asked.

“Exactly. Herman Beach and Chris Huber are grabbing it from the storage unit. They should be there any minute. We should probably get over there now, I think we're done here.”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Spencer said, turning back toward his vehicle. “There better be coffee.”

The Governor piped up, “Don't you have a Mayor in this town somewhere? Someone is gonna have to talk to the press!”

Meeker winced.

NEXT>> (Coming Soon)

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